Chapter 25
ROMAN
Some of the tension leaks out of my frame as India, Juliet, and Poppy begin to clap and cheer; Cyrus just looks like he wants to go home, and I don’t blame him.
“Cough it up, everyone,” I say when the announcer has moved on to the next participant, a large man with a cheerful smile and thinning hair. “You will all be paid back by either myself or Aurora.”
Cyrus slaps a wad of neatly folded bills into my hands but doesn’t complain, while the cash I receive from India and Juliet is much more crumpled. I tuck the money into my pocket and wait impatiently for the rest of the auction to be over.
Seven more people come and go before the announcer closes the auction.
“Winners, come meet your dates by the left side of the stage, and please continue to mingle and get to know some new people!”
I’ve already started walking by the time he’s done speaking, more or less pushing my way through the gathered crowd. I don’t look behind me, but I know the rest of the Marigolds are close on my heels, because I hear little apologies and excuses as we bump past everyone.
I’m one of the first to arrive at the stairs leading up to the stage, followed by a breathless Juliet, then India and Poppy and Cyrus. Aurora seems to have been waiting for us, because she’s craning her neck and looking around when we arrive.
“There you are,” she says as our eyes meet. “I—oh.” She looks in surprise at the rest of her siblings, especially Cyrus. “Cy?”
Cyrus grunts, his gaze jumping to me. “Who is this?” he says, nodding at me.
“I’m Roman,” I say.
Cyrus ignores me.
“He’s Roman,” Aurora says too, but Cyrus’s lips just curl down with dissatisfaction.
“He’s—just—” Aurora is flustered now, which makes me inordinately happy. “Never mind,” she says, shaking her head. Then she frowns at Cyrus. “Why are you here?”
“I came to make sure nothing weird happened,” he says. “Do you know how many weirdos are out there these days? Even in Lucky.” He eyes me like I might be one of those weirdos.
Aurora blinks at him, looking surprised. “You—what? You came to bid on me?”
Cyrus shifts, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s not a big deal,” he mutters. Then he jerks his chin at Poppy. “She made me.”
“I did not—” But she falls silent and then rolls her eyes when Cyrus shoots her a look.
“So, what,” Aurora says with raised brows. “Were you going to bid on me and then make me pay you back?”
“Obviously,” Cyrus says. “I’m not actually going to go on a date with you, Ror—”
“I’ll go on a date with you, please,” I cut in.
When Cyrus glares at me, I shrug. I’m not sorry. “Can’t help it,” I say. “I’m hooked. I dream about her at night, you know? A sure sign—ow!” I turn to Aurora, who’s just whacked me on the shoulder. “What was that for? All I ever do is treat you well—”
I jerk my foot out of the way just in time to avoid the stomp she’s trying to aim at it, and then I grin. She’s trying to glare at me, but I can see a smile trying to break free over her lips, too, and it grows when I speak. “Try again and see what happens.”
“I like him,” Poppy says happily, and Aurora and I freeze, turning to look at Poppy. “You’re the guy from the holding cell, right?”
She addresses this question to me, but Cyrus’s eyes widen.
“Holding cell?”
“How did you know about that?” India says, and then she whirls on Jules. “Did you tell her?”
Juliet slaps her hand over her mouth, looking sheepish.
“And that’s our cue,” Aurora says quickly. “Thanks, Cy.” She pauses. “You suck a little bit less today.”
He sends her a rude hand gesture, but it’s halfhearted at best and accompanied by the most fleeting of smiles.
It’s difficult to say, but I think they might have just exchanged grudging I love yous in their own language.
“Do you have your money?” Aurora says to me, and then she gestures at the announcer, who’s standing in the midst of the participants with a clipboard and a harried expression. “You need to pay first.” She pauses, smirking. “Eight hundred dollars, huh?”
“Don’t get a big head. Two hundred is from your brother, and some is from Juliet and India too.” I hand over my money to the man, and he scribbles down my information. Then Aurora’s hand is around my wrist, tugging me away.
“We’ll talk about the holding cell later,” Cyrus calls to her as she drags me along.
“We absolutely will not,” she replies over her shoulder.
I stumble along after her, my laughter ready at my lips as she clips across the stone, past a few curious onlookers, rounding the side of the stage and then proceeding to the back.
“I didn’t realize you were so eager to take advantage,” I say. “But I don’t know if I’m comfortable with something like this in public. Don’t want to end up in the holding cell again—”
I bump into her as she comes to a sudden halt, whirling around and glaring up at me. It’s an expression I can see mainly because the moon is bright in the sky, and the string lights overhead glow once more now that the auction is finished.
