Chapter 10 #2
I meet his gaze evenly. “Roman,” I say, voice gentle but firm, “he’s already explained: too much drink, a fresh breakup.
I know that combination can be explosive—heartache and whiskey make for dangerous decisions.
You know you’ve had a bad night when you wake up apologizing to three strangers before breakfast. I’ve been there more than once.
Who hasn’t? So, really, the best thing you can do is mind your own business. ”
His jaw tightens. "I just think you should stay away from him, that's all." He swallows hard, his dark eyes never leaving mine.
Heat radiates from that stare—something wild and possessive that makes my pulse quicken.
Or am I imagining what I want to see? Maybe he's worried I'll stick out like a sore thumb among the designer gowns and family crests.
The quirky tarot reader from Venice Beach mingling with LA and Hollywood royalty.
He'd have to introduce me, explain why he has someone like me on his payroll. God, that would be mortifying for him.
I lift my chin. "Last I checked, Roman, I'm an independent contractor for your resort.
Part-time. That's where our relationship begins and ends.
You don't get to dictate who I see socially.
" I smooth my skirt, steadying my voice.
"I'm attending your family's fundraiser with Blake, and that's final. "
And now his stare burns through me like wildfire, igniting every nerve ending from my flushed cheeks to my trembling fingertips.
My body betrays me completely—heat surges between my thighs, my breath catches, and I have to grip the edge of the table to steady myself, even as my mind screams in protest.
Just then, another man appears in the doorway.
He's older than Roman—mid-fifties—with deep lines around his eyes that somehow make him more attractive rather than less.
Something about him radiates warmth and hard-won wisdom.
I find myself leaning slightly forward, drawn to whatever story is written in those weathered features, even as I notice Roman's jaw tightening beside me.
"What do you want and what the hell are you doing here?" Roman snarls at the man, voice dripping venom. The older man's expression shatters, and my chest physically aches for him. The raw love radiating from him towards Roman is almost blinding. Why would Roman— wait.
Oh god. This is THE father. The one who abandoned them all.
The ghost who haunts Roman's nightmares.
Now I see it - they share that same aristocratic bearing, that same electric presence that makes the air crackle.
Old money isn't just worn; it's embedded in their DNA, commanding the space without a single word.
The man's voice cracks. "Roman, please. I'm here for Max—he's bringing surfing equipment for your guests. I thought maybe we could—"
Roman storms off without a word, leaving the man frozen in my doorway, his face crumpling like he'd just watched his entire world burn to ash.
My chest tightens painfully. Roman didn't just hurt him—he demolished him, left him bleeding emotionally on my threshold.
Before I can stop myself, I'm wrapping my arms around this stranger, this broken man who radiates such raw pain it physically hurts to witness.
He clings to me like I'm a life raft, and over his shoulder, I spot Roman.
He hasn't gone far—just down to the shoreline, hands jammed deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he's fighting a hurricane.
He keeps whipping his head around to look at us, his jaw clenched so tight I can almost hear his teeth grinding from here.
Suddenly another gorgeous man appears—unmistakably Roman's brother.
He's like their father reincarnated younger—those same piercing blue-green eyes, that same chiseled jawline, identical dark waves of hair.
But where the father's hair flows wild and untamed, the son's is slicked back with enough product to survive a typhoon. When this new man’s face splits into a smile, it's blinding—deep dimples carving into his cheeks, lighting up the entire beach.
"Max!" The father's voice breaks with desperate joy as they collide in an embrace.
"Dad!" Max clutches him fiercely. "Roman around?"
The father points shakily toward the beach where Roman stands, not fifty feet away, watching them.
The naked longing on Roman's face is devastating—like a starving man watching others feast. His eyes burn with such hunger for that same connection that I can barely breathe watching him.
His hands have curled into white-knuckled fists at his sides, trembling with the force of everything he's holding back.
Oh God. Roman is hemorrhaging before my eyes.
His aura pulses crimson and black, a psychic scream so loud my ears ring.
The cards in my pocket burn against my thigh—I don't need to read them to see the Tower, the Three of Swords piercing his chest. His jaw clenches so hard I swear I hear enamel crack as he watches his father's arms encircle Max—the golden child whose birth shattered everything.
The betrayal in Roman's eyes is primal, animal.