21. Roman
TWENTY-ONE
ROMAN
How is being married supposed to feel? I’m someone who never wanted this because I’ve seen firsthand what marriage does to a person and it’s not something I want. I also never, in my wildest fantasies, imagined I’ll be married to Lavinia.
I knew drinks roulette was a bad idea when she suggested it last night. Now, though? I think it’s the best idea she had last night. I look down at the band on my finger and thumb it gently. What did she look like when she put it on my hand? Shockingly, that’s the only part I regret about this.
The memories of last night are hazy like an old photograph.
It’s also the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. Imagine marrying a member of your favorite boy band. Marrying Beyonce or Mariah Carey or Taylor Swift. For the rest of my life, I can proudly say Lavinia Callahan was my wife.
My wife.
And she’s staring at me now as if she thinks I’ve left my mind somewhere. Her mouth is slightly parted, and she blinks several times and then looks at Jules, who is equally as confused.
I still want to do this without Jules here because I realize what I’m asking for is insane and I’m not really comfortable having a third person here. I know Lavinia, I trust her.
“Are you still drunk?” Lavinia asks. She leans closer, sniffing me lightly as if expecting to smell alcohol.
“Let me explain.”
I have to do this quickly. I have thirty minutes before I have to meet the team and leave for the airport and I’m trying not to piss off coach by being late.
“Why you’re still drunk?” Lavinia asks. “It’s extremely inappropriate. You could get in serious trouble and lose your job.”
It’s honestly cute how much she cares about my job. Admittedly, this is a crazy idea, and I can understand why she thinks I might still be drunk.
“I’m not drunk.”
“Then this is a prank. You’re pranking me after the traumatic events of last night?”
She looks so offended that I almost laugh.
“I wouldn’t say the events were traumatic,” I say.
We got married. It hardly translates to trauma from my perspective. Then again, I’m not the one who got left at the altar. Although, isn’t getting married better than being left at the altar? She’s a bride who finally got her wish fulfilled.
I’m aware I sound like an absolute idiot. Lavinia’s a person, and not a ghost haunting the chapels of Las Vegas looking for the most unsuspecting man to marry.
“Roman,” Lavinia releases a loud breath. “If it’s going to take me five to ten business days to recover, it’s a traumatic event.”
“How long did it take you to recover from your almost wedding?”
“Considering I got drunk and married you, I’m guessing I’m still in the recovery phase.”
How the fuck can anyone say she’s boring and predictable when the most fun I have is when I’m talking to her?
“I’m not explaining myself clearly,” I say. “I have a very good reason for suggesting we stay married.”
Lavinia exchanges a skeptical look with Jules. It’s similar to the look I gave myself this morning when thinking this was a good idea.
“You woke up this morning and chose chaos, huh?” Lavinia asks.
“I choose chaos every morning. It’s where I thrive. Just hear me out?”
Lavinia pushes back her hair. “This is absolutely insane, Roman. You don’t even believe in marriage and now you’re telling me you want us to stay married?”
There’s a lot I want to say, but I can’t with Jules standing two feet away. No one wants to leave Lavinia alone with me, and I can’t imagine why.
To be fair, Jules is a lot less threatening than Drew, and she’s just standing there, drinking her coffee and listening to our conversation, watching me suspiciously.
“Can we please talk alone?” I ask.
Lavinia sighs, and nods, handing the paper bag to Jules, who looks down at it in surprise.
“Wait, Vin, you can’t be serious,” Jules says. “This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard, and I read romance novels about women having sex with literal monsters and doors!”
Lavinia giggles and pats Jules on the shoulder. “Let me hear him out, okay? We won’t go far.”
With a roll of her eyes, Jules shakes her head. Lavinia motions for me to follow her and I take one step away but then turn back.
“Wait, doors, really?”
Jules smiles sweetly. “Oh, you sweet summer child. You don’t know the absolutely titillating smut that’s out there.”
Oh…kay. I guess I need to expand my reading when I don’t have more pressing matters to attend to.
“Do you also read about doors?” I ask Lavinia. She’s laughing at my confusion and horror.
“Nah, inanimate objects aren’t really my things.”
“But monsters are?”
She tilts her head back and forth. “Are they really monsters if their green flags are greener than some human people?”
Right, okay. My wife reads about monsters railing human women. My thoughts snag on that word again. Wife. I have to do everything in my power not to grin like an idiot. That’ll never convince Lavinia to stay married.
We're under better lighting now and I can see a flush across her cheeks. Her hair is a half wet, half dry mess of curls, and she’s chewing on the inside of her lip.
“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that we’re married,” she mumbles.
“You might as well get used to it, Mrs. Maddox,” I tease.
Her eyes narrow at me. “If I didn’t know better, I think you’re having a little too much fun with all this. Did you drag me to the altar?”
“What makes you think you didn’t get me drunk and drag me to the altar?”
“Never been an Elvis fan.” Lavinia’s lips wrap around the straw, and she takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Maybe Vegas wasn’t ready for us.”
