by Joya Ryan
“It is,” Hazel said over the rim of her mug. “Hot chocolate with whipped cream flavored vodka.”
I nodded and took another, smaller sip because wow, Hazel seemed to really like “whipped cream.”
“Thanks for staying in with me tonight,” I said.
I set the mug down on the coffee table and grabbed a string of red, yellow, and orange lights shaped like leaves. Stepping on the couch, I placed one end of the strand at the corner of the window.
“Of course. I’m glad we finally get to spend some relaxy time together.” She took a sip of cocoa and handed me a tack.
“Does relaxy time include using me as manual labor to hang all your fall decorations?” I moved along the couch, holding the string as I went, and Hazel handed me another tack to secure the next length along the top of the window.
“Hey, you’re taller than I am, and tell me these aren’t adorable.” She held up what was, I assumed, a turkey. It was made out of papier-mâché, sequins, and twine, and looked as if it had suffered a stroke.
“It’s still September. A little early for Thanksgiving decorations, isn’t it?”
“They’re not Thanksgiving decorations, they’re autumn décor,” Hazel clarified, accenting the last word a bit.
A slice of dread ran through me as I realized these things would be up for the next few months.
“Where did you get that thing?” I asked, trying to find something positive to say.
“The farmers market. Isn’t it unique?” She smiled at stroke turkey—which I was now mentally calling Stroky—and I just nodded.
“It’s something, alright.”
“So,” she said, handing me another tack, “how’s everything going with Hottie McGovernor?”
I wished I could reach my cocoa just then because I needed a distraction from the question. I had no idea how it was going with Roman. Mostly because I hadn’t heard from him in two days, not since our wham-bam-can’t-come-inside-cuz-I-don’t-trust-you-but-I’ll-have-sex-with-you-in-the-car-thank-you-ma’am incident.
I didn’t realize I hadn’t answered her question until she followed up with, “Are you worried about your busy schedule coming up?”
“Yeah,” I said, though that wasn’t entirely true. The traveling was just the tip of the iceberg.
Roman’s secretary had sent me an e-mail this morning, outlining the itinerary for the next month. October was right around the corner, and most of it would be spent campaigning in various cities, with only a few days in between to pop into work.
However, since the fundraiser, I hadn’t actually talked to Roman. The one follow-up text he’d sent me, informing me of my required appearances, didn’t count as an actual conversation. He hadn’t mentioned the blog post, so I hadn’t bothered asking. I was trying to take Paige’s advice and not worry about it.
I leaned down and Hazel handed me another tack. Two more, and the leaves would line the whole window.
“Everything will be okay,” Hazel assured me. “I bet you won’t ever run into Warren again.”
I sighed. It was a logical conclusion to draw, from her perspective. After the panic attack at the fundraiser, Paige had apparently texted Hazel to rush home and check on me, since she couldn’t leave the mansion. I had amazing friends. Even though I was inarguably making Paige’s life harder, she was still supporting me.
Because of the agreement, I hadn’t gone into the details of what had happened that night. Problem was, I could really use some advice.
“I think I spooked Roman,” I admitted.
“What do you mean?”
“After seeing Warren, I sort of had that mini-attack, but Roman calmed me down before it got really bad.”
Hazel’s eyes went wide. “That’s great! Well, not great you had an attack, but it’s great how he helped you.”
Exactly what I thought. He’d been so amazing. Calming. Comforting. Which was why I was convinced there was something real between us. Why I had let myself get caught up in the backseat of his car. None of that mattered at the end of the night, though, because once we were done, the masked man had returned.
“I’m pretty sure it changed Roman’s perception of me. He’s been different.” I didn’t know how else to describe it without going into all sorts of details.
Hazel just looked up at me like what I’d said made no sense.
“Don’t let him,” she stated simply, and handed me the last tack.
“Don’t let him what?”
“Think of you in any other way than the one you want.”
I smiled, and after making sure the string of lights was supported, I hopped down. “You make it sound so easy.”
“Oh, it’s hard as hell. But if you want to be respected or viewed a certain way, you have to be that woman before you can project it. Know what you want and don’t settle for less.”
That actually made a lot of sense. I knew what I wanted professionally: funding for the Arbor Hill center, the Level Two job opening, and a career helping people. Emotionally though, I wanted strength. Peace. Roman. I was just struggling with how to go about getting those things. But Hazel did an amazing job of owning herself and her world. She was barely five feet tall, a tiny thing, but her presence took up the entire room and made her appear as big as her personality.
“You’re right,” I said. I needed to get it together. But one major issue danced around inside my skull. “I can’t seem to kick my anxiety problem, though. It’s like, when I’m caught off guard, I spiral down into all my fears.”
“Except with Roman,” Hazel said and handed me my cocoa.
I took it and sat on the couch. “Yeah. Except with Roman.”
He caught me off guard in a totally different way. A way that made me want to tap into the edgy need he brought out in me. Made me want to reach for the rising heat, instead of run from it. When I was with him, I felt free and powerful, like I could feed off of his capability and match it. Like I could be a good counterpart.
