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She didn’t tell me anything too personal but explained how supportive Roman has been to his siblings and her when she’s needed him.
I’m not surprised.
He’s the best man I’ve ever met.
As I was leaving the store, Nikita insisted that I keep my wallet in my purse. She told me that as soon as she was done getting the chocolate bar packaged up, she’d go and see Roman to deliver it to him.
That was more than I could have asked for.
I didn’t think through how I would get the candy to him, so her offer was perfect.
I spent the rest of the afternoon at home getting ready for tonight.
Everything inside of me is telling me that Roman will show up at Bow Bridge.
I ascend the subway steps as fast as I can. It’s just a few minutes before six. I took extra time picking out my outfit for tonight.
I decided to wear jeans, a black lace shirt and my favorite heels. I let my hair dry as I applied my makeup, so I’m sporting loose waves, waterproof mascara, and just a hint of lipstick.
I dart into Central Park headed straight for Bow Bridge.
It’s a warm evening, so there are a lot of people on the path. I weave around a couple with two kids in tow and an older man walking a dog.
I wave at everybody I pass because my dad taught me that a stranger’s kindness could make or break a person’s day.
I know a smile from someone I’ve never met has brightened my mood when I’ve been stuck in a rut feeling sorry for myself.
I take quick steps as I make my way through the park.
My gaze darts down to my phone over and over as I watch the seconds tick away as it nears the top of the hour.
I slow when I can finally see the bridge because he’s there.
Roman is standing on the bridge deck, holding a single pink daisy as he waits for me.
***
“Bianca.” My name escapes him in a low growl. “Jesus, you’re breathtaking. How are you more beautiful every time I see you?”
If any other man said those words to me, I’d doubt them, but I don’t with Roman. He means them. I see it in his eyes.
“You look pretty great yourself,” I say as I look over the dark jeans and black button-down shirt he’s wearing.
It’s not tucked in, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He looks comfortable, but I can sense that he’s tense. The hard set of his jaw gives that away.
“This is for you.” He pushes the daisy at me.
I take it, shivering as our fingers brush. “Thank you.”
He steps closer to me. “Bianca, I’m so fucking sorry.”
I quiet him with a press of my finger to his chin. “For what, Roman? For protecting your children? For being sure before you introduced me to them?”
His hand reaches up to grab mine. He cups it gently against his chest. “For not telling you they existed. You’ve had a lot thrown at you in the past twenty-four hours. First, Matthew, and then Dora and Georgie.”
“Your family,” I say softly. “I got to see your family.”
“You met Matt.” He lets out a chuckle. “In a very memorable way. I want you to meet Dora and Georgie.”
Even though I’m never put a lot of thought into having children of my own, I’ve been excited to meet Maren’s baby. That pales in comparison to how desperately I want to meet Roman’s daughters. “I want that to happen.”
“When?”
The question startles me enough that I take a step back. I suck in a breath and answer honestly. “As soon as you feel it’s the right time.”
“Tomorrow?” he says. “If that works for you, I’d like you to come over tomorrow.”
“To your home?”
“The apartment I bought after Dora and Georgie’s mom blew out of town.” He hangs his head. “I want to explain all of that to you.”
“You will.” I step closer to rest my head against his chest. “If you can, I’d like you to come home with me.”
He glances down and into my face. “Now?”
“Now.” I nod before I tickle his chin with the daisy. “Unless you want the flower to decide for you.”
“Hell no.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m coming home with you. There’s no place I’d rather be.”
Chapter 43
Roman
I stare into Bianca’s eyes, not surprised at all by the compassion I see there.
She moves closer to me. We’ve been sitting on the couch in her living room since we got here from Bow Bridge.
We sipped wine, and she talked about work.
I urged her to because I needed a minute to gather my thoughts. I have years of confessions to make, and I want to be sure that she’s ready for it all.
“Tell me about your daughters’ mother.”
There it is - the first step down a path to the past. I take one final sip of wine before I place the glass down on the coffee table. “Elizabeth is her name. We met at a gallery opening. I was there because a client asked me to be. Elizabeth was looking for a new piece for her art collection.”
