by Joanne Rock
Which she couldn’t.
“You’re going to get the part,” Blair told Tana firmly. Then, she pointed her martini glass toward Sable and explained, “I ran lines with her before today’s callback, and she’s great.”
Tana scoffed, but something in her expression showed her pleasure at the compliment.
Sable felt guilty that she’d offered her roommates so little of her time. Blair had only been living here for a few days and had already jumped in to help, while Sable barely knew what Tana did each day. Or maybe it wasn’t guilt so much as simple regret that she hadn’t taken the time to enjoy the camaraderie of things like Friday happy hours with these women who had the potential to be good friends. She’d been so invested in her job, spending all her extra time on creating content for Zayn social media, that she’d ignored her personal interests at a time when she might have really benefited from girlfriends.
Especially now, when this world was slipping away from her too quickly.
“I could at least have something nonalcoholic with you,” she announced, stashing her bag on an open shelf of cookbooks below the breakfast bar that overlooked the dining room. “Second callbacks deserve celebrating.”
“I made fresh lemonade,” Blair said. “It’s in the fridge.”
“Wait until you see this,” Tana added, darting past Sable to reach the refrigerator first so she could open the door for her. “Look.”
The high-end appliance had been cleaned out and organized; the white interior was gleaming and the thinned-out offerings were now easy to see. In the middle of the tallest shelf sat a hand-painted glass pitcher filled with ice cubes and fresh lemon slices.
“As in you made lemonade? From scratch?” Sable lifted out the pitcher, exchanging looks with Tana, whose expression communicated equal enthusiasm for their new housemate.
“You know it’s just three ingredients, right?” Blair opened a cupboard and located a hand-painted glass that matched the pitcher. “It’s been fun exploring the kitchen. Cybil has everything in here.”
Sable continued to stare into the refrigerator, suddenly ravenous at the sight of food and wishing she’d come up with a different excuse for not drinking. She hid a sigh as she poured her lemonade, returned the pitcher to the shelf, and closed the door.
Lifting her glass, she faced Blair and Tana. “To second callbacks.”
“And staying in New York,” Tana added as she raised hers, the silver skull on her leather wrist cuff glinting in the light from the Art Deco–style pendant lamp.
“And new friends.” Blair slid off the counter to clink her glass with theirs. “I don’t know about you all, but I’m far from home, and I appreciate the girl time. Cheers, chicas.”
“Cheers.” Sable’s throat tightened; she agreed with the sentiment even if she wouldn’t be able to enjoy it for long.
Didn’t she owe it to herself and her child to have more of a network? Especially since she would be doing her portion of the childrearing alone. Sure, Roman wanted to share the duties with her, but that just meant handing off their baby to him so he could take his turn at parenting—alone. And when she got the child back, she’d have to navigate the decisions and responsibilities by herself, as well.
As the reality of that set in—along with hunger pangs for more than just popcorn—Sable decided she didn’t want to keep her pregnancy a secret any longer. Was that unfair since she’d asked Roman to keep it quiet until the twelve-week appointment?
Yes. But he wasn’t carrying the baby. He didn’t have the same burdens she did, let alone the same anxieties. Even though he might share some of her fears about a miscarriage, he couldn’t possibly know the devastation of losing a longed-for pregnancy.
It was on the tip of her tongue to confess the truth when the doorbell chimed.
“Did you order a pizza?” Sable asked, blurting out the only possibility that came to mind.
Tana was already jogging up the steps to answer the door. Blair was shaking her head when they heard voices at the front door—Tana’s and a man’s. It wasn’t Roman. Sable would have known that particular tone anywhere. But she could see in Blair’s face that the woman recognized who it was. Her cheeks went pink even as the rest of her skin paled. She swallowed reflexively.
A curious response.
“Blair?” Tana called down the steps. “Lucas Deschamps is here and he’s asking for you.”
Sable bit back a smile as Blair swore and then paced twice across the kitchen before heading upstairs.
Apparently Friday night happy hour was over. And maybe it was just as well, since now Sable could finally make herself some dinner. Soon, she’d tell her new friends about the baby.
But first, she had to get through her date with Roman tomorrow without things becoming heated. She hoped it would be easier now that she understood Roman was keeping a piece of himself locked away from her. More than once, she’d relived those moments when his expression had gone shuttered after they’d gotten intimate two nights ago. She’d had the sense he was hiding something from her, and the anxiety about what that might be had only grown in their time apart.
Maybe the memory of that feeling—the way he’d kept her at arm’s length right after he’d taken her to sensual heights—would help her resist him tomorrow.
Besides, they were sightseeing. As long as they remained in public, there would be no chance of clothes coming off or boundaries coming down.
And her wounded feelings from two days ago would give her the extra defenses she needed around him.
* * *
“I wish I could take photos of your brother’s designs with this as a backdrop,” Sable commented as she strolled through the Cloisters museum, pausing briefly to admire the view of the Hudson River outside one of the doors. “Everything would look more elegant in this setting.”