“I know you struggle with anxiety and your past, but it’s not all you are. Warren’s a douche and just happens to bring out the worst in you, no shocker there,” Hazel said. She started arranging Stroky and his equally sad-looking flock on our coffee table.
I smiled, loving her more by the minute. She didn’t know the details surrounding my sister’s death, how my choices that night had been the wrong ones, or how they ate at me every day. And I was glad for that.
It wasn’t because I didn’t trust her. I just didn’t want one more person looking at me with disgust or pity. My issues were my own, and even though I had a hard time dealing with some of them, others I could handle. Like Roman. And it was time I started doing that.
“But are you weak, Amy?” Hazel said, jolting me back to the present.
“No,” I said, suddenly feeling like I needed a megaphone.
“That’s right. And my guess is, Roman’s a guy.”
I laughed. “I can confirm that.”
Hazel glanced up from Stroky and smiled. “What I mean is, guys are stupid sometimes. He’s either tiptoeing around you because he doesn’t want to hurt you, or he doesn’t know how to deal with his big scary man feelings, so he just pretends they don’t exist. But if he didn’t like you, or you weren’t worth the trouble, he’d just dump you.”
“Don’t sugarcoat it or anything,” I mumbled, and she smiled.
Roman wouldn’t dump me during the campaign because of our arrangement…then again, maybe he would. If I wasn’t providing him with any “value,” why keep the deal going? Maybe he did like me beyond our secret pact. If so, I needed to bring out that side of him. Because it was no secret how I felt…and my poor body was damn near shaking from withdrawals already. I needed his touch.
“Time to start taking control and going after what you want,” Hazel said, lifting her mug and gently bumping it against mine.
I smiled, because I knew exactly what, rather who, that entailed. Roman had his agenda: to keep a firm line between the physical part
of our relationship and the rest of it. Fine. But my goals were different. I wanted The Real Roman. And I knew now that I couldn’t separate my feelings the way he seemed to. Therefore, I wouldn’t give into one aspect of our relationship without the other. This would be either a business deal, cut and dry and completely emotion free, or it would be more—on every level.
Arrangement or not, I had a feeling I’d still want him after the election, which gave me a little more than a month to show Roman what I saw: that there was something real between us.
“You’ve got an ambitious look on your face there,” Hazel said with a grin.
“Just thinking of how to go after what I want.”
“Good.” She beamed at me. “Now open that box and help me with the rest of the decorations.”
I pulled the box toward me and removed the lid, revealing a bright pink crocheted cornucopia and a set of antlers.
“Oh! Those would look great in the kitchen.”
It was going to take a few more cups of cocoa before Hazel and I saw eye to eye on that.
“You’ve traveled around New York with the governor for his campaign the last couple weeks, right?”
“Yes, that’s correct.” I acknowledged quickly.
“And you work at a nonprofit rehabilitation facility?”
“New Beginnings,” I answered, mentally double-checking my posture and keeping my eyes on the interviewer, just like I had been taught.
“Is your personal relationship with the governor the reason he has turned up the heat on anti-drug policies, and is pushing for more funding for facilities like the one you work for?”
“The governor supports New York and all her citizens. Drugs are a serious problem that needs to be addressed. The solutions he is putting forth are for the good of New York.”
“Do you stay in separate hotel rooms when you travel?”
“I…ah…”
“No!” Bill slapped his papers down. “That pause is the same thing you did last week. Respond quickly and clearly, or you look guilty of something.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry. I can do better,” I promised. Yes, I could do better—if I could just get a handle on my freaking brain, and get it to think about something else other than Roman’s body and all the things I wanted to do to it.
The last couple of weeks had passed so quickly. Between traveling around New York with Roman and attempting to keep some kind of work schedule, I could count on one hand how many nights I’d slept in my own bed. Which was still more than I’d slept in Roman’s.
I’d made a commitment to myself that I wouldn’t sleep with Roman again until there was a real exchange of honesty and emotion between us. Unfortunately, the lack of connection, in every sense, was taking its toll.
Because the truth was, not only were we not sleeping together, we were staying in separate rooms. Ever since the night I’d had the panic attack and Roman had reiterated that his feelings weren’t tied to sex, he’d kept everything surface level between us. He wouldn’t talk about that night, and until he did, I wouldn’t give in, a fact I had made very clear. But that hadn’t stopped him from trying to lure me to the dark side…
“Maybe you’re stressed out, sweetheart,” Roman said, leaning over the back of my chair so his lips were right by my ear. “Maybe you need to blow off some steam.” He nipped my earlobe, and I stifled a moan. Lowering his voice so that only I could hear him, he finished with, “Say the word and I can help with that.”
I glanced up. Damn him. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to bring me around to his way of seeing things. Roman thought we were “real enough” without him actually sharing some piece of himself or talking about what had happened between us. The sly glances he threw me, the way he would whisper naughty phrases, had me constantly wet. But I stayed strong. He had his terms, and I had mine.
I wanted more.
He wanted more.
