Page 36 of The Promise

“It’s only little—no one will even see, Papa.”

Demyan shrugged. “No, no one would say anything otherwise, Roman—they wouldn’t dare.”

Somewhere along the way, Roman forgot that the respect and place he had was because better men worked hard for it to be so. He traced the letters of his name carved into the booth with the pad of his thumb, knowing he couldn’t go back to being that younger version of himself sitting across from his father ever again, but still longing for a simpler time in his life.

His father always picked the diner whenever he wanted to sit down with his son, one on one, and when he thought back now—Roman only had fond memories here. Even the black and white checkered tile floor brought back images of him racing across it to jump into their booth.

Roman couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten at the diner with Demyan, and that kind of bothered him. He didn’t have much of an appetite lately, though. Not since he left New York—since he was forced to leave New York. Food seemed unimportant in the grander schemes of things going on in his life, honestly.

Since, his father seemed to think it wasn’t wise to have important conversations over the phone anymore, he was supposed to meet up with the man at their old haunt for a chat. Except Demyan hadn’t shown up yet, even though he was the one who called Roman’s hotel room at six in the fucking morning, and demanded to see him.

Even if he hadn’t been able to hear the agitation in his father’s voice over that phone call, he knew something was up. It had to be for Demyan to leave his house before seven.

It was the nagging memory of the look Karine had given him when he ended the call that kept Roman lost to his thoughts while he waited for his father to arrive. She’d been sleeping in his arms, her face tucked against his chest, when his phone rang. The noise made her stir, but it was him reaching over to answer the call that woke her.

He wished she hadn’t.

She never slept well as it was, and it didn’t take long for him to notice the more she did sleep, the less Karine seemed to work on autopilot.

Either way, he couldn’t ignore a call from his father whether it woke her or not. Roman had paced the room while he talked to Demyan, feeling the weight of Karine’s stare leveling on him the whole time. There wasn’t much in the conversation that she could decipher, but that didn’t stop her from listening.

When the call had finally ended, he turned to face her only for her to immediately ask, “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

Naked under the sheets and sitting up in bed, she had looked like every inch of his wettest dreams with the fabric clutched to her chest, hiding her breasts. Her hair had fallen over her face in a mess, giving her a bit of a just fucked look, and those plush lips of hers sat in a pout that did wonderful, but also terrible, things to his mind.

He’d wanted to stay right there.

With her.

In her.

Except he couldn’t.

Instead, Roman had walked right up to Karine, and pushed some of that hair off her face, tucking those thick, dark strands behind her ears while she stared up at him with those big, wide eyes framed by sweeping lashes. He thought doe-eyed was as much a look someone had as it was an aura they gave off.

Every inch of Karine screamed frightened, and fragile.

Sometimes.

Her voice sounded cold and hollow when she had asked him that, and it killed him a little bit. His hand traveled to cup her cheeks until he could hold her face with both hands, and tilt it up so he could hold her gaze, too.

“But I’ll be back. I won’t be gone for long, Karine.”

As fast as he’d held her, she’d pulled away to bury her face into the pillows. Just the fact that she hid her face from him said a lot—a few hours was probably an overwhelming amount of time for Karine. He was tempted to call his father back and cancel the meeting, even if it gave him a bit more time to work Karine into the idea of Roman leaving. Which was foolish, and even he knew it.

Still, Roman had considered it.

What was happening to him?

She provoked urges in Roman that he had never known existed within himself—he was not soft, selfless, or concerned about anything or anyone except for himself. Or he hadn’t been ... for a long time.

Karine was not the same.

He didn’t understand why.

The truth of the matter, whether he liked it or not, was that she had turned into a liability of sorts for him. A weakness—the very last thing he needed—because he did care about her, and that simply meant someone could use it against him.

Or her.