24. Roman
CHAPTER 24
ROMAN
This is happening. A kiss in front of my parents. Waverly melts into me, but I gently poke her away. Her eyes open as if she’s just realized what we’ve done. I take notice of her red cheeks and allow myself to glance at my parents. I tug her arm, pulling her behind me. Almost as if I need to protect her.
My dad has his hands on his hips, shaking his head and staring at the cake. I genuinely don’t know if he’s upset about the kiss, or the fact we haven’t cut the cake yet.
“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised this happened, but I didn’t know it was going to be so sudden.” That’s all he says. Dad stops talking, taking a long look at my mother.
My gaze wanders to Lena, who’s standing in between my parents like a scorned child. The disappointment in her eyes is apparent. Her frown is pronounced, as is the unshed tears in her eyes. I want to tell her that I was never dishonest about where we stood. And technically, she wouldn’t be here if I would have just woken up on time this morning, but I want to have this conversation in private. I’m not one to air my laundry in public.
My eyes waver before finding my mom’s. She’s the one person I don’t want to disappoint. And with her favorite expression, “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed” tarnishing my teen years up until two years ago when I opened my business, it’s a feeling I can’t bear to stand. It’s like opening an old wound just when it’s starting to heal.
Finally, I chance it. Her lips are pulled into her teeth while the sides of her mouth are slanted upward. Her eyes are smiling.
One thing I love about my family is we have private conversations. We don’t have loud confrontations or make scenes. I know that if they do have something to say, they will, but with class.
She offers me a nod of understanding and breaks the silence. “Who wants cake? If we don’t cut it soon, your dad might throw himself overboard.”
Everyone awkwardly laughs except for me. I dart my eyes back to the woman who is destined to be my forever, and she’s staring up at me. A telling look as her eyes bounce between mine.
She’s ready for more. And hell will have to freeze over for me not to give it to her.
Eventually we all sit down for cake and champagne. My parents ask Waverly about her childhood. I know Patrick never brought her around at the beginning, but it seems they never really got to know her at all. In between her childhood anecdotes, I rest my hand on her thigh. Her eyes widen briefly at the touch, she stutters once or twice and recovers without any true hiccups, aside from her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. It’s refreshing knowing what my touch does to her. I fight the urge to run my hand farther up to feel how turned on she is. My mom is like a super-sleuth. She catches every movement. I guess that’s what you get when your mom is a helicopter parent. I’d have to be happy with a hand on the leg. It’s like a little hit of dopamine to touch her in something other than a platonic way. As she speaks, I randomly move my thumb in circles trying to channel my energy anywhere other than my dick. My thumb touching her so intimately will have to do.
Hours filled with laughs and stolen glances from Waverly tick by and the sun starts to fall. Lena has been long gone to her room, or maybe somewhere else getting some sun. The gentleman in me should probably make sure she’s okay, but I’m not feeling very gentlemanly.
Waverly and I excuse ourselves from the table. Her face has been flushed for the better half of the afternoon as she’s wearing a lightly buzzed smile.
We no sooner get in her room than I lock the door behind me. “Roman.” She giggles as I kiss her neck.
“I couldn’t wait to get you alone.” A moan falls from her lips at my words. I pull her tight against me and her nails run down my back, urging me to continue. But I want more. I want her lips on mine.
Waverly pulls my face to hers as if she was reading my mind. Her lips lock with mine, haphazardly diving into a kiss that’s ruining both of us for anyone else—unlike the kisses last night that were passionate and slow.
“Rome…” she whispers through the dancing of our tongues.
“Mmm?” And she pulls away, leaving me wanting more of her. “What’s going on, Kensi? Talk to me.”
Her fingers find my jaw as she admires my face. I watch her in awe. Her freckles have become more pronounced from the sun, her hair has turned a lighter shade of blonde, and her skin is glowing with a tan. “As much as I want to skin you and wear you as a coat…”
“That’s dark, but hot. Keep going.” My eyes search hers as they narrow from her smile.
“We need to stay respectful. Not just for your parents, but I am also not the type of woman to rub a relationship…or…” She stumbles over her words. Waverly used the word relationship with me. “...I mean, whatever is happening here…” Her hand moves between us. “I don’t want to rub it in Lena’s face.”
Her eyes fall to her feet. “I also don’t want to make it weird for your parents. It’s like I’m over here jumping from one brother to the other—after one tragically passed away.”
“Look at me, Kensi.” And she does. “Trust me, they think no less of you. They’ve seen us joined at the hip. To be honest, I don’t think this came as a shock to either of them.” Confusion washes over her face as her nose scrunches like she smells something. It’s not me. “My dad pulled me away for a talk?—”
“Not a talk!” She rubs her hands down her face, and I can’t help but laugh. Genuine concern is consuming her, so I decide to have some fun.
“Yeah. I was a late bloomer. Better late than never to have a sex talk.” I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from losing my shit. Her face is priceless. Eyes wide and her lips in the shape of an “O.”
“I’m kidding. He was basically predicting this…” I gesture between us.
“Really?”
