Page 118 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

“Good morning,” I said.

“You’re up early,” she said.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Do you want some breakfast?”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“I’ll make waffles,” she said. “I bet you’ll be hungry once you see them.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She drifted back inside, closing the door behind her.

I went back to my thoughts. Today, I felt like I was carrying the weight of my mistakes on my shoulders, and even the comforts of home couldn’t shake it. I could hear my mother in the kitchen and the thought of thick, fluffy waffles and crisp bacon was tempting, but I was so rolled up in my own misery, I couldn’t muster any excitement for the meal.

A few minutes later, the door opened and the scent of bacon wafted out.

“Good morning,” Dad said. “Mind if I enjoy the fresh air with you?”

“Of course not.”

My father sat across from me, sipping his coffee in silence. He didn’t pry, not at first, but I could feel his eyes on me, studying the way I fidgeted with the hem of my sleeve, the way I stared out at the woods behind the house without really seeing them. My dad was one of those quiet, silent types. He didn’t say a lot, but when he did, it was important.

Finally, he broke the silence. “You want to tell me what’s really going on, kiddo?”

I shrugged, playing dumb. “What do you mean?”

He gave me that look, the one that said he wasn’t buying it. “You’ve been here for three weeks, and you’re still walking around like the world is ending. That isn’t like you. You’ve always been resilient. This is different. This is much bigger. Talk to me.”

I sighed and pulled the blanket around me. “It’s complicated.”

“Good thing I like complicated stories,” he said, his tone light but his expression serious. “Start at the beginning.”

So I did. I told him about Roman. At first, I couldn’t stop myself from focusing on all the things about him that used to trigger me—the arrogance, the walls he kept up, the way he could be so cold and calculating. My father listened without interrupting, nodding here and there but letting me get it all out.

Then, without really meaning to, I started talking about the other side of Roman. The man who surprised me. The man who let me guide him through unfamiliar territory, who asked questions and listened when I answered. The man who opened his life to me, even when it scared him. The man who had achieved incredible things despite the pain he carried, the grief that seemed to hang over him like a storm cloud.

I told him about the library and how he had given me a laptop. I talked about the many, many hours we spent talking about nothing and everything. The patience he had when I talked about my book and bounced ideas off of him. Roman was not a fan of fiction or happy ever afters, but he always listened and somehow always had some really good insight.

“I thought…” I hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I thought, for a moment, that maybe I could save him.”

My father set his coffee mug down on the small table between us and leaned back in his chair. “Kaira, you know that’s not your job, right?”

I nodded, but my chest ached. “I know. It’s just… I wanted it to be. I wanted to be the person who could pull him out of it. I loved watching him transform before my very eyes. Like a legit butterfly coming out of his cocoon. He blossomed. His friends saw it. His staff saw it. They always told me how good I was for him.”

He reached across the table and took my hand in his. “Listen to me. Roman needs to save himself. That’s not on you to carry. You cannot save anyone unless it’s in a physical sense. You can give him CPR, stop the bleeding, or pull him back from getting hit by a bus. The stuff that’s in here is not yours to fix.” He dropped my hand and patted his chest and then his head. “That’s not for you to fix. No one can fix that. I don’t care if you’re the best damn psychiatrist in the world. That comes from within. If he doesn’t want to be the man you think he can be, that’s on him. Not you.”

The words hit me hard, but I knew they were true. Still, it didn’t make it any easier to let go of the hope that things could have been different.

“I wish it wasn’t like that,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s because your heart is so big,” he said. “You care so much, and that’s one of the things I love most about you. But sometimes, you care so much about others that you forget to care about yourself.”

I went quiet, staring down at our hands. He’d always been able to see right through me.

“For once,” he continued, “I think it’s time you stop pouring into everyone else’s cups and pour into your own. You deserve that, Kaira.”