15. Roman
Roman
I stare at the computer screen until the words blur together.
I’ve got an interview schedule to create.
Housing assignments for my temporary staff.
Payroll estimates—damn it, this is too much.
The cursor blinks at me accusingly. Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, I lean back in my chair.
Building Rome took more than a day. Also, I’m not a youngster anymore.
Every muscle in my body feels tight. My shoulders ache and my neck protests every time I move it.
A single night’s sleep won’t fix this—not that I’ve been sleeping worth a damn lately.
Sighing, I drag a hand down my face.
Taylor.
Somehow, in a matter of weeks, he has destroyed my peace of mind. Not that I had much in the first goddamn place. Now, it feels as if someone is torturing me. Every time I close my eyes, I see him standing in that bedroom. Naked. Startled. Beautiful.
Fuck.
I open my eyes, forcing myself to look back at the computer. The image doesn’t leave. It never does. Not even when I remind myself he’s half my age and that his mother trusted me to look after him. Not even when I remember what I could lose if she even senses the dirty thoughts in my head.
My stomach growls, a sign that I’ve been working for too long. I glance toward the clock on the wall. Eight-thirty.
Hell.
Dinnertime passed an hour ago.
No wonder I feel like death. Normally, Jude would have kicked my office door open twenty minutes ago and demanded I stop working. Then again, he’s probably too wrapped up in Taylor to notice I’m not there. Dinner with them always leaves me feeling like a third wheel.
But there’s a part of me that doesn’t mind sitting there partially invisible, listening to their chatter. It beats eating in silence. Before Taylor got here, Jude had long given up on making small talk with me.
I shut down the computer. The floorboards creak beneath my boots as I leave the office and head down to the kitchen, where an unexpected quiet greets me. Puzzled, I go in search of them.
A few seconds later, I wish I hadn’t.
Taylor sits curled on the old leather couch, tucked under a large blanket, a tumbler cradled between his hands.
Jude leans toward him, arm resting along the back.
He’s saying something too quietly for me to catch.
Taylor laughs. It’s not loud. Just one of those surprised, genuine laughs that slips out before he can stop it.
A laugh that triggers an explosion of warmth inside me.
Warmth that feels wrong.
The crackle of burning logs fills the silence as I stand at the entrance, unnoticed, debating whether I should break them apart. Knowing Jude, he won’t stop until Taylor lets him in, and I’ve seen him break enough hearts to predict exactly how it will end.
“Think about it,” Jude mutters.
Taylor turns his head away from him, staring at the fireplace. “It’s all I’ve thought about for years. I can’t do it.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“Both, I guess,” Taylor replies. “Mom would lose more than half her donors if I came out. After what my father did, I can’t imagine putting her through that.”
So Jude was right, after all. Taylor is gay. Damn. I don’t envy his position. There is a reason his parents got together, and it had nothing to do with love. Not really. Natasha and Lucas are two sides of the same coin, both willing to sacrifice everything to make it big.
“So, what’s the plan, then?” Jude asks.
Taylor doesn’t answer. He keeps staring at the fire, his shoulders stiff with tension.
“Are you going to marry a woman someday?” Jude presses. “Live a lie for the rest of your life?”
“If you have another plan that doesn’t involve getting me ostracized, I’d love to hear it.”
Jude’s voice comes out barely above a whisper. “Believe me, there are far worse things than being ostracized.”
“Such as?”
“Such as getting your soul broken.”
At least he admits something’s wrong. Progress. For years, Jude has buried every wound beneath sarcasm and poor decisions. Maybe this is the first step toward getting help. God knows I don’t want him ending up bitter like me.
“I’d rather have a broken soul,” Taylor mutters.
Jude snorts. “Take it from me, you don’t.”
He shifts closer. My stomach drops as he reaches over and brushes a strand of hair from Taylor’s face. The gesture is gentle. Tender. Far more intimate than anything I’ve ever seen from him.
“You’re too pure for that kind of darkness,” Jude whispers.
“My mother would disagree about me being pure.” Something changes in Taylor’s voice. It’s more vulnerable, the kind of thing a man only shows someone he trusts.
Jude inches closer. Taylor doesn’t move away. The air thickens. My pulse starts hammering.
No.
No, no, no.
I know exactly what’s about to happen. And for reasons I can’t fully explain, the thought makes me furious.
Their heads tilt. Jude’s eyes drop to Taylor’s mouth. Taylor leans forward. I clear my throat, and they launch apart. Taylor almost slides off the couch. Jude grins sheepishly at me, running a hand through his hair, which pisses me off even more.
“Taylor.” I move toward the couch.
He stands, his face resembling a ripe tomato. “Y-yeah?”
“Go to your room.”
His eyes widen. For a second, I think he might argue. Instead, he lowers his gaze. “Okay.”
Without another word, he disappears up the stairs. The second he’s gone, I turn toward Jude. The look I give him could freeze hell itself.
Jude raises both hands. “What?”
I don’t trust myself to answer, not without saying something I’d regret.
Turning on my heels, I head straight to the kitchen, where the warmer still holds my dinner.
I yank the door open harder than necessary.
The smell of beef stew fills the room, and it usually makes my mouth water.
Right now, it could be stewed cardboard for all I care.
Grabbing a bowl, I fill it, trying to understand why I’m so angry, why it feels as if I can’t breathe, why the image of Jude inching toward Taylor keeps replaying in my head.
Then it hits me.
The realization lands with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I’m jealous. Not protective or concerned. I’m fucking burning with envy.
Because Jude is free to do what I can’t. He can flirt with Taylor, touch him—hell, he could fuck him if Taylor wants it. Nobody would call it inappropriate or accuse him of betraying a trust. I don’t get that luxury.
I’m the one his mother trusted to look after him, the one who should know better. Somehow, that only worsens my envy. No matter how badly I want Taylor, I don’t have the right.
Jude does.
And that thought completely ruins my appetite.