57. Roman
Ireturned to Belmont Manor feeling much the same way as when I left. You’d think with the Russian receding in the distance I’d feel a modicum of peace. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.
I got word that Meg had signed the contract with the trust as Isabel’s attorney, and I checked that one off the list. The list of grand plans designed to keep Isabel close to me, and far away from the life she’d known outside this house.
Tonight was the litmus test, laying it all out to Isabel in terms of what my appointment as chairman of the board meant for our future. It was up to the nymph how much of a sacrifice she was willing to make for us to be together. I vacillated between the nymph kissing me on the mouth and saying it was all fine, and her storming out of my life with wrath flickering in those emerald eyes.
There was nothing, nothing nothing that could pacify the tentacles of panic wrapping themselves around my insides.
Once in the office, the first thing I did was check in on Isabel, eager to hear her soothing voice over the speaker. But then I froze. A man was talking to her, and that man was my brother Byron. I knew instinctively what he was doing.
Isabel didn’t say much during his tirade, but I could only imagine the horror and pain scaling her insides. Fury pooled in my stomach and infested every cell in my body.
It was far too late to stop him. The race was now for damage control. All I could do was run to the north wing, intent on storming into my father’s room, laying my heart at her feet and begging her to hear me out. To make her understand that there was a solution, even if the decision would ultimately be hers.
I knew far too well that the anger and distress spearing me wouldn’t let go until I found a way to siphon them into vengeance. Byron hadn’t just crossed the line, he’d bulldozed himself into a world of shit I was about to throw at him. And it wasn’t like I hadn’t warned him.
I reached for the business phone and called Porter Van Buren. I had no doubt he’d answer a personal call from me.
“Roman,” he said, probably expecting me to have come around to his way of thinking on the gubernatorial race.
It had to be clear by the sound of my voice that I was agitated and barely able to keep it together, my fingers tapping the surface of my desk. “Porter.”
But he didn’t give me a chance to continue, and I could hear the preconceived satisfaction churning in his tone. “Have you changed your mind about the gubernatorial race? You going to play along like a good boy now?”
Bitterness coated my tongue. “No Porter, I’m calling to tell you my brother is fucking your wife. I thought you’d like to know.”
I sent him the picture of Byron and Celeste, that Mrs. Sheldon had shared with Isabel. The one where Byron had Celeste pinned against the wall.
There was a derisive silence before Porter’s insolent voice crawled into my ear. “Is this you leaving it to me to deal with Byron?”
“Yes, it is,” I said without hesitation. “He’s all yours.”
And then I ended the call.
I closed my eyes and drew a slow deliberate breath. I had to fix this somehow. What I did next and how I did it, which was explaining it all to Isabel, was critical.
Judging from her silence as Byron attempted to destroy our world, I was left with only one choice. I had to go to her now, before a protective scab formed over her wound and before her inner turmoil became an impenetrable shield.
My race to the north wing was fueled by adrenaline, wrath boiling my blood. There was no chance of running into Byron, but I swore to God, that if I happened across him now, in this house, there might not be much left of him for Porter to deal with.
All my carefully devised plans to tell Isabel how I’d solved the big complication were now cast aside. There would be no romantic dinner when I could lay the groundwork and tell her that my existence without her would be bleak and utterly miserable. And that given a bit of time we could have a wonderful life together, even if that depended on how willing she was to make a few sacrifices.
She’d now found out about the wicked ins and outs of the Belmont Trust, and how power and greed were what empires fed on. And how people like my father only knew how to feed the empire until it became a bloated superpower, happy with nothing but consuming everything in its path.
I braced myself against her reaction, that quiet defiance she wielded like a secret weapon. Not that I wasn’t willing to plead, or give her all the time in the world to think it through until she realized that making the concession would be better than us not being together. It was terrifying what I was prepared to do for her to stay.
By the time I reached my father’s room, cold sweat was running down my back, my pulse a clipped, rapid beat. Fuck, I was petrified, my body retaliating against the unfamiliar feeling of fear stabbing at my insides. There was no honor in staying respectable. I was willing to go on my knees.
I’d barely entered the room,when her soft voice sliced through the silence. “I guess you’re here to tell me it”s not all as terrible as it sounds.”
She looked up, her face as pale as the moon in the sky. But her gaze was fierce, that delicate jaw a study in steely determination. I realized there would be no soft-pedaling, no glossing over the insanity she was expected to accept as her new normal now.
“I understand you’re angry,” I pleaded. ”And yes, you have every right to be. Will you allow me to explain, please.”
She exhaled with a shudder, a flare of pain invading the air between us. “What could you possibly say not to make this the deranged situation it is?” she asked softly.
