Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
ROMAN
Home at last. The flight to Palo Alto with Serafina was worth it, even if her father's headquarters was a complete disaster zone when we arrived. I didn't do it for her—I did it for her and Caspian's old man.
When my father vanished, Fritz Blackwood stepped in.
Not in the day-to-day way, buried as he was in building his tech security empire, but in the ways that mattered.
He'd call from Lake Como: "Roman, get your ass on a plane.
" Next thing I knew, I'd be carving through waves behind their boat.
Christmas in Crete. Spring break on Swiss slopes.
Hell, he even showed up to watch me play hockey sometimes.
For him, I’d walk through hell. For Sera, I wouldn’t fucking get out of bed if she called me from a burning building.
The loyalty to Fritz is why I flew through what felt like the apocalypse yesterday.
For sixty minutes, I fought to keep that Gulfstream level while lightning cracked close enough to smell.
The rain hammered us like we were in God's shooting gallery.
I violated direct ATC orders not to take off—the FAA paperwork alone might cost me my license.
But what kept flashing through my mind during each violent drop wasn't the turbulence—it was the cosmic joke of finally finding love, only to nosedive into oblivion before I could actually enjoy it.
Flying back was a cinch, as the storm had passed, leaving behind only a few scattered clouds painted pink and gold by the setting sun.
I spent one entire day at the Blackwood, Inc.
, HQ helping out with their storm protocols.
In the meantime, the storm had completely passed and I flew back in a clear blue sky.
Unfortunately, since I wasn't white-knuckling the polished titanium controls of the Gulfstream G650 during our turbulence-free hour back to LAX from San Francisco International, it gave Serafina permission to do everything she could to try to seduce me.
Her manicured fingers kept "accidentally" brushing my thigh, her Chanel No.
5 perfume deliberately wafting my way each time she leaned too close to whisper something inconsequential into my ear.
When she first showed up, I ignored it. Now I notice things—how her smile tightens when I lean close to Lilith during readings, the way she shifts when Lilith laughs at my jokes.
She's always counted on me being available.
My past relationships were placeholders, and she knew it.
But Lilith is different. I catch her watching us like a hawk eyeing prey, and I know she wants to destroy this before it becomes something real. I need to be careful.
I shut down Sera's flirting with a curt "no thanks," and mercifully, the flight from San Francisco landed in LA before she could try again. Now I need to swing by the resort—though my storm response team has probably already handled everything—before racing to Mystic Tides. Lilith texted me that she and Jack took an Uber back to her shop because she couldn’t stay away another second.
I can picture Lilith now, standing amid the wreckage of her shop, eyes red-rimmed.
I'll tell her not to worry. One call and I'll have carpenters building better shelves, flooring specialists laying hardwood that'll outlast the next storm, and someone replacing that window.
She can handle inventory—that's her thing—but she'll need backup with insurance.
Those companies design their claims process to wear people down.
Not happening. Not to her. Not on my watch.
I swing by the resort. George meets me in the lobby, silver hair slicked back, suit pressed despite the chaos around us. He briefs me with the same unflappable confidence that made me hire him, assuring me everything's under control.
Workers in blue coveralls hammer away at the east wing's torn roof, the steady rhythm competing with the crash of waves.
At the Verde water park, men in safety vests swarm over the Typhoon Twister slide, torches cutting through twisted metal.
Sparks rain down into the empty pool below.
El Nino had peeled back the fiberglass like a banana skin, leaving it curled and broken.
Across the grounds, more crews replace shattered glass in the oceanfront bungalows, Spanish tiles torn away by 80 MPH winds. I step carefully around palm fronds scattered across the same paths where I'd walked with Lilith under moonlight.
I know I can leave my billion-dollar baby in George's capable hands and go to where I'm really needed – Mystic Tides, where Lilith is waiting.
I drive there fast, taking the corner hard enough to make the tires complain.
Through the broken shop window, I see Lilith unpacking boxes of books and crystals, her green-streaked hair falling across her face as she works.
Her hands aren't steady. Jack stands nearby in his usual dramatic outfit, watching her with concern.
