35. Lavinia
THIRTY-FIVE
LAVINIA
The following Tuesday after movie night, I’m filming a brand deal when a text from Roman pops up on my phone screen. We’re both very busy so seeing each other every day is proving to be difficult.
I’m filming more content than I have in the last two years, I’m posting every day, Jules and I have recorded two episodes of Unscripted that don’t release until the new year, and I’ve gone back to training three-four times a week.
My body is sore and exhausted, but my heart is happy.
Roman has been so sweet. He listens to me talk about training again, about some ridiculous supernatural conspiracy theory video I found while doomscrolling.
Two days ago, I offhandedly told him that I hadn’t eaten lunch because I’d been so busy, and he had lunch delivered for me. A delicious beet salad with extra protein, exactly the thing I’d have ordered for myself.
Just because we haven’t seen each other doesn't mean we haven’t spent the time getting to know each other.
I’ve learned that Roman’s favorite color is green.
He's been to Italy three times, and he often considers moving there, he learned how to ride a motorcycle when he was sixteen, got his first tattoo on his eighteenth birthday in New York. He loves to cook.
Every day, he sends me a picture of the cats being absolute derps. Salem with his tongue hanging out, Buffy with her legs akimbo, and Sabrina is always a blur, like she’s always in a rush to get somewhere.
I can’t remember ever having a partner who knows me this well. Which leads me to realize—as pathetic as it sounds—that I’ve never had a true partner.
I’ve only had men I’ve been in relationships with. Roman doesn’t know how much it means to me, getting these little glimpses of his life and showing him glimpses of mine.
I pause the video I’m recording and take my phone out of the holder it’s in.
Roman
Did you know there’s a Christmas party the team throws every year?
Lavinia
Of course, I figured you knew.
Roman: It’s tomorrow night.
Lavinia
I know. You didn’t mention it, so I figured you didn’t want to go even though I think it’s a great way to connect with the team. I was trying not to be pushy.
Roman
You have to be a little pushy, Vin. Socializing isn’t my first instinct.
Lavinia
Is this your way of asking me on a date?
I leave my room in time to see Jules opening the front door and accepting a giant bouquet.
It looks incredibly heavy and Jules sways under its weight.
I take it from her, carefully setting it on the kitchen island.
The crystal vase is full of beautiful pink flowers of varying gradients and in various stages of bloom, their scent filling the apartment.
“I’m assuming this is the work of your husband?”
I remove the card and turn it over.
Congratulations on reaching four million followers. I’m so proud of you. -R
P.S. Will you go to the Titans Christmas party with me?
I laugh at the card and take a quick picture of it in my hand with the bouquet in the background.
“Isn’t the Christmas party tomorrow?” Jules asks. “Do you have a dress to wear?”
“I didn’t even think of that!”
All my gowns are exclusively black because it’s a safe choice and you can never go wrong with black. I don’t want to play it safe for the Titans Christmas party.
“We’ll have to go shopping. Do you have time?” She has another deadline coming up soon and she’s easily distracted so she’s already running behind.
“I’m always up for shopping. The serotonin is unmatched,” Jules says. “I’m going to change.”
I text Roman the photo as I walk to my room to change as well.
Lavinia
Thank you for the flowers. They remind me of ones my dad gets my mom for their anniversary every year.
Roman
My dad’s never gotten my mother flowers in all the years they’ve been married. If you ask him why, he’ll probably go off on a tangent about flowers dying and being useless.
My personal favorites that I’ve heard over the years are “she knows what she does for me, I don’t need to buy her flowers” followed closely by “I pay for everything, she doesn’t need flowers along with it”.
Shit sorry, didn’t mean to trauma dump on text.
Our parents are polar opposites. Dad raised us to believe that Mom is superwoman.
He was raised by a single mother, and Grandma Liz has always been adamant that if a man can’t understand that a woman should get, at the very least, equal respect in a relationship for doing twice the heavy lifting than that man doesn’t deserve her.
For a long time, I thought I found it with Josh, only to find out he never respected me. I’m not sure if he even liked me.
Lavinia
You don’t have to apologize. You can tell me anything, anytime and I’ll always listen. I want to know you.
Roman
Baby, if a stranger on the street wants to tell you their sad tale, you’ll stop and listen to them, too.
Lavinia
You’re not a stranger on the street. We’re married, for better or worse. You’re my husband.
Roman
Are you asserting your wifely rights on me?
