Chapter 24
ROMAN
If I didn’t vaguely recognize Aurora’s sisters from the night in the holding cell, I’d recognize them through their resemblance to Aurora herself.
Aurora, that goddess I got to kiss twenty minutes ago, and my lips are still tingling, and my heart is trying to burst out of my chest with vivid excitement because she is mine.
I don’t have to watch her from the sidelines or avoid her until I move on or, worse still, see her with someone else.
I’ve never dated such a bold, single-minded woman—although to be fair, I haven’t dated much period—and I can’t wait to hold all her messiness in my arms. Because apparently once I’m in, I’m all in.
Who knew? Not me. But I can feel that desire in my chest, to keep her close and unwrap every layer and examine every puzzle piece.
Those things are going to have to wait, unfortunately.
The town square is filling rapidly with people, mostly thirties and forties, I’d say, with outliers in either direction.
Everyone is dressed nicely, although that looks different on different people; still, it’s a relief when I see a blonde and a redhead looking around from the other side, their eyes narrowed in concentration.
The blonde catches my eye first, mostly because her hair is the same shade as Aurora’s. I don’t recall if she’s Juliet or India—I think those are the names—but the way she and the redhead whisper together puts me unshakably in mind of sisters.
They seem familiar enough to me that I decide they’re my best bet. So I weave through the square, around the mingling people and fancy tables and soft lights. When my eyes meet those of the redhead, she nudges the blonde, and I know I’ve found the right women.
“Hi,” the blonde says when I reach them. Her voice is bright, and she eyes me with apparent interest. So does the redhead, but she remains silent, and she looks more skeptical than her sister.
“Hi,” I say.
“You’re Roman. Right?”
I straighten in relief. “Yes.”
“And you’re here for Aurora.” It’s not a question, and the blonde girl’s eyes sparkle knowingly.
“That’s correct.”
She continues to look me over swiftly, tilting her head so that her blonde ponytail tilts to one side, and then she nods.
“For the record,” she says, “I like you.”
“I’m very likable,” I say.
The one with red hair, however, crinkles her brow with skepticism. “I’m still on the fence,” she says.
“Fences are nice too,” I say. Then, when neither of them respond, I say, “So…”
The redhead nods. “Right. I’m India, and this is Jules”—Jules gives me a little wave—“and we’re here to make sure this auction goes smoothly.”
“Aurora is a babe,” Juliet says conversationally. “And we joked with her about pooling our money to bid on her, but India and I decided we should actually do it if anyone sketchy pops up.”
I glance around the square, my eyes zeroing in on the people taking tickets. “Did you register?”
“No,” India says, looking unconcerned. “Jess let us in through the back door of the bookshop.”
Jess…
“Oh,” I say as it comes to me. “The bookstore girl. Okay.” I fold my arms, thinking. “Well, Aurora asked me to bid on her too. I gave her instructions to glare at everyone else, but I’m not sure that will work.”
“How much money do you have?” Juliet says, and India elbows her in the ribs.
“Ow!”
India mutters, “You can’t just ask—”
“It’s a valid question!” Juliet responds. “Isn’t it?” She looks up at me. “That’s totally valid for me to want to know at an auction. Like are we all going to need to pool our money together?”
“It’s true that I may be working with less money than I usually would,” I admit.
“I recently made a—” I break off, glancing back and forth between the sisters, and decide fewer details are better at this juncture.
“A large-ish purchase.” Then, briskly, I add, “However, I’m not beneath using intimidation tactics. ”
India eyes me as I straighten up, and she nods in approval, like my willingness to threaten harm has improved her opinion of me.
Whatever it takes, I guess.
“Well, let’s go get closer,” she says. “It’s going to start soon, isn’t it?
” She pauses, her eyes training on something I can’t see.
Then she looks at Juliet, frowning. “Hey, did you call them?” She jerks her chin behind me, and I turn just in time to see two more people heading our direction, a man and a woman.
The guy is maybe a couple inches shorter than me with hair my color and the grumpiest face I’ve ever seen. There’s an unmistakable likeness between him and India, however, and the way he looks at everyone tells me they’re all familiar with each other.
A brother, maybe.
“Hey, chickadees,” the approaching girl says, a little breathless. She has dark, curly hair and a determined expression.
“What are you guys doing here?” Juliet says with a curious tilt of her head. “Did you come to bid on Aurora too?”
The grumpy brother makes a vague sound of assent, and Juliet beams, clapping her hands.
“That’s so exciting! This is going to be so fun!”
“I’m not here to have fun,” the grumpy guy says.
“Oh, stop it, Cyrus,” India says. “You’re going to give yourself premature wrinkles.”
Cyrus. That name is familiar.
But I’m not familiar to him. In fact, I’m the elephant in the room—every pair of eyes falls on me, and Cyrus’s eyes narrow.
“Who are you?” he says.
“Roman Drake. Great to meet you,” I say, because I may need to buy this man off at some point in the future.
So I grab his hand and shake it—except Cyrus doesn’t actually participate, so I’m left shaking a limp arm.
I stare at it for a second and then let go.
“That’s fine. We can work our way up to handshakes. ”
Cyrus looks at the women. “Can someone please tell me who this is?”
“Oooh,” Juliet says, her eyes swinging to the stage as the twinkling lights overhead go dim. “It’s starting. It’s starting!”