She made an expansive gesture with one arm, indicating the L-shaped arcade overlooking well-tended gardens planted with hundreds of species used for food, medicine or—according to the literature—magic in the Middle Ages.
Roman followed her, more captivated by the woman than the art and architecture. Spring bloomed outside the open arcade, with vibrant flowers and droning bees drunk on too much pollen. But the lush silhouette of Sable in a full yellow skirt and fitted white T-shirt drew his eye the most. The day had been relaxed and fun, with Sable taking as much pleasure from the architectural elements salvaged from medieval abbeys and churches as she did from the unicorn tapestries and the profusion of plant life. They’d played “I spy” with the huge tapestries, finding cats and frogs, hidden initials and dragonflies. She’d revealed a deep love of art that her husband apparently hadn’t shared, making Roman all the more glad he’d brought her here for a day of sightseeing.
A day to get to know her better and—he hoped—start planning a workable future for raising a child together. So far, he’d been able to shove aside the ever-present attraction enough to put her at ease, and he was damned grateful she hadn’t brought up the way their last date had morphed from dinner to him touching her. As much as he’d lobbied to give her that kind of release, and as much as he absolutely had wanted it, he hadn’t bargained on the feelings that swamped him afterward. The need to pull her into his arms. To take her to bed for more than just sex. To hold her. Comfort her.
To lay his hand on the place where his child grew.
Those needs had rattled the hell out of him, reminding him there was risk involved every time he succumbed to the chemistry with Sable.
Now she glanced at him over her shoulder, making him realize he’d been lost in thought about what happened next.
“I’m glad you approve of this place,” he finally answered, his hand moving automatically to the small of her back as they headed deeper into the unique building made up of reconstructed cloisters from medieval Europe. “The park is beautiful, too. I thought we’d take a walk on the path
s whenever you’re ready.” He’d brought a picnic to share with her and left the hamper in the car while they toured the museum.
“Sounds good,” she agreed, pausing inside the cool, shadowy interior where stone steps led down into a room they hadn’t yet explored. “This must be the Gothic chapel. The colors of the stained glass are so pretty.”
Roman followed, his gaze snagging on the tomb effigies laid out around the chapel, while Sable checked her phone for notes on the self-guided tour she’d downloaded for the day. He hadn’t realized he’d halted his steps until she turned to look back at him.
“Are you coming?” She observed him, her head tilted to one side, dark hair sliding over her shoulder.
He couldn’t imagine what she might see reflected on his face as the somber ambience of the chapel took hold of him, memories of another chapel weighing his feet like lead. He was standing beside a tomb featuring a sculpture of a woman in silent repose, her hands clasped just above her waist and her head resting forever on a pillow of cold limestone. And just like that he was catapulted back in time, to a casket he’d never wanted to stand beside.
Was it the atmosphere created by the stained glass and statues of saints around the chapel that brought back so vividly the day he’d laid his wife to rest? Or was it the effigy of the noblewoman in her gown and jewelry, a coin purse at her waist, that reminded him of Annette’s family squabbling about which of her dresses to send to the funeral home? They’d fought about the outfit as if it mattered, as if it made any difference to the woman he’d loved, who was gone forever.
A bead of cold sweat rolled down his temple.
“Roman?” Sable’s voice sounded far away now, and distorted as if she were speaking underwater.
He took in a breath to answer, but the feeling of claustrophobia increased, as if the walls were pressing in and there was no air to spare. His fingers moved to his throat, as if to loosen a collar or tie, or whatever was making his airway feel constricted. But there was nothing there.
Just skin gone clammy above the open neck of his button-down.
“Excuse me.” He thought he said the words aloud, but couldn’t be sure. He only knew he needed to get outside.
Away from the tombs and the dark, quiet chapel.
Now.
Bolting up the stairs, he crossed an arcade, passed the tapestries room and followed exit signs to the east side of the building. He went down a long ramp toward a set of double doors and barreled through one of them, craving sunshine and fresh air. A breath that wasn’t haunted by the past.
On the pavement out front, he dragged in one lungful after another, waiting for his head to clear. For the cold clamminess on his skin to disappear. He shoved a weary hand into his hair and scraped his fingertips over his scalp, willing some warmth to return to his body.
A moment later, he heard light footsteps approaching behind him. He didn’t know how he knew it was Sable when a hundred other people were there around him, entering and exiting the museum or exploring the park. Yet he knew without turning that she was the one drawing near. The back of his neck prickled with awareness.
And at this moment more than ever, it felt like disloyalty to his wife’s memory. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to get his head together before he turned and faced her.
The tender concern in her hazel eyes slid right past his defenses, reminding him that Sable was a good person. None of his screwed-up feelings were her fault, and he owed her an explanation.
“Should we head home?” Sunlight streamed through her dark hair, burnishing the glossy locks to show subtle caramel strands. “I can drive if you don’t feel well.”
“I’m better,” he assured her, taking her cool fingers in his. “Are you still up for that walk?”
