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My life is one monotonous day after another. Work, sleep, occasionally eat, and spend my nights at home alone. I don’t have girlfriends to go catch a late-night movie with or meet after work for drinks. My existence has evolved around paying bills and taking care of Austin.
As I scroll through Facebook and look at all the exciting things my old friends are doing, it just makes me depressed and lonely. So, I drop my phone on the couch cushion and sort through the pile of mail I have been too scared to open for a week. Just as I suspected, bills. I rest my hands on my head, unable to fight back the tears that always seem to be lingering on the surface. When does it get easier? Why can’t I catch a break?
Bang. The door slams shut.
“Hey,” Austin mumbles as he walks through the living room.
“Your home.” I sit up straight, wiping the pitiful tears from my face.
“Yeah, I wanted to...” He pauses and looks at me, concern masking his face. “What's wrong?” He walks over to me quickly, placing his arm around me as he joins me on the sofa. “What happened?”
“Nothing, I’m okay. Just tired, is all,” I try to reassure him.
“Come on, boogers, spit it out. You can’t hide it from me.”
“Don’t call me that. We're not little kids anymore.” I push him away by his chest.
He pulls me back to him and chuckles. “You will always be boogers to me, no matter how old you get.”
I smile through a sniffle. He always could cheer me up.
“Look, I wanted to say sorry for yesterday. I was tired. I know you work hard to provide for us, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
I let out a shaky breath. “I just worry about you. We're supposed to be a team, Austin. You have to work with me. Otherwise, we will fall apart. You need to finish school and show up to work. Mr. Harris won't be able to keep defending you to his brother if you keep ditching work. We need the money, Austin.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just wish that we could have had a normal life like my friends, you know?”
“Believe me, I know. But wishing doesn’t get us anywhere. We just have to do our best with what we have been given. I can’t do it alone anymore, Austin. I need you. I need you to want more for your life than this and try harder. I don't want this life for you, and that’s why I work so hard, I want you to have the chance that I never got.”
Austin rests his head in the crook of my shoulder. “I am going to do better, boogers. I promise. I am going to help more.”
I wrap my arm around his torso, squeezing tight. “I love you. Even though you call me nose mucus.”
“If the shoe fits.” He laughs.
I dig my fingers into his ribs until he falls down with laughter. “Yeah, how would you like it if I called you turd.” I tickle him more. “Ha? How would you like it?” I tickle him so much he falls off the sofa, and we both burst out with laughter.
Chapter Four
Roman
I PULL UP MY BLACK BMW M5 Hurricane out front of Georgiana’s father’s estate. The place is ostentatious. Ornate hedges line the driveway all the way up to the main house. They live just five miles from downtown, yet their estate sprawls over five acres of green trees and perfectly manicured lawns. I grew up with money, so am well accustomed to luxurious estates and fancy sports cars, but the Sullivans are on a level of their own. They have money and want everyone to know it.
The Sullivans have been very successful property developers in Boston since the eighteen-hundreds. They are not just old money, they are Boston-made billionaires, and everybody knows the Sullivan name.
The butler opens the door for me and welcomes me into the grand foyer. It’s so ridiculously sized, a circus tent could fit in here. Georgiana looks stunning as she descends the last few steps of the palatial staircase. She walks toward me with slicked back brown hair in a high ponytail, slightly curled on the ends. The scarlet-colored gown she’s wearing hugs every delicious curve as she sways over to me and kisses my cheek.
“You look beautiful,” I state as she pulls back, regarding me. I won't lie, she does look beautiful, but she’s not a natural beauty. Fake eyelashes fan over her eyelids, and her skin is stained with a fake olive tone that borders a little on orange. That’s not to be out done by her hair extensions, lip fillers, and God knows what other cosmetic injections she puts in her face because her smile is taut and synthetic.
Anyone that’s twenty-four and getting Botox on their face, either has some kind of age complex or something serious to hide. It makes me wonder if this is what she needs to enhance her beauty at this age, what the hell will she need by the time she is forty? Where does it stop before she becomes disfigured from it all? Images of Michael Jackson float through my head, making me inwardly cringe. Not that I’m that shallow... Well, maybe I am. However, Georgiana has so much makeup on her face; I'm certain I wouldn’t recognize her without it.
She straightens my tie and winks at me. “You look very sharp yourself, Roman.”
I am a flirtatious man by nature, so I can’t help but wink back at her with a smile. “Let's get this show on the road.”
The drive to the fundraiser is long and boring. Georgiana tries to make small talk by asking me about work, but honestly, I’d rather dip my face in acid. I feel like I never stop working. If I am not in the office, I am at court, and if I am not in court, I am off at some sort of elite function. Even when I venture out socially, there is always someone who wants advice or my help. It’s seriously exhausting, and I find very little excites me anymore. I just don’t get a break. The women I bring to my bed lately don’t seem to satisfy me.
“Roman, you missed the turn-off,” Georgiana interrupts my thoughts.