“Are you insane?” Aurora says, looking left and right. “What if someone heard you?”
I open my arms in a sweeping gesture. “Very true. We’re surrounded by people.”
There’s no one back here. Not a person in sight—just us in our little sliver of the town square, two dark shops on one side and the raw back of the stage on the other.
I could hunch down and crawl beneath the platform from here, and the back cloth looms high, blocking much of the sound from the rest of the event.
Aurora’s expression settles, her frame relaxing when she sees that we’re alone. Then she looks back to me.
“How was my glaring?” she says.
“Amazing. Ten out of ten.”
“Thank you.” She tosses her hair over her shoulders. “I was going for I will cut you.”
“You delivered.” I take a step closer. “Now—do you want to tell me why you dragged me frantically away from your family? I was making great inroads, by the way. I think I’m wearing Cyrus down.”
“The key is not to wear Cyrus down”—she holds up one finger—“but Poppy.” With a shrug, she goes on. “If you can get Poppy to like you, it’s only a matter of time for Cyrus too.”
“Insider information; I appreciate it.” I move closer still, until she’s close enough that I can wrap my arms gently around her waist. “I’m going to hug you now, because I want to, and I can.”
“Oh,” she says, a little noise of surprise.
“We’ve never hugged before, and it sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”
She snorts at this, but she also slides her arms tentatively over my shoulders and around my neck.
We stand like that for one second, two seconds, until the moment I’m waiting for arrives: she relaxes, the tension easing out of her body as she melts into me, and deep in my soul, something sings, jubilant and bright.
Hugging Aurora sounded like fun…but it feels like home.
An old impulse, born of habit, urges me to run—because simply hugging a woman shouldn’t be so fulfilling. I shove that impulse into the past, where it belongs; where it will stay.
“We should get a few things straight,” Aurora says, and although her body remains relaxed against mine, her voice is full of business.
So I sigh and step back, just enough that I can see her face. “Fine.”
“You bought my house,” she says, narrowing her eyes up at me. Her arms are still around my neck, and her fingers play distractingly in my hair as she speaks.
“Yep,” I say.
“Why?”
“Another two birds, one stone situation.” When she doesn’t respond, I sigh. “I get to do something useful with my money instead of resenting it. You get to stay in your house because I, your landlord, will not be kicking you out.” I shrug and rest my hands at her waist. “Everyone wins.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Not much I can do about that, little vandal,” I say, reveling in the feel of her curves beneath my touch. “Deal is done. However…” I trail off and then nod slowly, conceding with reluctance. “I can understand why you don’t like it.”
“Don’t do it again.”
I hum in agreement. “If you ever have another house you might not be able to buy, I solemnly swear I will not buy that house.”
“Thank you,” she says with a haughty little sniff.
“My turn,” I say. I pull her closer once more, and when I speak, my voice is even. “We are dating. We are not hooking up. We are not casually hanging out. We are dating. I am your boyfriend. Agreed?”
“I already said yes, didn’t I?” she says, raising her eyebrows.
“I’m just concerned you might be tempted to use me for my perfect body instead of cherishing my gentle soul,” I say, and she tries to hide her snort of laughter. “But like I said,” I go on, “that arrangement wouldn’t work for me.”
“No?” she says with a tilt of her head.
“No.” Slowly, carefully, I lift my hand and trail one finger down her spine. “When we do this,” I say, watching with satisfaction as her breath hitches at my touch, “you’re only with me, and I’m only with you.”
Her arms unwind from around my neck. “If I’m going to be robbing the cradle—”
“When you rob the cradle,” I cut her off. “The if is gone.”
She hums and runs her hands up my chest instead, her fingers finding the collar of my shirt and tugging me closer.
“Fine,” she says while I struggle to remember my own name. “When. When we do this…” She arches her brow at me. “I will expect you to kiss me properly.”
I grin. “Maybe I should be the one saying that, hmm?”
Her grip on my collar tightens, and in a flash she’s yanked me down to meet her, her lips sealing over mine. A huff of laughter escapes me, but it gets lost in our kiss—slow, exploratory lips, searching and testing until we discover, at the same time, that we both know the truest kissing secret:
That grasping, desperate kisses have their place, maybe, as a prelude to more—but far more enjoyable are the kisses that exist for themselves, luxurious and languid and deep.
I cradle her face, stroke my thumbs over her cheeks, relish the press of her body against mine as I begin my search for the things that will make her melt.