16. Waverly
CHAPTER 16
WAVERLY
Fortunate:I’m celebrating my 40th birthday.
Unfortunate:I’m celebrating my 40th birthday.
I don’t expect such a deep conversation first thing in the morning. The bathroom seems to be a decent escape for me these days. At first, I thought he was going to come after me, just like men do in the books. My imagination runs wild with the way his hands would roam my body, especially after that dance at Two Balls and A Bull. The neck grabbing... Swoon . Would he be that rough in the bedroom?
I sit on a vanity stool next to the mirror in the bathroom. This plane is bigger than my apartment, I swear.
I allow my mind to drift to the last time Patrick and I were intimate. We’d just gotten home from a family dinner at his parents. I always enjoyed seeing them, and them, us, but especially Patrick. He’d been gone for a six-month stint in the Coast Guard, and it was his first night home. He was in an extremely affectionate mood, and I loved it. It was rare, even on our really good days. Does that count as a really good day? He told me to change into something sexy. That’d never happened before, but I was ready for it. I had one outfit I’d planned on wearing if the opportunity ever presented itself, and the time had finally arrived. My red lace two-piece set was gifted to me by Victoria, who’d assured me that Patrick wouldn’t be able to resist me in it. And I was hoping she was correct. Wasting no time, I’d hurried into the bathroom, dressed, freshened my breath, and ran a brush through my hair. I remember how I’d strutted into the bedroom, waiting for his reaction. It wouldn’t have hurt so much if that earlier passion in his eyes had still been present in his stare, but it was far from it.
“What is that ?” he’d asked, words dripping with the same tone he’d used when we’d seen that flattened chipmunk on the side of the highway, an adequate reflection of my changed mood. I rubbed my hands nervously down the fabric. “You don’t like it?”
It was obvious he had felt some sort of remorse over his reaction because his face quickly fell and his eyes widened, “It’s not that, but I don’t like the color red. You know this, babe.”
My heart fell even further. I’d felt sick, like I was going to vomit. I no longer felt like the object of his desire. The fast flip of his emotions should have been a red flag. It should have been reason enough to realize that Patrick was a good man, but just not the man for me. But I was blind to the signs and blamed myself. And from then on, I started to become more of what he wanted me to be.
That was the night I started losing pieces of myself.
A light knock comes from the door. I glance in the mirror, shocked at the tears streaming down my face.
“Miss Kensington? Is everything okay in there? Mr. Hux—Roman wanted me to make sure you were okay,” Emily muttered, her voice just above a whisper. I open the door and see the brief shock break through her mask as she registers my appearance before she rights herself, steps in, and closes the door behind her. This is happening, I guess.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Emily winces.
“Mr. Huxley did hurt me, but it wasn’t Roman,” I admit, “His brother was my fiancé”. She gasps and her hand flies over her mouth.
“Oh. I’m so sorry. I heard about what happened. I only met him a few times. He never wanted to come on family trips. He was so quiet...” Her voice trails off. “I’m sorry he hurt you. Would you like me to get Roman?”
I take a deep breath in the mirror, finally looking at my reflection. Not just looking, but admiring. Yes, I’m getting older, but we all are. And the best part is that with age comes hidden strength.
We could die tomorrow but have no control over any of it. Tom was right. If you let go of the fear, you give yourself the freedom to be, and happiness will follow.
“Miss?”
“Emily, call me Waverly.” I turn to her. “Emily, what’s your biggest fear?”
She looks at me with her brows pinched, almost confused, but then her face relaxes. “My biggest fear is never finding my twin sister.
“What happened to her?” I can’t help but be drawn in by her look of determination.
“We were separated at birth, or so my adoptive parents told me.”
I nod at her, willing her to continue, a welcomed distraction from my own life. “Our birth parents were too young to take care of us and gave us up. We were adopted by two different families.” She lets out a sigh. “I’ve tried everything short of hiring a private investigator to find her, but they’re way too expensive.” Emily covers her mouth again. “I’m so sorry. You asked and I got carried away. You’re really easy to talk to, Miss Ken—Waverly”
I pull her into a hug. Nothing like hugging a stranger on a plane. “Don’t apologize for your feelings,” I tell her, gently tapping her back as she lets go of a sob.
“It’s healthy to feel things, you know? It also helps to let them out when you feel the need.” We release each other. “I hope you find your sister.” I smile.
“I hope you heal,” she says, wiping the mascara from under her eyes. “I like you. Roman never brings women on the family plane.” My heart warms at her words.
“I like you, too, Emily.” I grab a tissue and dab it under my eyes as another knock comes from the door. Emily goes to answer it, but I hold her back. This is a perfect situation to have a little fun with Roman. I hold up my finger, telling her to wait.
We answer “yes” together and giggle.
“Are you both in there?” Roman asks through the door.
“Seems to be that way, Rome,” I answer almost seductively, knowing where his head is. He’s a single man in his early- to mid-twenties. He may have a good head on his shoulders and a successful business, but he can still succumb to thinking with his little head—or I bet it’s big…really, really big.
If I know him at all, he’s having an inner conflict. To open the door or not open the door, that’s his question. “Kensi, I’m trying really fucking hard to behave right now…”
I answer, playing dumb. “Trying hard? Hard for what?”
He groans on the other side of the door before we hear a thump on the wood. That was definitely his head. Emily is covering her mouth, holding in a giggle. I wish I had a sister. We could’ve teased boys. Messed with them because it’s so easy to rile them up. could have laughed at their expense. Respectfully, of course.
“Just find me when you’re done.” We hear a door close, and we release the laughs we’d been holding in.
We leave shortly after. I hear her tell Roman that I still need a moment to “de-stress.” God bless her. Once I do a few rounds of box breathing, I exit the bathroom. The size of this entire layout has me forgetting that I’m on a plane.
I go to find Roman, trying not to look too hard. I’m in awe of this young lady in front of me, so I ask her to sit with me and tell me about her life. Emily’s an art major who is only working to pay for her small apartment in West L.A. She’s from the Philippines and came to America with her adopted family a few weeks after she was born. She’s so fascinating. I’d love to introduce her to Tom. I can imagine the conversation between them—two creatives.
“I’d better get back to work, Waverly,” she beams. “But thank you. I feel like someone finally gives a shit about me.” I feel that in my soul.
I decide I’m finally ready to grace Roman with my presence. So like any good guest, I go looking for my host. I lightly knock on the bedroom door, pressing my ear against it. Nothing. I open it slowly and peek in, finding an empty bed. I step in and close the door behind me.“Where could he have?—”
I stop talking at the sound of his voice coming from the bathroom. In a perfect world where humans have zero curiosity, I would leave the bedroom. But I don’t. I walk toward the bathroom and peek into the slightly ajar door. Roman is in the shower, facing away from me. His arm in front of him moving in a repetitive motion.
My cheeks heat at the thought of him pleasuring himself, and I feel desire pooling between my legs. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched, or even touched myself, I rub my legs together trying to get some type of relief, but it’s no use.
The sound of slapping on his wet skin is making me lightheaded, and my tongue darts out to my bottom lip like it’s subconsciously priming itself for duty. I have to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret. I turn to leave, but the sound of his voice stops me in my tracks.
“Oh, fuck,” he growls, throwing his other hand above his head onto the brown marbled tile. His head falls forward. “Waverly.” My name escapes him as he breathes heavily. Another groan follows, and all possible mid-life crisis feelings aside, I’m ready to be had by Roman Huxley.