Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
LILITH
After two weeks of construction, my bookstore is finally finished, and I'm speechless.
I run my fingers along the Brazilian Rosewood shelves, feeling their smooth grain beneath my touch.
My shoes make a satisfying click against the Brazilian Walnut floors as I walk the perimeter, admiring how the midnight blue Persian rug anchors the space with its hand-stitched stars and moons.
Sunlight streams through the stained-glass celestial bodies embedded in the new front door, casting colorful patterns across the marble checkout counter.
I blink back tears. Roman still hasn't seen it—he's been trapped at the resort attending to actual Danish royalty who specifically requested his personal attention. While I've been here supervising repairs and replacing inventory lost in the flood, he's been checking in daily.
This morning, as workers packed up for good, a delivery arrived—a bouquet of rare black dahlias, black Baccara roses and midnight orchids, their petals edged in silver, nestled among sprays of baby's breath and eucalyptus.The blue matches my Persian rug perfectly.
Somehow, without seeing the renovations, he knew exactly what would belong here.
Jack's eyes widen as he spins in a slow circle, taking in the gleaming Brazilian Rosewood bookshelves, the Brazilian Walnut hardwood floors, the celestial stained glass mural in the middle of a new solid door, and the crystal chandelier that casts rainbow prisms across the newly polished hardwood floor.
"Oh, lady," he says, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper.
Jack fluttered his hands dramatically. "Honey, this man is capital-S Smitten with you!
Only a billionaire who's gone completely gaga would zhuzh up this place like a fairy godfather on steroids and send those black Baccara roses—which, FYI, cost more per stem than my first Prada knockoff.
Congratulations, sweetie, you're now the proud owner of the most fabulous New Age bookstore this side of Sedona. The spirits are smiling!”
I laugh, fidgeting with the sleeve of my gauzy lavender blouse. "Oh, Jack, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Like you said, this renovation was pocket change to Roman and he seems like he wanted a project. And that project is me. That's all."
Jack rolls his eyes dramatically, his chunky silver rings catching the light as he gestures wildly around us.
"Say what you want, but this is the kind of thing a man in love will do.
And what are you talking about, the man needs a project?
As if running a string of elite resorts that host royalty, celebrities and billionaires on the regular isn't enough of a project?
Not to mention training for that MMA charity tournament in December where he's getting those gorgeous cheekbones pummeled for a good cause.
No. That man needs a project like a hole in his perfectly chiseled head, Lilith.
" Jack's manicured fingers curl into exaggerated air quotes when he says "needs a project.
" "Stop denying it. He's head over Gucci loafers for you.
You're one lucky bitch, I'll give you that. "
My breath catches when I spot the man of the hour coming through the door, his six-foot-four frame filling the entryway, dark hair slightly tousled from the coastal breeze.
God, every time I see him, my lungs seize, butterflies swarm like a hurricane behind my ribs, and goosebumps race across my skin. His jawline could cut glass, those piercing obsidian eyes scanning the room with the intensity of a predator.
He's devastatingly beautiful, but it's more than his chiseled features or the way his tailored navy suits hug his broad shoulders.
It's more than his razor-sharp intelligence or how he shows up for me when I need him the most. It's more than how he carried me through rain-soaked streets when my shop flooded and took care of me afterwards.
There's something electric between us—like two puzzle pieces clicking into place after being lost for centuries.
I doubt Roman, with his pragmatic business mind, believes in soul connections, but my tarot cards have never lied.
Even as my logical side whispers it's impossible for this billionaire who commands luxury resorts across continents to choose ME, my heart recognizes the truth in how his gaze softens when it finds mine across the crowded room.
Jack is right—I'm one lucky bitch.
I gasp as we step inside. "Roman, this place is incredible!"
He surveys the space with a casual glance and the corner of his mouth lifts. "It'll do." His eyes soften when they land on me. "You look exhausted. We both deserve a break after these past two weeks. Come surfing with me today."
