Crescent Hill

by Jackie Wang

  Roman showed me into the foyer, which looked three times bigger than it did on the outside. The walls were paneled with oak, with a flagstone fireplace against the back wall. A single stag head was mounted above the mantle. Whereas the taxidermy animals once looked hideous at Crescent Hill, here, it looked perfect.

  The hardwood floors had been recently refinished and gleamed under the twinkling antique chandeliers. A bar to the left oozed old world charm, and it was surrounded by pillars wrapped in holiday lights. A large British flag hung beside the glass shelves of liquor and spirit bottles. The northwest corner formed a cozy lounge area for more relaxed dining. The place had a lot of rustic charm to it, and reminded me of Crescent Hill, and of home.

  “Did you base this interior design off Crescent Hill?”

  “Something like that.”

  “It’s almost like a miniature version of my parents’ hotel. But more…British.”

  Roman snuck up behind me and rested both hands on my shoulders. “Our restaurant sources all local food. Head chef’s name is Maurice Bouillard. Great guy. Fun fact: The original owner from 1870 hung himself right there, on those rafters.”

  “Oh.” I grimaced. “Yikes.”

  “Anyway. You know,” he began, “We’re looking for someone to help run the café. Preferably a qualified baker with hands-on business experience.”

  I arched my brow. “Are you hinting at something?”

  “You don’t have to go back to that island, Maggie. You can stay on this one. The UK is much bigger. Less claustrophobic, don’t you think?”

  “I’m on a tourist visa,” I said, lungs struggling to inflate.

  “I can get that fixed, no problem.”

  “My parents…they’re expecting me to come home in January. Besides, the boys have to go to school. And my friends—”

  “Our journey doesn’t have to end short this time, Maggie. You’re on my turf now, and I can make adjusting to London very comfortable for all three of you. You wouldn’t have to worry about anything.”

  “I’m not someone you can buy with promises of luxury and a comfortable lifestyle.” I frowned and saw something like hurt in Roman’s eyes.

  “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that, Maggie. I’d pay you the same as any other candidate I’d hire for the position.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Give me some time. I’ll think about it.”

  “Who’s this?” came a high-pitched voice.

  I turned and saw a tall, rail-thin woman who shared Roman’s eyes and mouth. She was wearing a navy blazer and a matching pencil skirt, with very sensible-looking black pumps. A heavy amount of paperwork was stacked in the crook of her arm. “You must be Amelia,” I said. “I’m Maggie.”

  We shook hands, and Amelia couldn’t stop smiling. Her eyes, however, looked a bit off. Maybe because they were so bloodshot. “So, you’re the one Roman named this place after.”

  Heat spread through my body. Would I acknowledge that fact proudly, or with embarrassment? “Yes. But, I didn’t know that…until five minutes ago.”

  “He hasn’t been the same since he came back from Penderton Island last year.”

  I looked to Roman, whose face remained impassive. “Don’t give her a hard time, Amelia.”

  Amelia continued, “You’re quite the heartbreaker, aren’t you?” She placed her paperwork on a table and tugged down her skirt. She had very toned, athletic legs. “Has Roman shown you the place yet?”

  “We were just getting started with the tour.”

  “Let me show you what Maggie’s Inn has to offer,” Amelia volunteered. “Roman, why don’t you talk with Saffron about the press releases for tomorrow?”

  Roman rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. He checked his watch. “I should get going. I’ll see you later then, Maggie?”

  “Okay.” As I watched Roman leave, I felt oddly abandoned, as if he’d cast me into a wolf den with no weapons to defend myself.

  “Come this way,” Amelia gestured. Her clicking heels and the ticking clock were the only sounds in this inn. My throat constricted, and my tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth.

  I followed Amelia down a flight of creaky wooden stairs. Each time my feet settled on a tread, the warped wood would sag and groan under my weight. The air was chillier too and smelled musty.

  “We start with the cellar,” Amelia said. “This is where we keep all the vino. It’s still…under construction. For now.”

