Chapter 31 #2
“You’ve lost the privilege of speaking to Iris ever again,” Roman barks out, and I can’t help noticing, as he says it, he’s got his right fist clenched by his muscular thigh like a spring gun.
“Who dat, Daddy?” Maverick squeaks out.
“Nobody, buddy. A big nobody.” Roman looks at his son, and his nostrils flare.
He glances around the ice cream parlor, at the handful of other patrons who are staring at us, slack-jawed, and I can practically see him making calculations in his head: Exactly how much can I get away with here?
When he finally returns his dark, molten gaze to Brandon, his jaw muscles are pulsing.
“Why are you still here, Brandon? Iris said she doesn’t want to speak to you. ”
“I just need a couple minutes to—”
Roman takes a glowering step forward, and the fist by his side tightens. “My boy is here, so I’m going to be a gentleman about this, Brandon. Leave now, while your face and pride are both still intact.”
Maverick snuggles even closer to me, so I give him another tight squeeze and whisper, “It’s okay. They’re just talking.”
Brandon addresses me. “You really don’t want to give me five minutes of your time to hear me apologize to you?”
“How’d you know where to find me?”
“I saw a photo of you and Roman bowling in Orchard Blossom a couple days ago. So, I asked around when I got here, and a guy told me he just saw you and Roman walking in here.” He motions with exasperation to the large window adjacent to our booth and glares at Roman.
“Dude, you can watch me talking to her the whole time. I’m not gonna hurt her. I’d never do that.”
Well, that’s not true. While it’s true Brandon never physically hurt me, he certainly destroyed me emotionally. And now, merely being in Brandon’s presence again is making me feel physically ill.
“It’s your decision, baby,” Roman says in a clipped voice, his jaw muscles tight. “I’ve got your back, no matter what you decide.”
I think about it. I certainly don’t need closure from Brandon, per se. That burner phone gave me all the answers I needed. But I suppose it would be nice to get to tell him to fuck off in a much calmer fashion than I managed it on our sham of a wedding day.
“I’ll give you one minute,” I finally say decisively. “That’s all you get, though, so you’d better talk fast.”
“One minute,” Roman echoes, his dark eyes shooting murderous daggers at Brandon. “And if you touch her during that minute, I swear to God, mother—” He looks at Maverick and stops himself. “I won’t be a gentleman anymore.”
I slide out of the booth with Maverick and guide him to his father.
As I gently push Maverick toward his father, he whispers to me, “Why did Daddy call him ‘mother’?” It’s another Maverick-ism worthy of Ava’s journal.
But I’m too stressed about Brandon’s unexpected appearance here to smile about it.
With Maverick secured in Roman’s strong arms, I march toward the front door of the ice cream parlor with my head high and Brandon trailing behind me.
Once outside, I position myself in front of the window, so Roman can see everything that goes down, and then turn around in a huff to face Brandon, my hands on my hips. “One minute. Go.”
Brandon puffs out his cheeks. “I-I went to rehab after the wedding, and I—”
“Yeah, so you wouldn’t have to go to jail for all the money you stole from clients.
” That’s what his sister, Delilah, told me in a text—that Brandon went to rehab as part of a confidential settlement agreement brokered by their father with all his firms’ clients, so Mr. Gladstone could avoid his precious son having to endure legal consequences for his bad behavior.
Brandon’s face falls. “That’s why I went, yes. Originally. But I’ve been taking it really seriously and trying to become a better person.”
I look at my watch. “Thirty seconds.”
Brandon shifts his weight. “As part of my treatment plan, I have to go to every person I’ve ever betrayed or hurt and make amends with them. You’re the first person on my list.”
“I should feel honored about that?”
“Just saying you’re at the top of the list, that’s all.”
I snort. “With a list as long as yours, I’m sure the people at the bottom will die of old age before you get to them.
” I look at my watch. “Time’s up.” I glare into his eyes.
“Fuck you, Brandon. Never contact me again, you lying sack of shit.” I turn to go, but Brandon grabs my arm to keep me in place.
“Hang on, Iris. Please. Hear me out.”
I jerk away from Brandon’s grasp. Not because he’s physically hurting me. His grip is pretty gentle, actually. But Brandon’s flesh against mine, no matter how soft his touch, feels like a violation.
Brandon opens his mouth to say more, but before he gets a word out, Roman appears out of nowhere, moving like a panther. In a blur, he picks up Brandon like he’s a toddler and hurls him several feet down the sidewalk, effectively turning Brandon into Roman’s human bowling ball.
As Brandon clatters onto the hard sidewalk, Roman booms, “Stay the fuck away from my girlfriend!”
Girlfriend? Perhaps now isn’t the time to feel giddy about Roman’s word choice, but I can’t help myself.
Does he truly think of me that way, or is he using the word to screw with Brandon, the same way I talked about getting “railed” and “scrambled” at the end of my ranting tirade in the church a lifetime ago?
Brandon raises his palms, striking a defensive posture. He doesn’t seem physically hurt by his tumbling voyage onto the sidewalk. Shocked, yes. Stunned and embarrassed, definitely. But otherwise, he seems perfectly fine. “Calm down, Roman. I didn’t come to fight.”
Roman turns to me, his eyes aflame. “Are you okay, baby?” When I nod, he takes my hand and pulls me into him. “Do you have anything you want to say to this piece of shit before he skitters away like the cockroach he is?”