He hoped it would help level him out. Calm his still racing heart. Plus, he really wanted to banish the shadows in Sable’s eyes. Shadows he’d put there, when he’d been trying so hard to make the day all about her. But he knew he owed her an explanation, and he couldn’t very well provide it here in front of the swarm of visitors.
“Are you sure?” She took a step closer to him, the yellow outer layer of her floaty skirt brushing against his calf as she moved. “I don’t mind calling it a day.”
“No. I’m fine.” Squeezing her fingers gently in his, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the backs of her knuckles, trying like hell to turn his thoughts around. “Let’s find a spot with a good river view.”
After a moment she nodded, walking with him along the winding paths and stone steps of Fort Tryon Park, the highest point in Manhattan. They remained quiet while they passed through flower beds and crossed an access road, until they reached a low stone wall that separated the lane from the cliffs beyond.
His car was parked close by, but he wasn’t ready to retrieve the food yet. He needed to talk to Sable first. Scouting a good spot to sit and have some privacy, he followed the low wall until he found a flat rock on the other side. The promontory offered a good view of the Hudson River.
“Here. Do you mind if we have a seat for a few minutes?” He pointed out the place he had in mind.
“Sure. I might need a hand over the barrier.” Her gaze flicked to him carefully, as if she was waiting for him to sprint away from her again.
Roman climbed the low stone wall first and then reached back for her, keeping her steady while she navigated the divider. She hopped down beside him, then took a seat on the smooth, flat rock. She folded her skirt around her and drew her knees up a little. She fixed her gaze on the water as a barge moved north, slowly passing the Palisades on the other side of the river. He joined her, sitting close to her but not touching.
“This is gorgeous. You’d never know we were in the city here.” She withdrew her phone and snapped a couple of photos of the river and, south of them, the George Washington Bridge.
He wished he could lose himself in a conversation about the scenery. And, hell, he appreciated the way she gave him an out from talking about what had set him off back there. She had to know something was wrong and yet she was letting him have some space. But she deserved to know the truth.
“You must be wondering what happened in the chapel.” His jaw felt tight. As if his body physically resisted telling the story. He scrubbed a hand over his face.
“I am. But if you’d rather not discuss it—”
“I need to.” Of course, that wasn’t entirely true. He started again. “That is. You should know.”
He stared out at the water as he heard her set aside her phone. He felt rather than saw her tip her head toward him. Waiting. Listening.
“The tombs reminded me of someone I lost. It’s been five years, so I hadn’t really expected that strong a reaction.” In some ways, Annette’s death seemed so recent. But he’d been living without her for five years and three months.
He’d had the grief counseling. He’d thought he’d made his peace. But the baby news had stirred it up for him.
“I’m sorry,” Sable offered quietly, slipping her hand over his to lay her palm on the back of his fingers.
“Thank you. It’s been on my mind more recently because of the pregnancy. I think that’s why the memories came back so strongly today.” Even in the worst of his grief, he’d never had that claustrophobic feeling that had come over him today. That sense he couldn’t breathe.
She went very still beside him. “Whom did you lose?”
He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but something in her tone made him glance over at her. She was pale. Worried.
Did she suspect what he was going to say? Even if she guessed he’d been married before, he wasn’t sure why that would upset her. Not when they were only just getting to know each other, and she’d been so definite about not leaping into a more romantic relationship with him.
Knowing there was no way around it, he admitted what he hadn’t
shared with any other woman who’d passed through his life in the years since Annette’s death.
“My wife.” His gaze held Sable’s. “I was married for fifteen months before she died during a failed heart transplant surgery.”
Eight
Roman was a widower.
Sable allowed the revelation to sink in while the spring sun warmed her bare calves. Birds chirped in the trees overhead. Sunbeams glittered on the Hudson River below them. But the happy bloom of oblivious nature no longer gave the day the same glow that she’d felt earlier. Now she understood why Roman’s skin had felt cold to the touch while they were inside the dim Gothic chapel.
He grieved for a woman he’d loved. A woman he clearly loved still.
“I’m—” Stunned you never mentioned a previous marriage. But this wasn’t about her. She could see for herself how much he mourned his wife. “I’m so sorry, Roman.”
She didn’t trust herself to say much more until she’d wrapped her head around this new disclosure. Her hand remained on top of his, and she stared down at it now, feeling self-conscious about the gesture. Feeling like an intruder in his grief when she wasn’t the woman who held his heart. Giving his hand a last squeeze, she let go and tucked her palms between her knees.
“I should have told you about Annette before. I almost did when we talked about your ex. But we ended up talking about the miscarriage and my thoughts shifted to the baby. And worry about you.” The raw honesty of the words pulled at her, forcing her out of her own thoughts to focus on him.
“Tell me about her.” She needed to know more. After that night she’d had dinner with him, she’d sensed he’d been holding back from her—keeping secrets. Now she understood this was it.
If he’d been holding his marriage close and not sharing with her, she suspected there was a reason for that. And it wasn’t that he just hadn’t found a way to introduce the topic.
Beside her, Roman draped his wrists over his knees, shoulders dropping.