Surfing? My heart skips. Roman doesn't invite just anyone to join his sacred ritual. That last day over breakfast, his voice had dropped to a reverent whisper describing those Saturday mornings with his brothers—the only moments when his notorious temper truly subsides.
I've barely managed to stand up on a board twice in my life. But the thought of Roman showing me his private stretch of beach, away from the chaos of my flooded bookstore and his emergency flights to San Francisco...I can already feel the salt spray on my face, see his rare, unguarded smile.
"I'd love that," I tell him, meaning every word.
Roman grinned. "Perfect. I've got everything ready—board, wetsuit, the works.
You'll meet Silas and Ansel today. Just two of the brother horde, not the whole Kensington circus at once.
" He pauses, then shrugs. "Though honestly, they're all pretty decent guys.
I'm the family terror." A self-deprecating smile crossed his face.
"Or as I prefer to call it, the one with standards.
We'll swing by the resort first so you can change, then hit the waves.
" His eyes brightened with genuine excitement.
"God, I can't wait—ocean, surfing, you."
I nudge his shoulder playfully. "The family terror? Clearly they've got the wrong Kensington brother."
Roman's eyes darken slightly. "Trust me, they don't." He runs a hand through his hair.
"But around you...I don't know. I'm different.
" He glances away, as if embarrassed by the admission.
"Even my brothers noticed. They've all stopped by since the storm to check on the resort, and every single one asked what's gotten into me.
" His mouth quirks up. "Connor actually checked my coffee for mood stabilizers.
" He reaches for my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
"Turns out I don't need medication. I just need you. "
I don't know what to say. I'm floating on a cloud of bliss as I walk next to him toward yet another gleaming luxury SUV—a Lamborghini Urus that sits like a crouched panther in the California sunshine, its obsidian paint job reflecting the swaying palm trees above.
The curves of its aerodynamic body catch the light in a way that makes my breath catch.
I never knew Lamborghini made SUVs. I'd only seen those flashy sports cars hugging the road, driven by men with something to prove. This one's different though—practical but still impressive. I glance at Roman as he reaches for the door handle, hoping this is his only Lamborghini.
But anyhow, I wish I could tell him that he fundamentally changed me the way he says I changed him, but I really can’t.
My heart has always been full of light, brimming with the kind of contentment that made friends call me their "sunshine girl," but what I feel now is different—it's as if someone turned up the saturation on my already colorful world.
While Roman tells me I've transformed him from stormy to serene, I can only think that he's taken my everyday joy and amplified it into something that makes my skin tingle and my chest ache with its intensity.
The door of his sleek black Lambo SUV closes with a satisfying thunk.
"So," he says, his tanned fingers drumming against the leather steering wheel.
"I didn't even ask you if you surfed. If you don't, that's not a biggie.
I'm a great teacher." His smile reveals perfect white teeth against sun-bronzed skin.
"I have, actually," I say, adjusting the hem of my floral sundress over my knees. "I know the fundamentals at any rate. I'm not good, though. I hope that's not a problem."
“Not at all." He chuckles, his deep voice filling the luxury car's interior as he turns the key in the ignition. "My brother Max sometimes brings his wife, Celeste, surfing with us. And she, for lack of a better word, sucks. Can't read a wave to save her life. Last time, she nose-dived three boards in a row and still insisted on paddling back out like a half-drowned cat with something to prove. Of course, that’s all moot now as Celeste has apparently given up surfing for now because she’s bonding with their baby, but she’ll be back once she actually gives up some control to the nanny.”
"So, I guess I don't need to be perfect out there, then."
"Christ, Lil, if you can paddle that little ass of yours out past the break and stand up for five seconds without eating shit, you're already outperforming my sister-in-law.
" I run my hand through my salt-stiffened hair, squinting against the glare bouncing off the Pacific.
"Max is so goddamn gone for her that he'll waste a perfect swell playing lifeguard while the rest of us are shredding.
Used to give him hell about it—called him every name in the book.
" I feel my jaw tighten, watching the waves curl and crash.
"Now I wonder if he wasn't the smartest Kensington all along. "