“I’m sure Vegas has seen worse,” I say with a laugh. There’s the cutest dip between her brows and I think she’s trying to glare at me, but her eyes are only half open. Reaching into my back pocket, I remove my sunglasses and hand them over to her.
She takes them, reluctantly putting them on. “At least you’re considerate, for a mistake husband. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I did something so unoriginal as getting married in Vegas. While I’m not exactly setting trends out there, I did think myself better than this.”
With a heavy sigh, she sits down at one of the slot machines. I sit down beside her, scooting in closer. Even under the scent of cigarettes and whatever cloying cleaner the hotel uses, I can smell Lavinia. Her fresh scent is like a balm over the chaos in my mind.
“You always wanted to get married,” I remind her.
“Yeah, at a classy wedding venue, surrounded by my friends and family, not?—”
“—after drinks roulette on Fremont Street while belting out Mariah Carey at the top of your lungs?” I smirk, the memory of her standing on top of a bar so clear in my mind. I got her down in zero point five seconds, of course. I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else looking at her.
Lavinia flinches, clutching her head. “Everything I find out about last night keeps making it worse.”
“Singing Mariah Carey is not that bad,” I say, trying to make her feel better.
I can’t see her eyes, but I’m sure she’s looking at me like I’m crazy. “What about the part where I can’t sing?”
“Who cares? Everyone else was drunk as well.”
Lavinia swings her chair around, reaching out one hand to Jules, who’s sitting a couple of machines down from us.
I’m not sure if she can hear our conversation, not that we are talking about anything important.
Jules reaches out for Lavinia, their fingers brushing, longing filling both their expressions.
“I’m married to a boy, Jules.”
“Contrary to popular opinion, you’re not a lesbian or bi, so a boy was your only option,” Jules says. “The worst of it is you’re married to this boy.”
“Thanks, Jules, you’re my favorite person, too,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
Jules lowers her sunglasses, looking at me over the edge of them. “It’s not me you have to worry about, OfLavinia. It’s the family. Your team captain, whose sister you married in a drunk escapade.”
“OfLavinia?”
“Your existence does not matter to me if you’re not in Lavinia’s life.”
I can’t hold that against her. The question is, does my existence in her life matter to Lavinia?
Because I’m about to propose something crazy and I’m not even sure I’m convinced it’s a good idea.
It seems good in theory, though convincing Lavinia is not going well.
Then again, she did ride my thigh until she came all over me, so maybe a little seduction is what’s needed here.
“Well, Lavinia did call me her best reckless mistake. That guarantees me a permanent spot in her life, doesn’t it?”
Lavinia turns to me, lowering my glasses to the bridge of her nose.
I don’t know whether it’s the lights or something else, but her eyes look almost silver.
“You’re enjoying this way too much for a man who claims marriage is for people who don’t realize their bad decisions can have legal consequences. ”
I did say that, and I still believe it. My parents are only together because they got married before my father made it big and didn’t have the forethought to get my mother to sign a prenup. Even if my mother wakes up one day and decides to leave him, he’s never going to let it happen.
Flexing my hand, I let a pinky finger brush against the edge of Lavinia’s dress where it rests against her thigh. Her skin is soft under my touch and Lavinia shifts slightly but doesn’t pull away.
Her eyes lower to my hand, lashes fanning out across her cheeks. Her lips part on a slow breath, and I want to know what she’s thinking. If she’s feeling this strange connection we have, the one that we’ve always had.
I always felt like I left a part of me in Boston, and it’s never been something I want to examine. But late at night, when the world quiets, and I no longer feel like I can disappear into a crowd and no one will ever notice, I wonder if it’s Lavinia I left behind.
It's never a thought I allow myself to entertain for too long because existing in the same timeline as Lavinia Callahan is hard enough without wondering if she belongs with me.
There’s no way I can be allowed to keep something so beautiful.
“Maybe I thought that way because I didn’t imagine myself marrying you,” I say in a low voice. “Maybe it’s fate.”
Lavinia’s eyes lift to mine, pinning me in place. Every time she looks at me, I feel this tightness in my chest. It’s like when she looks at me, she sees me. It’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to.
“Maybe the fates were drunk, too,” she whispers.
“Do you remember what you said to me last night?” I ask.
“That I’m boring and predictable,” she replies. “Well, not anymore. Now, I’m the girl who gets drunk and married in Vegas.”
“That’s exactly my point.”
Lavinia tilts her head in question. “How so?”
“You told literally everyone we met last night that you want to win the break-up.”
“That was the drunk me. You can’t trust what a drunk person says.”
I lick my lips, leaning forward. I don’t have a lot of time to convince her. The team is about to leave and I’m the most likely person to be left behind.
“How about you help me, then?” It’s a cheap shot. Lavinia’s the nicest person I know, and she’s always willing to help the people she cares about.
I’m not sure I can claim to be someone she cares about, though. There’s every chance our marriage is going to be the legal consequence I think all marriages are. Or maybe Lavinia will surprise me.