“Really. But!” I grab her hips and press her against me, craving her touch anywhere I can get it. “I respect your need for a clandestine relationship with me.” I dip my lips to hers and she relaxes against me, kissing me back.
I hate it. I want to get weird with her. If she asks me to dive in headfirst into a Machine Gun Kelly-Megan Fox weird spiritual blood necklace thing? I think I’d be down. I’m head over heels in love with her. It’s not sudden. Not forced. It’s been like a freight train barreling toward me for years.
I’d love nothing more than to use a tidal wave metaphor, but that definitely might be too soon.
I pull away. “If that’s what you want, then it’s fine with me.” Her shoulders fall in relief. “Under one condition.” Her shoulders tense again, and she says nothing.
“Would you be up to sleeping with me every night?” Waverly’s eyes widen. “Oh, I don’t mean sex. I mean literally sleep. Like next to each other.”
Great. Now I’m a rambling idiot, but at least she’s smiling.
“I suppose that could be arranged.” With a roll of her eyes and a small grin, I grip her hips a little harder and tickle her above her knee. Laughter between us carries through the room, out into the hall, and I know that if my parents are quiet enough on the other side of the boat, they can hear us, too.
They hear happiness, friendship, and the sound of two broken foundations being built together.
We’re going to be indestructible.
The next few days are spent on the coast. We visit Torre dello Ziro and take pictures. I make sure to snap one of me and her with the watchtower in the background. More pictures of us at Villa Cimbrone Gardens with the coast in the background. Why stop at the bucket list? I want to give Waverly a journal full of pictures of the two of us.
There was a night where she was sleeping soundly on my chest with my arm wrapped around her. I snapped a photo. I decided to keep that one to myself. Instead, I came up with a genius idea of making her a book of all the pics we’ve taken together past, present, and for the next few years—or whenever she decides she wants to marry me. It will be like a journal of our journey. A personalized wedding gift to her from me, because that is how this ends, with us married.
If I’m persistent enough, maybe she’ll realize what I’m willing to do to make her happy. Her smile makes me smile. I knew after we watched the stars, there was nowhere to go but fall for her just like a star falls from the sky. It was inevitable.
As we wait for the plane to take off back to the states, Waverly decides to fix her own drink. She opts in for a whiskey and lime instead of her usual choice of champagne. Quite the combo for acid indigestion, but I’m not stopping her.
Waverly starts chopping a lime while singing the lyrics to a song I’ve never heard before. The knife waves about more than it should be. Hell…she even looks good while she’s brandishing a knife. My mind goes dark for a split second.
“Shit!” She slams down the knife and holds her finger, tears falling from her eyes.
I rush over to assess the damage, “That’s a pretty good gash you got there. Here…” I grab a clean dishtowel from the drawer and hold it to her finger, trying to stop the bleeding.
“I’m sorry.” She’s apologizing ?
I guide her to the bathroom and have her sit on the lidded toilet. “What the fuck are you apologizing for? It was an accident. It takes special skills to wave knives around and not cut yourself,” I smirk and her lips tilt ever so slightly, “Now let me fix you up.” I pour antiseptic on the cut, and she winces.
“Tssss. Ouch.” I blow on her finger, and I feel her eyes on me. I love the way she watches me. Like I’m a mystery to her.
“Better?” She nods and I dab it dry and overload it with antibiotic cream before applying a Band-Aid.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do all of this.” She looks at her bandaged finger and grins.
“I did. There’s no reason you need to take care of yourself when I’m here to take care of you. Never again.” I take her hurt finger and bring it to my lips, kissing it like a parent kisses their kid’s boo-boos. It lingers a little longer as our eyes are locked and loaded on each other.
She pulls her finger away and stands and I follow her back to her seat. “Maybe next time you should use a butterknife.”
“A butterknife?!” Her laughs echoes through the interior of the plane.
“Yeah. Why not? It’s like a gateway knife.” The shake of her head and the smile on her face proves we’ve officially made it to a different level of being —but this time we’re together.
After “knife-gate,” Lena ended up finally leaving on the helicopter. She and Waverly hugged and Lena thanked her for the wise words seconds before she started her TikTok live of her getting on said helicopter. Waverly and I got to enjoy each other’s company along with my parents. There wasn’t much free time for the two of us to be alone, and quite frankly, I don’t want our first sexy moments to be within twenty feet of my parents.
The plane ride back to the states was pretty much the same as it was to Italy, sans the jerk-off sesh in the shower. Waverly showed all of her pictures to Emily after she surprised her with a small vanilla cake with a single candle. It was that moment that showed me how Waverly doesn’t need the grand gestures. Does she appreciate them? Yes. But she likes simple. Simple is more intimate. And man, do I want to be intimate with Waverly.
Like the gentleman I am, I drove Waverly home on my bike and her luggage was going to make it safely there an hour later. I didn’t have to drive her, and she knew that, but I don’t think either of us were ready to say goodbye.