  I groped blindly in the darkness until Amelia flicked on a set of incandescent lights. The space was cavernous and confining; it gave off more of a dungeon vibe than a cellar vibe. I half expected to see iron shackles or a skeleton around the corner. Exposed brick walls seemed to ooze decades of misery. Where the main floor was homey, welcoming and warm, this place dank, dusty and cold as hell.

  As soon as Roman’s footsteps faded away, and I heard a door slam, Amelia gripped both of my arms and gave me a little shake. “What’s the matter with you?”

  I blinked. Hard. “Huh?”

  “Why the hell are you here?” Amelia asked, her eyes bulging. Her lips were so pursed they looked like a paper cut across her face.

  “Umm…Roman invited me?”

  “I mean here, in London.”

  Amelia’s razor-sharp nails dug into my biceps, and I winced, shaking her off. “It’s a free world, isn’t it? I’m here on vacation, with my sons. And I’m in pastry school.”

  Amelia shook her head. “You don’t understand. You ruined him, Maggie. He was devastated when he came back last year. He shut himself in the house for a whole week. Ignored everybody. Please don’t hurt my brother again. I don’t think he could handle it.”

  I folded my arms across my chest, breathing hard. My sweater itched around the collar and sweat dampened my backside. “Please stop interrogating me and telling me how to think and act. I don’t appreciate it.” This was not how I imagined meeting Roman’s sister to be like. I didn’t think it’d be sunshine and rainbows, but at least I thought she’d be nice to me, not vicious and accusatory.

  Amelia ran a panicked hand through her frizzy blond hair. Her nostrils flared. “Maggie’s Inn officially opens tomorrow night. I need Roman to focus on the business. He can’t do that if he’s pandering to your wishes.”

  “No one’s pandering to anyone’s wishes,” I said, turning for the stairs. I gripped the railing, hard, and began making my way up. “In fact, I didn’t even want to see him in the first place. We accidentally saw each other on the street because my cooking school is one block away from this inn!”

  “I don’t care how or why you two reconnected, just please, if you ever cared about my brother, stay away from him. It’ll be better for the both of you.” I studied her face, which was partially hidden in the shadows. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes were hard.

  Bile rose in my throat. “If you care about your brother, you’ll stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. He’s a grown man who can make his own life decisions, thank you very much.”

  “I’m only warning you for your own good,” Amelia said, geometric shadows playing against her outfit. “Roman is a public figure. This could end badly for you. It’s not like you two have a future anyway.”

  I turned away, balling my hands into fists. “Please excuse me, Amelia. I think this tour is over, don’t you?”

  As I made my way back upstairs, I heard her reply, “It’s not over until you leave London.”

  Chapter 39

  When I re-emerged outside, London suddenly felt colder and more inhospitable than ever. The cobblestone streets seemed more pitted and uneven; I stumbled twice before I could reach the entrance for the Underground. The city was trying to piss me off and kick me out.

  I didn’t belong here.

  I could never belong here.

  I felt as if the passerby were judging me as I stumbled down the metal stairs and onto the platform. It’d been a long day, and I felt ragged. Exhaustion bore down o
n my lower back like a lead cauldron; a burden I didn’t want to bear, but couldn’t shake off, either. I wanted to crawl into bed, hug a pillow, and sleep away the ache in my chest. As if sleep could cure a heartache.

  Not only did Roman’s sister hate me, but she'd also practically threatened me to stay away from her precious ‘public figure’ of a brother. Was she just overprotective, or did she always act like such a bitch? Roman and I were two grown adults. We didn’t need Amelia’s approval for anything. But if this was the type of antagonism we could expect from his family, then no thank you. I didn’t ever want to see that vile woman again.

  I stumbled onto the train and squeezed into a seat between two teenagers with pierced noses and lips. They both leaned forward and began chatting about some music festival this weekend, as if I wasn’t sandwiched in the middle. I tried to shake off the nasty feeling Amelia left in my stomach, but couldn’t, and ended up with horrible cramps instead. I felt bloated and achy, and my head spun.

