Chapter 20 #3
Silas paddles closer, his muscular shoulders glistening with seawater. "And then you actually took that Gulfstream out in near-tornado conditions with lightning splitting the sky. If I'd known what you were planning, I would've drugged your morning espresso until that suicidal impulse passed."
Roman's eyes darken like the gathering storm clouds on the horizon. "You know exactly why I did that."
"Noble intentions," Silas concedes with a solemn nod before his expression lightens. "Noble but certifiably insane. If you'd crashed, we would've had your Darwin Award framed next to Mom's photo."
A massive wave begins to swell behind them, a wall of blue-green glass rising from the depths.
Without another word, all three brothers pivot their boards in perfect synchronicity, powerful arms cutting through the water as they catch the wave's momentum, carving elegant lines down its face while I watch, breathless with admiration.
They all paddle back, their muscular arms slicing through the glittering turquoise water. Roman turns to me, droplets cascading from his sun-kissed skin. "I'll stay behind on the next one and make sure you can get up on your board."
I smile, my heart fluttering beneath my soaked rash guard.
The pressure weighs on me like the ocean itself.
When the next wave swells—a towering wall of blue-green glass—I gather my courage, push up from my stomach, and wobble to my feet.
My legs tremble like palm fronds in a storm as I ride the churning foam for about ten breathless feet before the board slides out from under me.
The ocean swallows me whole, salt burning my nostrils, my limbs tumbling in the frothy chaos.
Meanwhile, Roman and his brothers cut through the wave, their boards gliding smoothly as they trace clean lines across its surface, riding it until it breaks on the shore.
Roman says "Good job" when we've paddled back to the lineup, his voice deep against the rhythm of the waves.
Sunlight catches in his wet eyelashes. "Now, for the next wave, keep your feet shoulder-width apart, back foot angled slightly.
When you feel the wave catch, pop up in one motion—don't hesitate—and bend your knees more than you think you need to.
" His strong hands demonstrate, one palm flat like a board while the other makes a quick, decisive hop.
"Weight centered, eyes forward, not down. The board goes where you're looking."
I nod nervously, salt water dripping from my chin as I try to commit Roman's instructions to muscle memory.
When the next wave swells beneath me—a glassy blue-green wall of water—I pop up to standing just as he showed me, knees bent, arms out for balance.
The board glides beneath my feet, and for a glorious moment, time slows.
I'm flying, cutting across the face of the wave for a good fifty feet before my ankle wobbles and I tumble sideways into the churning foam.
I surface with a gasp and a grin. Progress.
Roman paddles back out to me, water streaming from his tanned shoulders.
"Great job!" he calls over the crash of an incoming wave.
"Next time, try to pop up faster—knees to chest in one motion.
And keep your weight centered over the board.
When you see a good wave coming, start paddling earlier so you catch the momentum before it breaks. "
I nod. The next wave rises on the horizon.
I paddle hard like Roman showed me, arms burning through the salt water.
The board lurches, and I push up to my feet, balancing on the slick surface.
Then I'm moving across the face of the wave, spray hitting my skin, morning light everywhere.
The wave curls behind me as I ride it all the way in.
My heart pounds, and I can't stop grinning, my cheeks aching.
I feel the triumph in my blood. I actually did it!
Roman high-fives me when he paddles back, droplets flying from his bronzed forearm. "You were amazing!" he exclaims, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're a natural out there. A water baby."
I smile, tasting salt on my lips. For the next three hours, the four of us ride the swells. I catch three more waves, each one a rush as the board skims across the water.
Roman moves with confidence, reading the ocean's patterns perfectly. His shoulders work as he maneuvers, cutting through the foam with precision. The sun catches on his wet skin.
When he grins at me between waves, I can't believe he's looking at me—the same woman who's endured countless boring first dates—now surfing alongside a man who handles both business and waves without breaking a sweat. I'm still waiting for the catch.
Finally, the guys collapse onto their towels, breathing hard, hair wet and tangled. Roman, though, still looks ready for more. When his dark eyes meet mine, I catch a glimmer of something playful there.