And without another word she hurries toward the stage, where the beam of a spotlight has appeared; we trail after her with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
My pulse thrums in my veins as a line of women and men filters up the stairs from stage left, people of all shapes and sizes and colors; Aurora is closer to the beginning, her red dress probably visible even from the mountains.
She walks with her head held high, her steps graceful, and I’m surprised to see that she doesn’t actually stand out as much as I expected she would.
She’s not the only one in bright colors; she’s not the tallest. She’s neither the largest nor the smallest, either. And yet she’s easily the most beautiful—although I can admit I’m biased, and there are other beautiful women up there.
None of the participants can match her facial expression, however.
A snort of laughter escapes me, loud enough that a woman at the nearest table turns to look disapprovingly at me, but my smile remains. India is grinning too, while Juliet and the curly-haired girl look concerned.
Because Aurora looks like she’s about to murder someone.
It’s not a raging face; this wouldn’t be a crime of passion. This is a deep-seated, heavy-faced glare, with low brows and narrowed eyes and a tense mouth.
She looks like an evil empress, or a wife who’s been poisoning her philandering husband by degrees for months.
I glance over my shoulder when I hear a quiet huff of laughter, but by the time Cyrus’s face comes into view, there’s no smile.
“She’ll be fine,” he grunts to the woman with curly hair. “Let’s go.”
“No!” Juliet hisses, grabbing his arm as the announcer begins to talk on the stage. “Did you bring money? You can go, but leave your money.”
“I’m not here to date my sister, Jules—”
“I’ll bake you cookies!” she cuts him off. “So many cookies!”
When Cyrus’s eyes narrow, Juliet turns her pleading gaze on the woman with curly hair.
“Poppy,” she says. “Come on. What if we don’t have enough money? At least give me what’s in your wallet, Cy.”
“Oh, come on,” Poppy says, nudging him good-humoredly. “Let’s stay.”
Cyrus mutters something under his breath about livestock and ridiculous, but he doesn’t try to leave again.
I do have to admit, in his defense, that there is a bit of a livestock auction feel to what’s happening up on stage. The spotlight narrows as the waiting participants step into the back shadows, so that only one person is visible at a time.
The first woman wears a big smile and waves to the audience and earns a shocking four-hundred dollars. The two men after her both go for three, and the woman after them—a short, full-figured brunette who comes with afternoon passes to a bouldering gym—makes our jaws drop with five-seventy.
With every person who steps forward into the spotlight, my body tenses a little more. I keep waiting for Aurora, but all I can see out of the light is the shadowy outline of the participants at the side of the stage.
My hands are starting to tingle from the incessant clapping when a timid-looking but handsome man earns a bid of three-fifty, but the woman who appears next from the shadows makes my pulse jump, and my hands freeze.
It’s Aurora.
“It’s her!” Juliet says as she dances on her tiptoes. “Are you ready?” She seems to be addressing all of us with this, but I nod anyway.
“Next up,” the announcer says. “Two all-inclusive passes to the Museum of Boulder, time spent in the company of this lovely—lovely—” He falters into silence as he looks over at Aurora, his showy persona dying briefly when he spots her I will gut you in your sleep glare.
He clears his throat after an awkward second of silence and then resumes his shtick.
“Aurora!” he says, his voice a little too hearty.
He flourishes one arm at her. “And isn’t she beautiful?
Aurora enjoys Chinese food”—Aurora’s eyes narrow—“and spending time with her family”—I swear she growls—“and exploring the great outdoors.” He clears his throat again and then adds, “We’ll start the bidding at fifty. ”
He does his best, but there’s no getting past the look on Aurora’s face. A lone paddle in the front of the crowd flies up, accompanied by a loud “One hundred!”
“One-fifty,” I call, and a second later Juliet has thrust a paddle into my hand, one she’s conjured from who knows where; I lift it belatedly.
Aurora’s expression lightens faintly when her gaze finds me in the crowd, or maybe she just recognizes my voice; I’m not sure how much she can see with the spotlight in her eyes.
But her brows furrow and her lips curl down when the man in the front lifts his paddle again. “Three hundred.”
I sigh. Irritation prickles down my spine, partly because this is going to get expensive but mostly because I meant what I said: I don’t like sharing. “Three-fifty.”
“Four.”
“Four-fifty,” I call, gritting my teeth.
“Four-seventy-five.”
“He’s slowing down,” India whispers, and Juliet nods frantically.
“Bid!” she says. “Come on!”
“Five hundred,” I say loudly. Then, lowering my voice, I add, “Any financial reinforcements from here on out will be appreciated and paid back with interest.” It grates at my pride, but I’ve officially reached the limit I can spend without crossing into irresponsible territory.
There’s a longer pause from the man up front this time, and I wait with simmering annoyance, but there’s nothing.
I straighten up, trying to see more clearly over the crowd, but the only insight I can glean is Aurora’s threatening expression aimed at the poor guy who probably just thought she was pretty—
“Five-twenty!”
“All right,” I mutter, because I’ve had enough.
“I’ve got two hundred cash,” Cyrus says in a voice that sounds as annoyed as I feel.
“We have eighty-five,” India whispers.
“Done.” Then, raising my paddle, I say loudly, “Eight hundred.”
Silence—dead silence, followed by an outbreak of whispers and turning heads. I ignore them and keep my eyes on the woman I will absolutely not be sending home with another man.
When there’s nothing from the man up front, the announcer speaks. “Eight hundred going once—twice—”
My hands clench around the bidding paddle, and the moment seems to last eternally long, until finally—
“Sold, for eight hundred!”