  So much for a day filled with endless possibilities.

  So much for new beginnings.

  Later that night, I broke the news to the boys. “Roman is incredibly busy with the grand opening of a new hotel. He won’t be able to see us for quite some time.”

  “But he promised to take us to the Tower of London,” Jason whined. What was with him and the Tower of London? He was obsessed with seeing it.

  “I can take you there. Tomorrow. How’s that, baby?” I asked in the most even voice I could manage.

  “It’s better going with a local,” Greg said. “No offense, Mom, but you don’t know anything about this city or its history.”

  Greg’s words snipped me open like a pair of scissors, but I maintained a cheerful attitude. “Well, that’s what Google is for, right? I can study up on it tonight.”

  Greg frowned and turned back to his model airplane. “It’s just not the same, Mom.”

  “Did something happen between you two?” Jason wanted to know.

  “No, nothing happened, baby. He’s just really busy, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, sure.” The two headed off to brush their teeth and change into their PJs.

  Even they could tell that something was off. I’d never been a good liar.

  While the boys slept, I pored over articles about the Tower of London and watched several videos about its history. I needed to prove to my sons that we didn’t need Roman to have a good time here. I could be their everything. We didn’t need a fourth member in this family. I’d perfected the single parent act over the years, and the boys always had most of their needs met. I didn’t need some glittery new idol to worship. I couldn’t afford to surrender to lust and risk heartache. And the last thing I needed was for everyone at home to think that I’d latched on to some British sugar daddy.

  Just before midnight, my cellphone buzzed. A new text, from an unknown number. I almost didn’t want to look at it but unlocked my screen anyway.

  Why’d you leave without saying goodbye?

  My eyes scanned the sentence twice, thinking it was probably a wrong number. Roman?

  Who else?

  How’d you get my number?

  Closette gave it to me. Your address too. I knew they’d come in handy sometime.

  And here I thought that in the big city, my privacy would be respected.

  I was asleep.

  No, you weren’t.

  How would you know that?

  Your light is still on.

  Are you stalking me, Roman Finnegan?

  Maybe. Open the door.

  I waited forty whole seconds before replying: Are you insane? It’s midnight. I’m not opening the door for anyone at this hour.

  Not even if I was bleeding out on your front step?

  You’re not…Are you?

  I think if I was bleeding out, I’d call 999, not you.

  What do you want, Roman?

  I missed you today.

  Roman…This, whatever it is…I can’t do it. Both of us will just end up getting hurt, and I don’t want that. And I don’t think it’s healthy to let the boys get attached to you again.

  All that would make sense…if you were leaving in January.

  Which I am!

  Not if I can help it. Please, open the door. I want to talk.

  I stood up, parted my Venetian blinds, and scanned the dark street outside. Roman was leaning against his car, which was parked right in front of my place. The landlady, Ms. Thatcher, would not be happy if she found out I was letting a visitor in so late at night.

  I opened the door, and paused in the doorway, arms folded across my chest. A small gust of wind blew some snow against my face. Goosebumps tickled my arms and legs, and my knees knocked together. “W-What are you doing, Roman?” I asked, teeth chattering.

  Roman leaped up the front steps, taking them two at a time. “Something I should’ve done twelve months ago.” He stopped in front of me, our chests a hair’s breadth apart. Mine shaking from the cold, his, from I don’t know what.

  “What?” I asked.

  Roman pushed me up against the door and threaded his fingers through my hair. His hands felt great against my scalp. I wanted to feel his hands everywhere. “The last time I saw you…When we were standing in the foyer…I should’ve told you that I’d fallen hopelessly in love with you. That the thought of you and Carl getting back together tore me to shreds. That I was so jealous, I wanted to demand you never see him again. I should’ve told you how much I wanted to take care of you and the boys. How much I wanted to treat you the way a Queen should be treated. The night I left, I swallowed all my emotions and bottled up all my words. But no more. This is how I feel about you, Maggie, and I won’t deny it for another second. Not to myself or to you. I need to end this torture, tonight.” He paused, gasping for breath.