"There's a secluded cove just beyond those jagged rocks," he says, pointing to where the shoreline curves out of sight. "Crystal clear water. No tourists. Let's go over there." He nods toward my faded canvas tote with its embroidered celestial symbols. "And bring your bag along."
My fingers brush the worn edges of my tarot deck inside my bag. Mom's gift, always with me. I wonder if the cards will reveal anything between us today.
I peel off my wetsuit, shivering as the damp air hits my skin. I pull my sundress over my bikini and wrap myself in my oversized sweater that smells like sunscreen.
Roman steps out of his wetsuit, water beading on his chest. He pulls on a gray hoodie, his dark hair sticking up.
Though it's July, the "June Gloom" hangs over us -the locals know better than to expect true summer until mid-July, when the sun finally burns through the morning fog and stays until October's crisp evenings arrive.
The June Gloom turns the Pacific slate blue beneath pewter clouds.
True summer won't arrive for weeks, as any local knows.
I follow him to the cove, my sandals slipping on mossy rocks as we find a hidden strip of sand. In the tide pool between black stones, clear water reveals an underwater garden. Roman crouches down, pointing to purple sea anemones swaying with each ripple.
"Look at those," he says softly. "Aren't they beautiful?"
And they are—pulsing with life, both fragile and resilient against the constant push and pull of the ocean. I stand there watching the creatures sway delicately in the water.
My heart pounds as Roman and I find ourselves truly alone for the first time since that morning in his suite.
No staff, no guests—just us. I remember the sunlight through those windows, the taste of espresso on his lips, the rough texture of his jaw under my fingertips.
I'd wanted more then, and the thought that tonight I might get it makes my stomach flip.
He takes my hand, his grip warm and sure, and leads me to a cashmere blanket spread out on the sand. The sun is setting, turning the Pacific into a canvas of gold and amber.
I nestle against him and tell him about the green flash—that elusive emerald burst that appears for a split second as the sun's final curve disappears beneath the waves.
"Most people go their whole lives without seeing it," I whisper, my head finding the perfect spot on his shoulder.
"The atmosphere has to bend the sunlight just right, splitting it like a prism.
" I trace my finger along his jawline, feeling the slight stubble beneath my fingertip.
"Finding you was my green flash, Roman—that one-in-a-trillion moment that happens when you've stopped looking for it. "
Roman's smile crinkles the corners of his eyes.
"I don't think the green flash is necessarily one in a trillion.
But it's a very rare sight for sure. I've never seen it.
" He walks to the rocks and pulls out a bottle of champagne and two glasses from where he’d hidden them earlier, the sunset glinting off the crystal.
"I tucked this away last night, because I knew I would be spending the sunset here with you." He raises one dark eyebrow, his chiseled face softening. "Yes, I planned this whole evening down to the minute."
I can't help but laugh, the sound carrying on the salt-tinged breeze. Of course Roman has something meticulously planned. That's quintessentially him—the man who anticipates every possibility, who leaves nothing to chance.
We recline on the cashmere blanket, propped on our elbows, our shoulders nearly touching.
The champagne bubbles in my glass, golden and inviting.
I take a sip, tasting apple and something like toast. It hits my empty stomach fast, warming me from the inside out.
One glass in and I’m already feeling it—my worries washing away with each swallow.
"So," Roman says, his voice low and intimate as he swirls the champagne in his glass, the dying sunlight turning the liquid to amber. "Would you like to do another spread for me?"
I reach for my silk-wrapped deck, which I'd tucked into my bag earlier with a strange certainty I'd need it. The cards feel warm against my fingertips, almost vibrating with potential. My heart flutters with anticipation—I can sense the universe aligning for us.
I shuffle the cards, their edges catching the sunset as I arrange them on the blanket.
The reading unfolds better than I expected.
The Ten of Cups shows fulfillment in our future, while The Sun promises joy ahead.
In the past position sits the Three of Swords—conflict and heartbreak.
Looking at the figure gathering abandoned weapons on the card, I realize this represents Roman's past, not mine.
The Two of Cups forms our foundation—a soul connection.
This spread tells me what I've suspected: Roman's romantic history is marked by struggle, but something better waits for us.