We just had different definitions of what that word meant.
I didn’t think anyone had noticed a difference, except for me. I knew the difference between being seen by Roman and being looked over. And the lack of connection with him was chipping away at me, making my plan to achieve what I wanted all the more difficult.
“That’s enough for today, Bill,” Roman said, standing to his full height.
Bill rose and gathered his files.
“Practice.” Bill handed me the list of questions he had been grilling me on for the last two weeks.
I nodded and took a deep breath. Roman showed him out, shut the door, and walked toward me.
“You okay?” He had been asking me that a lot lately, and frankly, I was feeling more like a porcelain doll than a human being.
“No, I’m not okay.” I gathered my nerve, stood, and stepped toward him. “I need to practice my replies.”
I handed him the paper, and he cleared his throat and leaned against his desk.
“I only have a few minutes,” he said.
Of course. Keeping it quick, like he had been doing for the past two weeks. Tempting me one moment with his sexual innuendo, only to hustle me out the door if we were on the brink of actually talking. That’s when he suddenly became busy. He was probably worried that if he was near me too long I’d…what? Freak out? Insist that he talk to me?
I was already not thrilled by my behavior at the fundraiser. But at the time, he had been supportive, calming me down, not making me feel like some kind of unhinged female. There had been a moment when something in his eyes had told me he understood. Knew what panic, lack of control over your emotions, your body, felt like. But whatever piece of Roman had related to me in that moment was gone now, because there was one thing I was certain of: Roman was in control of his world and himself. All the time.
“Why don’t you start where Bill left off?” I suggested.
“Do you and the governor stay in separate rooms?”
“Yes.” Quick and concise. Bill would be proud. But why not elaborate? “And we do so because lately, the governor doesn’t seem interested in being in any room with me for too long.”
His jaw ticked. “That doesn’t sound like something Bill would have advised you to say, nor is it accurate.”
“It’s not?” I shrugged. “Because it’s an accurate observation.”
“I enjoy being in any room with you, so long as we both understand that what happens in that room means something different to me than it does to you.”
“And why is that?” I lifted my chin. “What I want and what I can handle are two different things. Shutting down completely is impossible, especially when we’re together.” I enunciated the last word so he would know what kind of “together” I meant. “I’m not going to break down or go overboard, but it’s just stupid for you to deny everything emotional between us. And I don’t know why you do it.”
“Is that what you think?”
“What else am I supposed to think? We’re in a relationship, are we not?” I raised my brows, challenging his own rules about our arrangement, and the fact that we weren’t allowed to voice that reality unless he permitted it. He clearly didn’t like that. Well, too bad. He’d gotten to play the “couple card,” now it was my turn.
“We are together, right?” I asked again.
“We are. And my hope is that you’ll trust me and know that my treatment of you comes from a place of concern.”
“I don’t need your concern. And it’s ironic that you want my trust when you won’t budge on doing the same. Believe it or not, I can handle more than you think.”
“I’m very aware of that, Amy. But I pushed your limits before we were clear—”
“I like it when you push my limits,” I cut in. “What I don’t like is the aftermath, when you pretend that it meant absolutely nothing.”
I took another step, closing in on him. Maybe some explanation and action would hammer home my point.
“I liked the night in your room, the way you felt…inside of me,” I whispered. I’d
never said such things out loud, but if I wanted to salvage this bond between us, it was time for honesty. “I miss that feeling, Roman. I miss you.”
“Amy…” It was more of a croak than a voice.
But I was done pretending that I was okay with the distance growing between us.
For the last two weeks, I had been colder than I had since Lauren died. It was the kind of deep chill that creeps up and settles in your bones when you’ve lost something you’re not ready to let go of.
I wasn’t ready to lose Roman.
Not yet.
Not this way.
If there was one thing I did know, it was that having a choice was a powerful thing. And I had some to make. Either let others, including Roman, dismiss my worth, or show them otherwise.
I didn’t know what Roman and I were, but whatever it was, while large parts of it were built on falsehoods, there was something very real at its heart. I’d felt it the night I met Roman at the gala. Though brief, there was an intense connection, an uncertain draw to one another.
There was something very wounded, very genuine about Roman Reese, and I had gotten a glimpse of it. I wasn’t ready to toss that. It was that small part of him I held on to, the one real thing I identified with. It was simply him. When all the bullshit, swagger, and stature were peeled away, the titles, strategy, and politics pushed aside, I was left with Roman: The man. Which was what I wanted. Needed.
He felt real.
We felt real.
I took another step. I could reach out and touch him, but I didn’t. Instead I said, “Next question.”
He took a long moment to look at the paper before he finally asked it.
“Are you sleeping with the governor?”
“No,” I grinned. “I was informed once that if I ever came close to a bed with him, we’d be fucking, not sleeping.”
He took a deep breath, his impressive chest rising and falling while he took in my words. Bill had been harping on appropriate public behavior, talking points, and “prep-work” for the last few weeks, and as a result, I was getting better at responding quickly without showing my nerves. It was an ability that was helpful right now.