  I swallowed hard. My lungs had forgotten how to function. My heart, on the other hand, was going haywire.

  Roman began again. “If I’d known how much I’d regret not telling you those things—”

  I stopped him, the pad of my index finger resting on his lower lip. “What matters now is, you’ve finally said them.”

  “And…?”

  I wrinkled my nose and smiled. “And I think you’re incredibly sweet.”

  “But…?”

  “But I’m damaged goods, Roman. Even if you tell me a million times how perfect I am for you, I still don’t think I’m good enough for you.”

  He was Prince Charming, but I was no Cinderella.

  Roman’s thumb stroked my chin. “Why do you think so little of yourself, Maggie?”

  “I…I’ve done nothing remarkable with my life. While you, you’ve created this amazing, successful business empire.”

  “You’ve raised two wonderful boys, doesn’t that count for something?”

  “There are millions of women around the world who raise their children and have fulfilling careers.”

  “But have they gone through what you’ve gone through?”

  “No. How could they? My experiences are my own.”

  Roman pushed inside the house and shut the door behind him. “Then, there you have it. You can’t possibly compare yourself to everyone else because each person’s journey is different. Your past choices have shaped you, but don’t let them restrict or define you. You are more than your history. So much more than you give yourself credit for. You’re sweet, kind, hard-working, loyal, patient…You’ve just never had the opportunity to see yourself through someone else’s eyes.”

  “Roman, you seem to see more in me than everyone else combined. Where I see weakness, you see hope…and potential.”

  “It’s okay to ask for help. It’s not a crime to need a hand, especially after everything you’ve been through. You’ve endured betrayal, heartbreak, gossip, bullies, loss, and unimaginable grief—hardships most people would never understand. Yet you still have a smile on your face, and you carry on. You keep fighting. That’s courage.”

  “You don’t know how m
any sleepless nights I’ve had, Roman. How many times I’ve stared up at my ceiling and wondered if this was as good as it’d ever get for my sons and me.”

  Roman took my hands into his own. “Everything will get better and better now, Maggie. I’m here for you, and I won’t let you face your demons alone. Not anymore.”

  I recoiled. “I risked everything to be with first Carl, then Thomas. They both failed me.”

  Roman stroked my cheek with his thumb. “I know your world is filled with broken hearts, unfulfilled promises, and stolen dreams. It’s hard to trust again. Hard to open up to a man who might betray you. But let me in, Maggie, and I promise, I will do my damnedest to protect you. I won’t hurt you. And if by some accident, I do bruise you, I’ll be the one to heal you too.”

  “I think that may be the most poetic thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, blinking back tears.

  “I had a minor in Classical Literature. Didn’t you know that?” Roman said.

  “No. There’s lots I don’t know about you.”

  “Let me share with you, then. Let me rebuild you. Rebuild us. One piece, one day, one kiss at a time.”

  “You’ve made a lot of pretty big promises tonight.”

  “And I intend to keep every one of them.”

  “How do you plan on doing that?”

  Roman winked. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  “Okay, Roman. You win. You may have my heart, but just remember to handle with care.”

  “Thank you.” Roman leaned down and kissed my knuckles. “You deserve the moon and the stars, Maggie. I’ll give you that, and so much more.”

  “You’re doing a fine job already,” I said, smiling. I rubbed my wrists. “You’ve already made my crappy day infinitely better.”

  “And I’ve only just gotten started.” Roman grinned.

  In his magnetic smile, I found warmth.

  I found belonging.

  I found home.

  Maybe London wasn’t so inhospitable after all. Not while Roman was on my side. Maybe now was a time to persevere despite the obstacles, instead of giving up. Maybe he would be different from the men who came before him. Maybe Amelia was wrong about us. After all, she didn’t know the full story. She only saw the aftermath of what happened between us. If Roman thought I was still worth fighting for, then maybe I should let him champion the crusade against the nightmares that haunted me.