Page 85 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

“Oh, right,” I said, feeling foolish. “This dish is too big and requires a little elbow grease.”

The sound of water running and dishes clinking filling the room. It was oddly domestic. I found myself smiling as I wiped down the counters.

“This was fun tonight,” I said after a while.

Roman glanced over at me. “Cooking with my staff?”

“Yes,” I said. “It felt like a home. Not just a fancy house where people work, but an actual home.”

He was quiet for a moment, his hands moving methodically as he scraped a plate over the trashcan. “It’s been a long time since this kitchen felt like that.”

I wanted to ask more, but I gave him space to feel whatever he was feeling.

Until I blurted out, “You should let me throw you a birthday party.”

Roman shot me a look that said he was very unimpressed with my suggestion. “I don’t do birthdays.”

“I know,” I said quickly. “You don’t celebrate. I get it. But tonight wasn’t really about the mac and cheese, was it? It was about everyone being together. We could do something low-key, here at the house, with your staff and friends. Catered, so nobody has to work. Ruby would love it.”

He paused, setting a plate in the drying rack. “Why would you think that?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s your family. She helped raise you. I would think she would want to hang out and celebrate with you.”

He grunted. “Maybe.”

“Where is she, anyway? I haven’t seen her since the day she arrived.”

“She’s like an outdoor cat,” he said with a faint smirk. “She comes and goes as she pleases.”

That made me laugh. “Was she like that when she stepped in after your parents died?”

His smirk faded, and he nodded, his eyes distant. “She was good that first year. But Ruby’s not built to stay in one place. She used to say she got itches in her britches. The world was always calling her. With me in school, she felt tied down. During summer break, she dragged me all over the place, but Ruby cannot stay in one place for nine months a year. I think it’s impossible. When it’s her time to say goodbye to this world, I have no doubt she’s going to do it while on a cruise or flying over the Atlantic. There is no way she’s going to allow herself to lay in bed and rot.”

“I imagine her lifestyle keeps her young,” I said. “What did you do while she was traveling all the time?”

“I spent a lot of time here, with the staff. They made sure I went to school, cooked dinner while I did my homework at the island, things like that. They all helped me with my math and offered plenty of opinions about what I should be reading for language arts. The gardener taught me how to care for the plants in the solarium, like my dad used to. And the cleaning staff? They were relentless about my bed and laundry. It was like having ten moms and a handful of dads. They kept me in check for the most part. When your staff is also raising you, it’s hard to get anything by them.”

I smiled at that, imagining a young Roman being scolded for leaving his clothes on the floor. “At least they tried to give you some normalcy.”

He nodded, his voice soft. “I would have been lost without them.”

I stopped scrubbing a pot and placed a hand on his wrist. “Well, I for one am glad you weren’t lost. I’m glad you weren’t left to raise yourself. I have a feeling you probably would not be where you are right now without them. Too many young people go wild and make some pretty shitty decisions that end up ruining their lives.”

He looked down at my hand, then up at me, his eyes softer than I’d ever seen them. “Me too.”

Something unspoken passed between us, a weight I couldn’t quite name but felt deep in my chest. He cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “Enough about me,” he said. “Tell me one of your dreams.”

I blinked. “My dreams?”

He nodded, leaning against the counter, his full attention on me. He crossed his legs at his ankles and folded his arms across his chest. He looked very relaxed. Very normal. “Yeah. Tell me something.”

I hesitated, but since he had told me a little about him, I felt like I needed to open up a bit as well. We did have to live together another five and a half months. We may as well try to be friends. “I want to write love stories.”

“You said you wanted to be a writer the night we met, right?”

I laughed softly. “You remember that?”

“Vaguely,” he admitted. “I feel like an ass for forgetting. I tend to get caught up in my own world. I know I’m a dick. Probably a narcissist. Some chick told me that once.”