Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
LILITH
Time melts away as Roman and I fall into a delicious rhythm—he arrives each night after his shift at the resort, just after I turn the key in my shop's lock.
Six consecutive nights of passionate bliss until dawn.
Jack's been scarce, wrapped up in his Abercrombie it's radioactive, burning him from the inside out.
Roman's rage has been his heartbeat since childhood—bloody knuckles in school hallways, savage tackles that made coaches wince, a ruthlessness that bulldozed competitors when he built his empire.
I discovered his Harvard Westlake yearbook that sleepless dawn at his place—quarterback with a reputation for playing through injuries, swim medals won while practically drowning competitors with his wake.
His grief transformed him into something unstoppable, something terrifying.
It made him rich. Made him powerful. Made him feared.
But it's hollowed him out completely, leaving nothing but scar tissue where a soul should be.
Standing at his mother's grave might be the first time he's faced something he couldn't beat into submission.
I perch on the jagged edge of the cliff, my bare toes curling around sun-warmed rock as the Pacific stretches endlessly before me. Salt-tinged wind whips my hair across my face as I close my eyes, visualizing tendrils of rose-gold light flowing from my heart toward the cemetery where Roman kneels.
He stays there for what feels like forever—the sun arcing visibly across the sky.
When he finally appears on the path behind me, his footsteps are steady, unhurried.
He lowers himself beside me, our shoulders barely touching.
His eyes, those stormy dark pools, are rimmed with red but hold a stillness I've never witnessed.
The crackling energy that normally surrounds him—that volatile crimson haze—has dissolved into a luminous cobalt blue that pulses with each of his now-even breaths.
I can feel the transformation in the air between us, like the moment after a thunderstorm passes.
He shakes his head. "That was..." His voice catches.
"I needed that more than I realized." He draws his knees to his chest, arms draped over them as we sit on the grass watching the Pacific roll in.
"I was barely three when she died. Never been here before—not that I remember, anyway.
Don't think we came to the gravesite back then.
" A sigh escapes him. "And after that? Nobody ever brought us.
Dad was too wasted most days. My grandparents...
" He stares at the horizon. "Old-fashioned thinking, I guess.
Thought it would traumatize us or something.
Years just slipped by, and eventually, I stopped thinking about coming at all. "
I reach out my hand and he takes it, gripping it tightly.
Roman looks at me, his voice softening. "We don't always see eye to eye on everything, Lilith.
I still can't wrap my head around those crystals you keep by the bed, even if your cards did nail my situation with Dad.
" He runs a hand through his hair, a half-smile playing at his lips.
"You pray to your goddess, I'm still figuring out what's up there—if anything.
But you get me. When I mentioned Paris and you chose this place instead?
" He gestures around them. "Any other woman I've dated would've had my assistant booking the jet before I finished the sentence. They always took everything I offered and asked for more. But you…” His voice catches. “You actually thought about what I needed. That’s new for me.”
I can't help but smile at the change in him. "There's something different about you today. Your eyes seem clearer."
"Let's fly up to Carmel," he says, twisting his watch around his wrist. "My helicopter's fueled up.
We could be at L'Auberge by sunset." His voice softens.
"I was barely three when she died, but I remember her hand in mine at that beach.
The way the foam tickled our toes. Then the redwoods at Big Sur...
" He trails off, staring past me. "I just need to go there now. After all this."
"To say goodbye," I whisper, completing his thought.
The cards had shown this—his journey through grief, the sacred ground he needed to stand on before he could face his father. The Tower followed by The Star. Destruction before healing. I'd seen it in his reading, but he needed to discover it himself.
On the drive back to his estate, Roman surprises me again.
He opens his walk-in closet to reveal a section with women's clothes—my size. “I bought these just in case you need them, which you do since we’re going on an impromptu trip that you haven’t packed for,” he says with that half-smile that makes my stomach flutter.
I run my fingers over the soft fabric of a bohemian tunic, the premium denim jeans.
Even the lingerie is tasteful. I choose some jeans, underwear, tunics and lingerie and pack them up for our little trip.
Within the hour, we're at Hawthorne Municipal Airport where his private Airbus helicopter waits.
I've never been in anything like it—all buttery leather and polished wood.
Roman slides the headset over his dark hair and speaks to the control tower, his voice dropping an octave.
The same voice that commanded a jet when he rescued Serafina's father last month.
My pulse quickens watching his capable hands move across the controls.
Is there anything this man can't master?
The sun hangs low in the sky as Roman's private chopper touches down at Monterey Regional Airport. A sleek Jaguar waits on the tarmac.
"My guy always comes through," Roman says, tossing our bags in the trunk. The engine purrs to life beneath us as we wind our way down to Carmel.
At L'Auberge, we barely pause in our suite before Roman pulls me toward the beach. His steps slow as we reach the shore, his gaze fixed on some invisible point beyond the waves.
"She was dying," he says quietly. "But this place made her happy. Even at three, I sensed it was her last goodbye to Carmel." His voice catches. "Crazy that I remember it so clearly."
I touch his arm. "Children absorb more than we realize, especially during moments that shape us."
"The home videos help," he admits. His jaw tightens. "Her silk scarf, her smile watching us play..."
He walks to a gnarled cypress at the shoreline, silhouetted against the sapphire water. I hang back, giving him this moment with his ghosts.
Roman's voice falters. “This trip has hit me harder than I expected.
" His gaze drifts to the gnarled oak, its branches casting dappled shadows where they stand.
"Right here. This is where she'd rest after chasing us around all day.
Dad would just sit beside her, their fingers laced together.
" He drags his teeth across his lower lip, jaw tightening.
"The way he looked at her... Christ. He loved her so much. No wonder he broke when she—"
He nods, his eyes softening at the edges. The rigid line of his jaw relaxes. I watch understanding of his father’s grief bloom across his face like the first light of dawn breaking through storm clouds.
"Let's head home tonight," he says, voice gruff with emotion. "I've had enough of hotel beds. I want my bed.” His fingers find mine, squeezing gently. "With you in it."
The helicopter ride back feels different somehow. Roman stares out the window, silent but no longer brooding. This pilgrimage accomplished exactly what I'd hoped—forced him to confront the empty spaces grief had hollowed out inside him.
And perhaps more crucial than that, showed him how to reclaim the piece of his heart he'd walled off from his father all these years.