63. Roman
It had been 91 days, and 7 hours since I last touched, smelled or saw Isabel. But it felt like a decade filled with unimaginable longing. Time hadn’t healed any wounds, or even tempered a smidgen of grief. I had simply become a man existing from one day to the next.
Going to my upstairs apartment at night had not become any less wrenching. There were no romantic ballads to greet me, no delectable aromas wafting from the kitchen, no Isabel twirling toward me with a smile that welcomed me into her arms and our home.
And no one to sip away at the one-year supply of Laurent-Perrier Grand Siècle.
Fragments of memories had become ingrained in the walls, and if I stood long enough in the kitchen beside the French window, I could still hear her husky little laugh, even if that had started to fade too. And without fail I’d stand next to the king-size bed and envision Isabel curled into a sated bundle of loveliness, flushed and dewy from making love. Her little sighs music to my ears.
All this space and opulence had become the remains of a life devoid of a soul or beating pulse. I didn’t know the precise moment when I realized that this was not a life I could live without Isabel by my side. It might have been during one of those sleepless nights when her favorite sound, the hypnotic roar of the North Atlantic, scraped at my insides like a sharp blade on an open wound.
Or maybe it was the time my hand accidentally reached between the billowy couch cushions only to find one of Isabel’s delicate camisoles. Discarded in a moment of passion, it had unwittingly becoming the catalyst for the searing pain in my chest that had me gasping for breath.
No, life without Isabel was not possible.
Emily’s words had become a mantra in my moments of reflection. Perhaps there is a way to mend all of this, but if there is, that would be entirely up to you.
And finally it became clear to me what she meant by that. Time stood still for a mesmerizing moment, and I knew what I had to do. Suddenly my breathing became easier and the undiluted panic squeezing my chest, vanished. All that was left was to systematically put my plan into action, and make sure I didn’t leave chaos in my wake.
I started to pay close attention when Byron handled difficult meetings that were made worse by obstinate executives. Where I usually lacked tolerance for their bullshit, Byron seemed to take it all in stride. And his charm knew no bounds.
I gradually handed him more responsibility, curious to see if the burden would wear him down. But it seemed my little brother thrived under stress. It was almost impossible to imagine this was the same man from three months before.
He embraced his new life in the business with such ease and proficiency, it was astounding. Not one scintilla of the old Byron ever made a guest appearance, even when he and Meg were at each other’s throats. Not that any of their heated arguments fooled me. Whenever I found Byron and Meg together, I could almost hear the air sizzling with sexual tension.
By now it had become part of our routine for the two of us to visit Emily and my father in the north wing every evening. We might even appear to be a normal family to anyone peeking through the keyhole.
My father’s recovery included physical therapy, and relearning basic skills like walking, talking and eating. He couldn’t speak yet, which inflamed my frustration because I had a heart to unburden and questions that needed answers. Knowing him I knew not being able to talk frustrated him too. He was however alert enough to listen as Byron and I told him about the business. And it was curious to me why my father had never considered the possibility of growing the empire with both sons at his side.
One late afternoon, I strolled into Byron’s office with two whiskeys and handed him one. I made myself at home on the couch by his desk. “We need to talk.”
“No sentence starting out like that leads to anything good,” Byron remarked.
I got straight to the point. “I’m going to resign.”
Byron slammed back his whiskey and eyed me with a panic-stricken glare. “I sure as fuck hope you’re talking about your secret side job flipping burgers at a fast-food joint, and not the one where you were just appointed as head of this goddamn trust.”
“I can’t do what he wants me to do, Byron. You have to understand.”
A desperate smile struggled its way onto Byron’s lips. “Listen, I get it. You might not think so but I do. But at least give him some time to get better and talk to him. What if being on death’s door has given him a new perspective?”
“What if it hasn’t?”
“And see here I thought we were going to do this together. Jesus, you can’t leave me to deal with this by myself. Surely as chairman and president of the board you can make your own rules. And rule number one is that you don’t have to marry in order to supersize Belmont Trust.”
I chuckled. “Did you just say supersize Belmont Trust?”
“Little nugget I picked up from Meg.”
“At what point are the two of you going to admit you like each other?” I asked, genuinely curious.
Byron just stared at me. “Can we get back on topic, please… Again, why can’t you wait until he’s better?”
“How will that help? Then I’ll just be begging to be released from an obligation that no father should expect from his son in the first place. I want to take charge of my life, and I’m not waiting for him to grant me permission to do it.”
“Okay, I can’t argue with that but… Oh hi Meg.”
Meg sauntered in, scowling at an iPad she clutched in her hands. “You don’t have to greet me every time you see me, Byron. It’s okay to do it once a day. Twice is acceptable but it really starts getting annoying by the tenth time… Here, I’ve got that stupid contract sorted out for you.” She side-eyed me. “Oh look what the cat dragged in. You look…I don’t know…better. Not like the dog stole your dinner and then threw it up on your feet.”
I grinned. “Thanks. I guess.”
“Roman wants to resign,” Byron whined. “Talk some sense into him, please.”
Meg dropped the iPad on the desk, folded her arms and smiled at me. “Hell to the fucking yes. You finally grew a spine.”
Byron grimaced. “Can you not encourage him. You know if he resigns, I’m up next.”
“Obviously,” Meg said. “Look up spare in the dictionary, and there’s your pic right next to that word.” She glanced back at me. “Now all you have to do is go forth and pluck your girl from her current life of obscurity. She won’t ever admit it but I think she misses you. Like a lot. A fuck of a lot. And don’t worry I won’t breathe a word to her about you resigning. She’s got to hear it from the horse’s mouth which would be you.”