“One thing.” I release Roman’s hand and stride over to Brandon on the ground.
“I’m not frigid, you little bitch. Not with the right man.
” I wish I could scream this petty put-down from the roof of the ice cream parlor, but I’m too battle-scarred from that stupid viral video to do anything but whisper-shout it while covering my mouth with my palm.
As much as I want to release a primal, cathartic scream into the universe, it’s far more important that nobody watching this spectacle—or worse, recording it—has any chance of capturing my voice or reading my lips.
“On the contrary,” I add in another whisper-shout. “As it turns out, I’m a certified nymphomaniac with the right man—that man there—because he actually knows what he’s doing in bed, unlike you!”
Roman snorts and hoots with glee behind me. “Atta girl.”
“Never, ever contact me again,” I add, practically spitting the words out. “Or I’ll get a restraining order on your ass.” I return to Roman and defiantly grab his hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s leave the trash on the sidewalk for the trashmen to pick up.”
Roman’s smile is beaming and glorious—every bit as radiant and full of pride as the one he wore a week ago while watching Maverick on that pony. With a squeeze of my hand, he says, “With pleasure. Come on, baby.”
As we turn to stride away, Brandon calls out from the sidewalk, “I’m gonna sue your ass for assault, Roman!”
“Go for it, you little shit,” Roman tosses out, without bothering to stop walking. “I’ve got an unlimited budget for attorneys, and any jury would cheer me on for what I did.”
When we get inside the ice cream parlor, I’m surprised to discover Maverick’s not sitting in the booth any longer. Outside, I assumed Roman left him there and told him to stay put.
“Where’s Mav?” I ask, as we slide into our booth on opposite sides of the table.
“In the back with the store owner. She’s showing him how she makes the ice cream.” He flashes me a lopsided grin. “How do you feel?”
“Fucking amazing.”
He chuckles. “As you should.” He reaches for my hand across the table, so I happily give it to him. “Come to LA with me tomorrow, Iris. I don’t want to leave here without you.”
Hallelujah. I’ve been hoping to hear those exact words from Roman for days now. But even so, I don’t want him asking me only because he’s currently drunk on jealousy and testosterone. I want him to want me even in the calmest, quietest of times.
“Are you sure?” I ask, even though I want to scream, “Yes, yes, yes!” “I don’t want you inviting me because you’re suddenly feeling territorial.” By way of explanation, I motion vaguely to the window.
Roman rolls his eyes. “That’s not it. I’d just mustered the courage to ask you to come with me when Brandon walked in. I swear, he interrupted me mid-sentence.”
Butterflies whoosh into my belly. “You had to muster the courage to ask me?”
“Are you kidding me? After the way you kicked my ass in Hawaii—and rightly so, by the way—I’m scared to death about what your answer will be.
Especially now, when there’s so much more at stake, yes, I most certainly had to muster my courage.
” He inhales deeply. “Please, Iris. Come with me tomorrow. Maverick is going to his mom’s house for a couple weeks when I get back to LA, so we’ll have the place to ourselves. ”
It sounds like Roman is asking me to come for only a two-week visit, which, admittedly, isn’t what I was hoping for, in a perfect world. But it’s not nothing, so I decide to accept his invitation.
I open my mouth to say yes, but when I notice the pleading, waiting-with-bated-breath look in Roman’s dark eyes, I suddenly realize I’ve got some leverage here.
“What’s at stake now compared to in Kauai?” I ask, referring to his interesting word choice from a moment ago. “Answer that question to help me decide.”
Roman runs a hand through his mop of dark hair, but he doesn’t answer my question.
“Tell me, Roman. Explain it to me. I need to know.”
After a long pause, Roman inhales deeply and answers me on his exhale.
“If you say no to me this time,” he murmurs softly, “I’ll know it’s not because of bad timing.
Not because you just got out of a long-term, terrible relationship.
Not because you just involuntarily starred in a traumatizing viral video.
” He shifts in his seat. “It wouldn’t be because you haven’t had the chance to get to know me.
It wouldn’t be because you don’t know what’s real.
” He pauses, looking intensely uncomfortable.
“This time, unlike last time, you know me. The real me. You’ve spent time with me.
With my parents and my son. And I’ve met your family, too.
” He swallows hard and his Adam’s apple bobs.
“This time, unlike in Kauai, if you say no to me, I’ll know it’s because you’ve decided you simply don’t want me.
The real me.” He shifts in his seat again.
“And if that’s your ultimate decision here, Iris .
. .” He levels me with dark, blazing eyes, and his broad chest rises and falls in the brief, poignant silence.
“Then that would honestly break my fucking heart.”
I’m swooning uncontrollably. It’s the most vulnerable—and handsome—he’s ever looked. “Yes, I’ll come to LA with you tomorrow,” I blurt. “I can’t believe you doubted my answer.”
Roman looks equal parts relieved and elated. “When it comes to you, Iris, I don’t take anything for granted.”
We share a beaming smile. I don’t know what will happen between Roman and me after my two-week stay, once it’s time for Maverick to return to Roman’s from his mother’s.
But in this moment, I don’t care to think that far ahead.
For now, all that matters is I’ll be leaving Orchard Blossom with Roman and his family tomorrow, rather than saying goodbye to him for however long and then going home to sob into my pillow.
For now, I remind myself, that’s simply got to be enough.