Chapter 3 #2
She looked from Garrett to Roman, expression mutinous. But she clearly saw that arguing wasn’t going to get her anywhere—or perhaps her ankle was hurting enough to bring some common sense to her, because she nodded once. “We can go once Roman has eaten his breakfast.”
He bit back a chuckle at that, then turned his back and began to cook.
He’d made eggs like a maestro. Like a Michelin-starred chef might cater breakfast for the queen, adding salt, pepper, fresh herbs, and cooking over melted butter that had turned caramel brown in the pan as he’d scrambled.
The smell had been incredible—then he’d gone and added lashings of parmesan cheese to the top, and served it with a perfectly toasted slab of sourdough, coated liberally in more butter.
Kate hadn’t been hungry, but she told herself it would be rude to refuse to even try the eggs, when he’d gone to so much effort.
Just one forkful, she’d thought, as she glared at him over the breakfast. He’d just smiled that infuriating smile, quirked one brow, as though waiting for her to admit she’d been wrong.
Childish and silly.
The definition of cutting off her nose to spite her face.
She took a bite of the eggs, determined not to react.
But the groan that escaped her was impossible to resist. It just bloomed from her chest in response to the flavour sensation.
Salty, thick and fluffy, and oh so comforting, she was loading up her fork with more eggs even before she’d finished swallowing the first mouthful.
“These are incredible,” she admitted, when she realised he was still watching her.
She’d eaten half the plate in record time.
She forced herself to put down the cutlery and take a sip of her coffee.
Which, now that she thought about it, she realised was also the very best quality. “You like to cook?”
“I like to eat,” he corrected.
“So do I, but I’ve never made eggs like this.”
“If you’re going to do something, why not do it properly?”
“Well, I mean, I cook eggs, but I don’t add—what even is this?”
“Sage, chervil,” he lifted a fork to his own mouth.
“Where did you learn this?”
Something darkened on his features and he took a mouthful rather than answering. Curiosity blossomed. “Did you grow up cooking?”
“Yes.” He sipped his coffee, the lines of his shoulders taut. “Let’s talk about what happens next.”
“The x-ray?”
He nodded once. “And afterwards.”
“I—do you mean how I get back to the hostel?”
“No.”
“Oh. Because I can organise that. I don’t want to put you out more than I already have done. You must have things to do. Work. Life.”
“I can work from anywhere.”
She tilted her head to the side, studying him thoughtfully. “What do you do?”
“I’m an investor.”
“What does that mean? I mean, I get the concept, but in a day to day sense?”
His lips quirked. “I read the market, look for opportunities, fund those which I believe have the potential to do well.”
“Like what?”
“Companies, inventions, apps, buildings, malls, airlines.”
Her stomach felt impossibly tight at his description and a tingle ran through her as she realised where she was. And with whom. “You’re Roman Hayes.” Of course she’d known. In the back of her mind, she’d understood, but she’d been too shell-shocked the night before to put two and two together.
“As I’ve said.”
She closed her eyes, wondering why this felt somehow worse. Like a betrayal or a lie of some kind. After all, this man was basically a finance-god and she was nobody. She’d just told him she couldn’t even afford an x-ray. She felt mortified and small. Humiliated and worthless.
She felt more alone than ever.
“Roman Hayes cooked me eggs,” she said, shaking her head, keeping her tone light. “But now, I really should get out of your way.”
“You’re not in my way.”
“Roman…Mr Hayes. Look. I’m obviously very thankful for last night. The fact you were there at that moment is something I’ll always be grateful for. But you don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to worry about me. My ankle will be fine. I’ll be fine.”
Silence throbbed around them and she realised she had two very undignified options. The first was to hobble from the room, and the other was to ask him to help her make an escape. Neither appealed, so she stayed where she was for now.
“You’re wrong.”
“I—about what?”
“That I don’t owe you anything.”
She frowned. “What does that mean? What do you think you owe me? By my calculations, I’m completely in your debt, not the other way around.”
“You need help.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t need anything.”
“You need help,” he repeated, voice firm. “You have no money, no legal right to be in the country. If you’re discovered, you’ll get deported at your cost.”
Her lips parted. “I know that.”
“I can lift a finger and fix it all for you.”
She shook her head. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I can.”
“But what would you do? What do you mean?”
He ticked items off his fingers. “Immigration lawyer for a visa extension, detective to help search for your father, and most importantly, somewhere to stay that’s not a goddamn hostel.”
At the last point, his voice flattened, anger resonating in the words. As though a hostel was the worst place imaginable.
“It’s not that bad,” she muttered, the sense of being small hardening inside her.
“You can’t even walk,” he reminded her. “It could be weeks before your ankle heals.”
“Weeks,” she repeated.
“Here, you can rest, recover, have meals cooked for you.”
She almost choked on her disbelief. “By you?”
“Me, my housekeeper.”
“But why would you do this for me?”
His eyes glittered with dark determination. “Because I can.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Because I want to,” he amended. “Because your safety matters to me, and if you’re under my roof, I’ll know you’re safe.”
He stared at her without betraying even a hint of what he was feeling. A cloying sense of panic was ratcheting up inside of him, because he’d lain down a gauntlet and couldn’t say if he was more scared of her taking it up—or walking away.
In some sense, if she left, it would be safer, because Roman didn’t do care. But protecting Kate felt monumentally important to him, as though he’d been given a chance to prove to himself that he was capable of this. Capable of righting the wrongs that had befallen Grace.
It wouldn’t bring back his sister, but at least he could atone, in some small way, for his failure.
For everyone else’s failures, too. If only there’d been someone to look out for Grace.
Someone who’d seen her in those last few, spiralling days and held out a hand to her, told her they’d get her back to the light.
“My safety isn’t your concern.”
His gut tightened. She was wrong. “It became my concern last night.”
“You saved me,” she pointed out.
“And I have a vested interest in you staying that way.”
Her lips parted. Full, pink lips that suddenly he ached to crush beneath his own. To silence this argument, to draw submission from her in a far more pleasurable way. It shocked him, how strongly that need rushed through him, because he hadn’t expected it.
“Erm, so do I.”
But his eyes were on her mouth and as he watched, her tongue darted out, tracing the lower line. His gaze flitted to hers and the spark was too immediate to be ignored. He repressed any reaction, but Kate gasped softly—an admission that she felt what he did.
“I can’t stay with you,” she said, the words barely a whisper.
“You’ll have your own room.”
“Roman,” she said, shaking her head.
“Two weeks,” he said, over the top of her. “Stay two weeks, while you recuperate.”
“Why would you do this for me?”
“Because I won’t forgive myself if I don’t. Help me, Kate. Say you’ll stay.”
Another gasp, this time in response to the dark plea. It had been drawn from the depths of his soul, but in reality, it was aimed at Grace, not Kate. If only he’d been able to save her.
“Okay,” she said, but her face was weighed down by a frown. “If it means that much to you.”
She said it light-heartedly, the words infused with self-deprecating sarcasm, but the problem was, she was right. For some reason, it meant everything to him to know she was safe, and the best way to do that was keeping her firmly in his sights.