Chapter 57
Chapter Fifty-Seven
CLOVER
The weeks have been blurring together. Waking up before the sun does, heading to set and filming well into the night, then collapsing into a tangle of limbs with Roman. We’ve got one more day of filming out here at the studio before we head to New York City to capture exterior shots.
It feels surreal to be almost done shooting my first major film.
The stunts have all gone off without a hitch after we nailed the rooftop one, and it’s felt amazing to know my body is strong and capable.
Ensuring I’m eating properly has helped give me the energy I need to make it through filming all of them.
This morning I grab a coffee from the craft table before we film. I smile when I look down at it. Who knew that adding a splash of milk and a little sugar could be an act of defiance? A small and sweet ‘fuck you’ to anyone who ever told me I had to shrink myself.
The more I reflect, the more I’m coming to realize that it’s never been about my size, it’s about how I’ve been made to feel about my body.
I’ve been feeling better with these small changes, and I know it’ll only improve when I start seeing the therapist I booked an appointment with a few weeks from now–because fuck Anita, I booked one.
When I look up, Roman’s studying me from across the room. He inclines his head, a silent way to ask if everything is alright. I nod. I’m starting to be. I will be.
We aren’t in our super-suits for today’s scene, just regular civilian clothes, but damn does he fill out any outfit perfectly.
I stare at his broad chest and bite down on a smile when I remember I woke up pressed against it this morning, listening to the calming, steady beat of his heart.
It’s dorky as hell, but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.
The few times I haven’t woken up on his chest, it’s been because he’s sitting at the piano, scribbling down notes on some paper and miming hand positions overtop the keys so he doesn’t make enough noise to wake me.
Whenever I haven’t been tangled up in Roman, Jill and I are usually spending what limited time we have together. The younger Everett siblings have unofficially taken me in, and it feels like home.
I feel like a kid in a candy store when I look around the glimmering lobby of the hotel.
It’s one of New York City’s finest, and the studio is paying for it.
I have a feeling I might pass out if I were to see the number of zeros on the bill.
When I glance over at Roman, it’s clear he’s been watching me, with a small smirk on his lips.
We were set to arrive later tonight, but when Roman found out I’d never been to the city before, he bumped our flights earlier.
Heading up to our suite, I look around the opulent space to find two bedrooms. It’s dumb, but my heart sinks a little.
Did he book the second bedroom because he wants a little space?
As I stand in the doorway of the bedroom, Roman comes up behind me.
“Which one should be ours?” The last word makes me feel as though I’m floating on a warm and fuzzy cloud.
“Ours?”
“Come on, Daly. Co-stars don’t let co-stars sleep alone.” I can hear the amusement in his voice as he bends down to press a kiss into the crook of my neck. Leaning into his touch, I lift my hand to reach back and muss his hair.
“They don’t, huh?”
“Not when they feel like this about one another,” he says on a more serious note. What does ‘this’ mean? I want to shout. Before I have time to pry, he pulls away.
“You ready to go?”
I spin to face him. “Go where?”
“You’ll see.”
My feet hurt from all the walking we’ve done, and my face is getting sore from the grin that’s been plastered to it all afternoon.
We spent a few hours walking around Central Park, stopping by the exterior of where Friends takes place, and then we visited the Metropolitan.
As we walk back toward the hotel, a chill threads itself through the air, causing me to shiver.
Roman notices and shrugs off his light jacket before placing it around my shoulders. His scent envelops me, and I try to be as subtle as I can about breathing it in.
“Actually, do you mind if we take one quick detour?” he asks, pointing down a different street. Since we have nowhere to be, I shrug and gesture for him to lead the way.
As we walk through streets, I take in the wonder of all the tall buildings beginning to glow. A few people seem to recognize Roman on the street as we walk, and he simply gives them a quick smile and wave.
“How about we grab a bite to eat here?” Roman gestures to a tiny little Italian restaurant.
Staring in from the outside, I can see a series of small tables all lit up with candles.
The chairs appear to be wrought iron, with cozy blankets draped over the arms. A series of large colorful lanterns hangs from the ceiling in various shades of blue and purple.
To top it all off, beautiful vines crawl along the walls.
It’s then that I notice the ceiling is made of glass, to allow for natural light during the day.
“What is this place?” I breathe.
“Somewhere I wanted to show you.” He grabs my hand and places a firm kiss on the back of it. “We don’t have to go in though if you’re not comfortable grabbing dinner.”
“You know what, dinner sounds perfect.”
About an hour later, after a perfect glass of wine and some cacio e pepe, I’m about ready to call it a night, especially taking into consideration our call time of four a.m.
Roman throws down some bills and takes my hand once more. When we get outside, he leads me in a different direction than I expected.
“I thought our hotel was this way?” I ask, pointing at what I think is north.
“It is.”
“Okay… so where are we going then?”
“A block this way,” he says as we turn down an alleyway. When we approach an unmarked and unassuming grey door in the alley, Roman pulls it open and ushers me inside.
“Where in the hell are you taking me?” I mutter.
It’s then that I hear the softest music floating toward me.
A piano accompanied by strings. Instead of Roman leading the way, I push past him, following the beckoning sounds of the music.
It takes me all of a minute to realize we’re backstage at a theater somewhere.
Navigating the back area, I keep listening and moving until I make it to the stage wings, where I look out and see a pianist, along with a string quartet.
They appear lost in the music on the sheets in front of them, weaving a series of beautiful notes around the space of the theater.
Roman and I sneak into some of the empty seats in the auditorium to properly appreciate their playing.
I’m not sure who these musicians are, but they’re playing beautifully.
I find myself swept up in the magic of the songs.
Moments of joy and melancholy all strung together perfectly.
The music moves me in the darkness of the theater.
“Did you organize this for us?” I whisper between songs.
Roman nods, uncharacteristically quiet. The next song plays, and instantly I recognize it as mine.
Whipping my head in his direction, I study his expression. “Are these all your songs, Roman?”
He shrugs, and my eyes well up. They’re beautiful, and he’s done this himself.
“I just..” he starts, clearing his throat. “I thought you might be right, and that it would be worth trying. And…” he pauses, his blue eyes cast toward the floor as he nervously admits, “I wanted to share it with you.”
I don’t know that my heart has ever been more full as the notes to my song ring out.
“Thank you,” I whisper before pressing my lips to his and kissing him deeply.