I walked to the other side of my father’s bed, so I could face her. And then I saw it, the picture of Geneviève on Isabel’s lap. We locked eyes. For a moment I imagined our roles being reversed, and how I would have felt. There was no doubt my ego would have been battered, my soul crushed.
My gaze never wavered from hers. This was me begging. “You should not have found out like this, and that’s my fault. I wanted to tell you under different circumstances, where you knew how much I love you and that you’re the only person I want to share my life with. And that I found a way for us to share that life together.”
“Your future wife might have something to say about that.”
The terseness in her voice gave life to a spark of hope. I knew Isabel well enough to know that when sarcasm made a guest appearance, negotiation was still alive and well. My hope was that it would be as simple as being completely honest and declaring my love and devotion.
I let out an agitated breath. “Geneviève already has a partner, someone she wants to spend her life with.”
It could have been my imagination, but the tiniest of smirks stained Isabel’s lips. As if this already fucked-up train had just left the station heading for Batshitville. “Well, then I’m curious,” she said, “how the hell he feels about the love of his life marrying the handsome prince from America.”
“It’s not a man,” I said. “Geneviève and Celine have been together for eight years now. Neither Geneviève nor I have had any illusions about this marriage. It’s a business transaction. An agreement that was made between our fathers many years ago. We each simply plan to go on with our own lives. Our only obligation is to ensure the line of succession. And modern technology affords us the luxury of doing so in vitro.”
Isabel glanced at Henry, her perception of him in jeopardy of being completely destroyed. When she looked at me again, those emerald eyes were ironclad, her emotions carefully locked up.
“Jesus Roman,” she said. “You don’t think you should have told me at the beginning before I fell in love with you? Before I didn’t want to imagine my life without you? When I still had a clear choice?”
As devastating as that realization was for her, it was nothing but good news for me. Of course I wanted her to be completely in love with me before making the decision.
“I wanted to find a solution, Isabel, and I found that solution. What I could offer you before that was nothing but being a girlfriend, someone I shared my bed with now and again. You deserved more. But now it’s different.”
Fire flashed in her eyes, her composure deserting her. “You’re still marrying another woman, who you plan on having children with. What exactly is this solution you’re bragging about? Tell me that.”
“As the next generation’s chairman and president of the board, I can change a few rules.”
Her resentment rose like bile. “Rules? Really. You’re talking about my life here. What does that even mean?”
“After the second child, Geneviève and I will divorce. You and I will be free to live our life as a normal couple. As will she and Celine.”
“That’s it? And I’m just supposed to fall in line with all that? You mean I should be grateful for whatever crumbs fall off the table in this sham marriage of yours?”
“It’s a business transaction. It’s merely a union to continue the bloodline of the merger.”
“Oh that doesn’t sound fucked up at all. Talk about billionaire hubris. It’s insane. It’s the 21st century. How do you not have a say about your own life?”
“It’s difficult to explain.”
“Why don’t you try?”
“I was born to take over the company and produce an heir who will take it up after me. Geneviève is the only child, and her father wanted to amalgamate the two fortunes for a stronger conglomerate down the line. He decided his daughter would be better off marrying someone who could run it because he’s old school, and doesn’t think a woman will be able to do that.”
The silence was deafening. Fear clawed deeper inside me and doubled down. “Nothing will change, Isabel. You continue to live here at Belmont Manor, we continue to live together.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so,” she whispered bitterly. “Being your secret girlfriend who has to hide out in the south wing until nighttime when she’s allowed to come out and play... What woman doesn’t dream of that. Will you cover the ongoing therapy I’m going to need?”
She was on the brink, riding a wave of emotions, fighting back tears. And then I was in front of her, on my knees, there to kiss the tears away before they fell. I cupped her face, and the sadness brimming in her eyes snatched my heart right out of my chest.
My voice was thick with anguish. “I’m so sorry, Isabel. I’m sorry for being a selfish bastard and waiting this long to tell you. And yes, it was my intention to wait as long as I could. I wanted to be sure you were mine. I wanted to be the only man you could ever love. And for our love to be strong enough to survive whatever life throws at us along the way. I should have told you, I should have trusted you to make that decision for yourself. But I was petrified. Losing you is not an option for me. It has never been.”
A glimmer of compassion flickered back to life in her eyes. Alongside some worry, paired with a healthy dose of what-the-fuck. “And what if I said no to this, Roman. What if I don’t want to be a sitting duck in this world of yours where money and power supersede life and love?”
Standing up again, I felt my guts contract into a painful knot. “What would you like me to do, Isabel? Do you want me to leave this all behind?”
And then I was hit with this terrible realization. What if Isabel said yes, what if she did want me to leave it all behind? What if the only way I could be with her was to cut all ties with the Belmont Trust. And I knew that wasn’t a decision I’d ever want to make.