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He continues to pour honey into my ears, making my throat thicken with emotion. His hands glide over my belly in sync with my relaxing breaths, sending tingles across my skin.
“I’m so sorry. My mind was full of vengeance when I left prison, and by the time I realized you were nothing like your father, it was too late.”
“Shut up. I’m trying to concentrate,” I whisper.
His lips brush against my brow. “I’m not a good man or even a nice one, but you own my heart. I would lie, steal, and kill to protect you and your baby.”
Tears prick at my eyes. “What are you trying to say?”
“Listen, I may not be ecstatic that your kid is half a cop, but the least I can do is provide for them, considering I got rid of their dad.”
My noisy gasp is swallowed up by the relaxing music. I turn around and lock gazes with Roman.
He really killed Jim?
As though reading my silent question, he nods.
Lily moves onto stretches, while the birth partners support our backs and hold our limbs in position. Roman concentrates on the instructor’s directions as though committing all the movements to memory.
I have to admit that it’s nice to practice with a partner who’s built like the Terminator. Whenever I demonstrated with Lily, I was always terrified of flattening her with my larger height and weight.
Lily directs us to variations of squatting poses, helped by the birth partners. We combine these with more vigorous breathing exercises to use during labor. Every time I look at Roman or catch his eye in the mirror, his expression varies from adoration to pride to concern.
I’d almost forgotten he could be so sweet.
As Lily guides us into the meditation and relaxation poses, I’m consumed by an overwhelming sense of safety and belonging. As Roman’s hands linger over my belly, I remember all the different ways he came to my rescue.
He didn’t just protect me from Dominic and Jim, he also delivered Lafayette to me hogtied, so I could kick the shit out of him. The same night, he made the restaurant manager who snubbed me grovel on his knees. He even spoke up for me when Annalisa criticized my choice of attire during the family dinner.
Oh, shit.
I can’t let Roman worm his way back under my skin.
I can’t let myself fall for his lies.
When the class ends, the birthing partners and expectant mothers pack up their equipment. I scramble to my feet and walk out through the doors, leaving him behind.
As I burst through the exit and onto the streets, a rough hand grabs my arm. “Isn’t that man a mafia ex-con?” Wendy’s vile husband asks, his smoky breath making my nostrils twitch. “If I’d known you went for the bad boys, I would have made my move sooner.”
“Don’t touch me.” I yank my arm free.
“That type never sticks around,” he says with a leer. “Either they’re in and out of prison or making up for lost time fucking other women.”
The double doors slam open before I can even retort, and Roman charges out, his fists flying. He grabs the creep by the throat and slams him so hard against the wall that his head bounces.
“Don’t you ever touch my wife!”
Wife?
My jaw drops.
Roman can’t tell the truth, even in the heat of the moment. The man is a compulsive liar.
I turn on my heel and walk away.
SIXTY-FIVE
ROMAN