“Do you want to come in?” she asks, standing in front of her apartment. Of course, I want to come in, but I think it’s better if I give her some space. After the whole Lena thing got taken care of, things escalated with the kiss. I don’t want to overwhelm her by making her think I want more. I’m all in, but there’s a time and place to tell her that.
I tuck her hair behind her ear. “I think I’m going to call it a night. Jet lag will catch up to us eventually, and I have to check in at work. Make sure everyone is still doing their jobs and not burning my company to the ground.”
She looks like she’s photographing me with her eyes. They rake across my face, to my lips, to my chest, drag down my torso, and like lightning, flash over my groin. I can’t help but smirk at her forwardness of checking me out. Something she never would’ve done before. Rightfully so.
“I should get going. Your luggage will be dropped off soon.”
She throws her arms around my neck and her lips graze my cheek. “Thank you, Roman. This was the best birthday.”
That’s sad, but I’m happy I was able to be a part of her “best birthday.” I wrap her in a tight hug, breathing in her shampoo one last time before we went our separate ways for a few days. Hopefully, it’s not too long.
“Bye, Roman.” I watch her walk inside but stand outside of her door like a creeper for a couple of minutes, deciding whether or not I want to join her inside. Instead, I head down the steps to my bike, shoot a text to Hendrix to meet me at my house, and get the hell out of there before I do something stupid.
The ride from Waverly’s to mine was short enough that I didn’t have time to overthink what all went down on the trip.
No sooner do I get home and change than Hendrix helps himself into my house.
“You told me to bring reinforcements, but you never specified whether we’re getting over someone or under them.” Hendrix holds up tequila and a bag of limes in one hand, and Jameson and cigars in the other. “So, I come bearing all the gifts.”
“You’re a good man. It might be a little of both.” I slap his back and close the door.
“Uh-oh. Did something happen on the trip?” I waste no time pulling two whiskey glasses out and two shot glasses.
“You could say that.” I tell him about Lena being there and how my mom invited her. And how I kissed Waverly in the rain, and how I’ve been knocking items off her bucket list. I told him everything.
He shoots back a tequila, strolls out to my back patio, and lights up his already-cut cigar. “Damn. That’s a lot. So what do you plan on doing? It’s been a year since Patrick died.”
“Yeah. And that’s what makes it so fucked up. I’m macking on my brother's fiancée.”
He puffs out a plume of smoke and hesitates before he spills a sour truth that tastes like absolute shit. “I don’t think that ’s the problem, man.”
Confusion takes over. Hendrix is about to spill his words of wisdom again, and I almost wish I hadn’t called him to come over. “I’d be more afraid that I was a rebound. I mean, you can’t fucking help who you love, my dude. But you can try to protect yourself. She was out of the game for what? Five? Six years? She’s been mourning someone she was supposed to marry . And it’s not about who you are, but when you stepped into her world.”
I lean against the stucco, tilt my head back, and admire the stars. Another clear night, perfect for stargazing.
If someone were to tell me that I’d be asking Hendrix for relationship advice, I would have laughed in their face. But this goofball standing in front of me with a cigar in his mouth, holding a tequila in one hand and a whiskey in another just made a valid point. I know I told her I didn’t want to be a rebound, but what if I am? What if I’m just a steppingstone into the dating pool? A bitter taste transpires in my mouth and it’s not the alcohol.
He’s right.
“You’re right. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’ve never dealt with something like this. Our situation is different, it’s?—”
He interrupts, “Why don’t…nah.”
Now I’m annoyed. “Why don’t I what?”
“No. You’ll hate it.” Hendrix sets his tequila down, and holds his cigar in one hand while he slurps a sip from the bottom of his whiskey.
“Spit it out, dickhead.” I’ve listened to him this far, and I’m willing to take any advice given.
“Why don’t you convince her to date someone?”
I regret asking for his advice.
“The fuck, Hendrix? And what if I’m not a rebound? I’m just supposed to push her into someone else’s arms. That’s dumb.”
“Is it?” Hendrix shakes his head. “If your connection is as strong as you say it is, she’ll take your advice, go on a date, and be thinking about you the whole time.” He takes another pull of the cigar. “She’ll realize how she feels. And it gives you some time away to see how you feel.”
Is he right? Hendrix may have a big mouth, but his advice has always been that of a ninety-year-old who has lived a life full of experiences, ready to verbally vomit all advice.
All my life I’ve followed in Patrick’s footsteps and have always fallen short. At least until I decided to pave my own path. I hate thinking about how I can never live up to the ridiculous expectations my brother has from our parents. Or maybe they weren’t my parents’ expectations at all, but my own. I was always overshadowed, and I know that Waverly’s relationship with Patrick was strained on a good day. It still digs up every insecurity in me that a relationship between me and her will follow suit. I’ll fall short just like I always did. But this is not something I want to fall short at doing.
I need to make sure I’m not only protecting her from wasting her time, but I need to protect myself.
“I need another drink,” I push off from the wall and go to pour us two large glasses of whiskey and take them back out to the patio. He looks at the drinks in my hand. “Good decision.”
I’m hoping that’s the start of many, because right now, it’s time for me to decide how to do this without breaking her. Or me.