"We'll have to stack these on that shelf over there," she says, her voice soft but strained.
Jack plants a hand on his hip. "But Lil, darling, that shelf is practically disintegrating. One good sneeze and those books will avalanche to the floor."
"No choice." She blows a curl from her flushed face. "Until my insurance check materializes from the bureaucratic ether, I can't afford new shelving."
I feel the corner of my mouth curl upward.
This is where I thrive—in moments of chaos that need order.
I'm like all men in that I love to feel useful, to fix what's broken.
And something about Lilith's gentle resilience awakens a fierce protectiveness in me I've rarely felt before.
It's not that she's helpless—I've seen her stand her ground—but right now she's drowning in problems I can easily solve with a series of phone calls.
“You called?” I ask her, even though she didn’t actually call me.
She yanks the door open. "Rome!" She crashes into me, and I catch her at the waist. The scent of jasmine.
My fingers in her hair, her feet lifting off the ground as I kiss her—quick but certain.
Then it hits me: I've kissed her like this is normal, like I belong here, like I'm the guy who shows up when she needs someone.
“This place-” She shakes her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Ruined. Everything’s ruined.”
I meet her gaze. "It's all handled. Jake's crew arrives this afternoon for the flooring. Brazilian Walnut instead of pine this time—it'll hold up better against flooding. And I've ordered a new marble counter with display cases for your crystals."
She wraps her slender arms around herself, those gemstone eyes wide with worry, her whole body trembling beneath her soaked lavender sundress. Raindrops still cling to her dark curls. "Roman, please, I can't let you—"
I cut her off, my voice firm but gentle.
"Nick's the best glazier in the county. You'll have a new window by sundown—double-paned, hurricane-resistant.
" I run my hand along the water-damaged shelving.
"Patrick's crew will replace these with Brazilian Rosewood.
The grain patterns are incredible—warm, rich, with swirls like caramel in coffee.
It'll showcase your books and crystals perfectly.
" I tap the polished sample in my pocket.
"Better than oak. This is right for Mystic Tides. "
Lilith's eyes widen. "Roman, I can't possibly—"
"The Persian rug arrives today," I say, cutting her off.
"Midnight blue with silver constellations woven through it. Museum quality, but sturdy enough to withstand another El Nino.” I tilt my head, already picturing it.
"And what about a stained-glass door? A celestial design to catch the morning light would be perfect.” Before she can object, I'm texting Theodore.
His response is immediate. "He'll be here tomorrow. "
Lilith runs her fingers through her hair, tugging at the ends. "It sounds beautiful, but my insurance..." She gestures helplessly at the wreckage. "They'll only cover what was here before—pine floors, basic shelving, that cheap window. These upgrades..." She bites her lip. "I can't."
"Jack," I say with a subtle nod toward the door. "Got a minute outside?"
Jack practically dances out the door, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Planning the honeymoon already? And do tell—any eligible bachelors in that famous Kensington lineup?"
I laugh despite myself. "None that bat for your team. Sorry to disappoint. But if I meet someone worthy, you'll be first to know." I lower my voice. "About Lilith..."
"Ah." Jack's expression softens. "Our girl doesn't take handouts—from anyone.
She's got this whole independent goddess thing going on.
" He sighs fondly. "Put her in front of a tarot spread or a meditation circle, she's brilliant.
But the business side?" He makes a crashing sound.
"Double-orders inventory, mixes up the books constantly.
And crises? Well, you've seen it. She needs someone, but she'd rather drown than admit it. "
Roman runs a hand through his hair. "I want to help her, but she's so damn stubborn. I could transform that shop into something spectacular without even touching my main accounts."
"Let me handle this," Jack says with a wink.
He sashays back inside, his voice carrying through the open door.
"Lilith, honey, do you have any idea what most women would give for this kind of attention?
And it's nothing to him—financially speaking.
" Jack's tone softens. "Look, I may not be a straight man, but I’m still a man with brothers, so I understand them.
They need to feel useful. When you keep refusing his help, you're rejecting more than his money. "