“How is she doing?” I asked carefully, by now very used to Meg brushing me off.
Meg sighed. “Roman, we’ve discussed this many times before. She lives in a medieval convent, how do you think she’s doing? Even though the boss nun is really nice and they’re not super uptight over there, it still has to suck getting up at four in the morning to milk the two stupid goats and then bake bread for all the starving souls in town and then cook all the meals for all the nuns. Not that she has to do any of that but apparently working like a maniac helps her not go insane.”
“Well, she won’t have to do that for much longer,” I said.
“As long as you don’t think she’s going to be waiting with open arms when you march into town with your fancy car and an armed entourage.”
“There will be no fancy car or armed entourage. And no, I don’t expect her to be waiting with open arms. I realize a lot of groveling will be involved. And yes, thanks for not telling her about my resignation. That’s something I should do myself.”
I walked back to my office, texting Steven on the way. “You have five minutes?”
Shortly after, Steven sauntered into my office. We exchanged unwavering stares before a bemused smile sneaked across Steven’s lips. “Let me guess, you’re resigning. And then you’re going to try to persuade Isabel to take you back.”
I was once again staggered by how perceptive Steven was. “And you figured this out how?”
“You’ve been grooming Byron relentlessly. And you suddenly have the look of a man with a plan, which is a welcome change from the miserable bastard who’s been stalking the halls of the manor while everyone else sleeps.”
“And you’re not going to try to talk me out of it?”
“The time to talk you out of anything was after that night you met at the bookshop. And we all know how those little chats we had panned out.”
“So you’re fine with this.”
“I can’t say I’m jumping for joy, but I’m also very aware of the unfairness to you in this situation. Have you spoken to your father and Emily?”
“That’s next. Also, I need to find Isabel’s father, to see if that’s worth pursuing.”
A smug grin bloomed on Steven’s face. He hauled out his phone, scrolled and handed the phone to me. “I thought the subject might come up.”
As I read the info, my first instinct was to dismiss it as a joke. But the thing was, Steven never joked. “He’s a fucking archbishop?”
“Yes, if you can believe that. Obviously he was only a priest back then. And to make a hundred percent sure I did a DNA test.”
“Do I even want to know how you got hold of an archbishop’s DNA.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You weren’t ready yet. You’re ready now. So, I’ll make an appointment with the archbishop and you can assess for yourself whether it’s worth telling him about Isabel.
* * *
It tookme two hours to pen my resignation to the board. And another two hours to gather my thoughts on what to say to my father, the man who’d been the dominating center of my world for as long as I could remember.
For the first time in three months I went to bed with my soul at rest. In my dreams Isabel’s sultry voice became less haunting, and it now soothed whatever apprehensions still lingered inside me. Not that I presumed Isabel would now just fall into my arms, but as she once said after telling me about Pandora’s box – there was always Hope.
At noon I walked to Emily and my father’s apartment in the north wing. I expected to feel nervous, but I wasn’t. I’d never been more sure of anything in my life. Emily greeted me at the door with a motherly pat on the cheek. “Steven told me about your decision,” she said, and a little smile lifted the corners of her mouth and made its way into to her eyes. “I’m proud of you, Roman. Your father is waiting for you in the living room.”
My father sat in his motorized wheelchair, more alert and getting stronger every day. Even though he wasn’t able to communicate yet, he understood when we talked to him because he was very quick to show annoyance when a business deal didn’t work out.
Edith Piaf was singing one of her sad French songs, reminiscent of the time Isabel was reading to my father. So, no more Bach for him. I smiled at how the nymph had changed all of our worlds.
I took a seat on a chair facing him. He shifted, his gaze pinned to me, curiosity etched in his eyes. This was not going to be an easy conversation but I wanted to be clear and direct. My father of all people would appreciate that approach.
“I’ve never told you this,” I said, “but I love you. There have been plenty of times when I wondered if you loved me too. I know you’re looking at me to continue your legacy, and I felt privileged to be able to do that. Until now, my life was yours, my goals were yours, my accomplishments were yours and there was absolutely nothing that would have given me more pleasure than making you proud. But here’s the thing…
You never once asked me what it was I wanted, or what I wanted to do with my life. I never had any doubt that the Belmont Trust was where I belonged, and I was content helping you grow this empire into something more. But you signed my life away the day you made that deal with Jean Verlaine to marry his daughter. And for what? More of what we already have in excess. I can’t say it bothered me too much, until one day when I went into a bookshop and met Isabel. And from that moment on everything changed. She’s become my world. Where she ends, I begin. She has so much love to give, and I took it for granted. I’m not proud of it and it took me a while to realize that nothing is worth sacrificing Isabel, not even the Belmont Trust.
I’ll be giving my resignation to the board. I know the repercussions, and I accept them. Byron is a smart man, and he’ll be fine taking over. It’s very important to me that you get healthy, and perhaps one day we can sit down as father and son and have a good relationship. I’m going to find Isabel, and do whatever it takes to bring her home.”
I couldn’t gauge my father’s reaction, but tears glistened in his eyes. Whether is was out of disappointment for my decision, I wouldn’t know. I took his hand and we sat like that for a while, then I stood up and kissed him on the cheek, something I’d never done before. “I love you. And I’ll be sure to give Isabel your love.”
My steps were light when I strolled back to the south wing. There was one more thing to do before I left to meet with the archbishop -- handing Byron my resignation letter. “If you could give this to Richard Ford at the board meeting this weekend, I’ll owe you a favor,” I said.
“Bro, you owe me a world of favors,” he said, grinning. “But since you gave me a second chance, I’ll let them all slide. And yeah, sure I’ll give your resignation to the board. You can totally count on me to do exactly that.”