Lavinia
Yes, I am. Prepare to be sick of me.
Roman
That’s never going to happen.
I change out of my leggings into another pair of leggings—much cleaner and nicer—and pull on an old Mercer University sweatshirt. After touching up my make-up, I leave the room and find Jules accepting another delivery.
“More deliveries from Roman?” Jules asks. One of them is a cake box, so I assume it’s from him. I remove the card on top and open the envelope.
Something to celebrate reaching four million followers. I know it’s your favorite. -J
I cringe with revulsion and drop the card on the island as if it’s covered in rabies.
“Is he serious?!” Jules reads the card over my shoulder. “Why the hell is he sending you cake?”
“I don’t know. Maybe to sow seeds of contention between my husband and me? Josh doesn’t know I married Roman, remember?”
I still haven’t posted Roman on my socials, and he hasn’t posted me either.
To be fair, Roman doesn’t post on his socials, at all.
The last thing he posted was from the past playoffs.
I haven’t posted him because that’s my professional life and I want to keep it separate as much as I can, other than the “official” announcement I made with my wedding rings.
Jules is eyeing the cake distrustfully. “Do you think it’s poisoned?”
It probably isn’t, but I’m not going to eat it. Now that I’ve had time and distance, I’m starting to understand Josh. He didn’t send me my favorite cake. He sent me a cake to make me feel small by essentially calling me big.
“What’s in the other envelope?”
Jules shrugs. “Looks official.” She holds it up for me. “Addressed to Lavinia Callahan Maddox.”
I take it from her and tear it open, hoping it’s not another unpleasant gift from Josh. Did he find out somehow that Roman and I are married? But no, it’s a shiny black credit card with my name on it. My married name.
“Oh, cute!” Jules coos. “It matches the one your Dad gave you on your eighteenth birthday.”
Lavinia
You got me a credit card?!
Roman
Of course. I’m going to take care of my wife’s financial needs.
Lavinia
How very trad husband of you.
Roman
That reminds me, I’ve been experimenting with my sauce. Do you want to come over tonight and taste it?
Lavinia
Is that an innuendo?
Roman
I’m always open to you trying my sauce
I snort at my phone and tell him I’ll see him tonight.
“What do we want to do with that?” Jules points at the cake.
As I stare at the pink icing, an idea flickers to life in my mind. It’s not something I’d ever do as a good girl who's trying to keep the mess in a corner and from overflowing into her life. If Josh wants to play, though, I’m game.
I grin at Jules. “I have an idea.”
When I get to Roman’s building, I stop by Ford’s apartment first. He lives two floors below Roman, in the same apartment, even though his family owns the whole building. This is Boston. Everyone knows the Everett family and the son who didn’t follow in the family’s footsteps.
Ford opens the door a second after I knock, like he’s been waiting for me. Honestly, if there was one Titan I’d have broken the ‘no dating my brother’s teammates’ rule for—other than Roman—it would have been Ford.
Roman and Ford look so alike they can be brothers. They have the same dark hair and wry twists to their mouths.
“Peppermint schnapps.” I hold up the bottle, offering it to him.
“You’re my favorite person,” he says, gratefully accepting the bottle. “Want to come in?”
“No, thanks. I’ve been scarred enough for a lifetime.”
“It’s just me in here,” Ford says with a laugh.
“Roman’s waiting for me.”
Ford leans against the doorframe, watching me with inquisitive pale grey eyes. “Is he treating you well?”
“He treats me like a princess.”
Ford’s not impressed by that. “A lot of men treat you like a princess at first before showing you their true colors.”
“I like to think I’ve learned from my past mistakes.”
I wave goodbye and make my way to the stairs, climbing the two floors up to Roman’s floor. His door is open, as always. I step into the apartment and breathe in the scent of tomatoes, butter, and spices.
“I have asked you thrice now not to do that.” Roman’s in the living room, and I watch with amusement as Sabrina kicks a pillow off the chair she’s sitting on, while holding eye contact with Roman.
“Seriously? Can I get a little respect in my own home?” Sabrina yawns, stretching out on the chair and resting her head on her front paws.
I giggle as he heaves a massive sigh and picks up the pillow, putting it on a different chair.
Seeing me, he comes around the couch. He lifts me up, putting me on the island as he comes to stand in front of me.
Putting my arms around his shoulders, I pull him closer to kiss him, moaning as our mouths meet.