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“Sounds great.” He smiled.
I made the drinks quickly, brought them to the coffee table, and sat next to him. I wanted to snuggle into his amazing body and enjoy hot chocolate like there was nothing else going on in the world. However, a couple of lingering questions needed to be answered.
“Why did you change your mind?” I asked. “Last time I invited you in, you made it very clear that you weren’t interested in spending the night.”
Resting his arm over the back of the couch, he turned to face me. “I’m not ready to let you go yet.” He chuckled and shook his head.
“What?”
“It’s just surprising how easily the truth comes out when I’m with you. I’m not used to it.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Could be,” he said. “I always pick my words carefully, but somehow you have me blurting things out I’d typically keep to myself, or not bother to feel in the first place.”
I scooted closer, hoping that Roman’s open mood would continue. “What do you not usually feel?”
He looked hard at my face, like he couldn’t decide if he was mad, confused, or happy.
“Trust.”
It was everything I could do to keep from dancing with joy. He trusted me. Enough to admit it. Enough to stay the night when he wouldn’t before. The idea filled me with so much hope. Maybe this whole thing could have some kind of happy ending.
“You trusted me with your sister and your past.” He grinned a little, but his eyes remained serious. “Maybe you’re a good influence on me.”
Shock and happiness burst simultaneously in my body. The truth about Lauren, and how I had felt about it, was the hardest thing I’d ever admitted out loud. Especially in light of the way I felt about Roman, and how it could possibly affect his campaign. Yet he’d never once blamed me. He hadn’t even brought up his campaign or the possible ramifications of my admission. He was simply there for me. No strings. No agenda. Just support. Honest support.
“I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of,” he said. “I don’t like being out of control or surprised in any situation. I learned quickly that if you can manipulate an event beforehand, the desired outcome is more likely. It’s key, since I don’t like others to have power over me.”
I gave him a disbelieving smile. “I have a hard time believing that anyone could ever have power over you.”
His eyes locked on me, and something very hot, very serious and heavy, surged through my veins, replacing my blood with thick anticipation.
“Not anyone,” he said. “You.”
I swallowed hard. And here I’d been thinking that Roman held all the power in this relationship. He thought I influenced him? Handing over control, giving someone else free rein with your emotions, was a big deal. I knew that, having had my own feelings stomped on before. I’d never do that to him. But now that I knew a little more about Roman Reese, his need for control and how it manifested made more and more sense. Because for so long, he’d been locked away, all of his choices taken from him.
“Is that why you have problems with your mother?” I asked carefully, hoping he would feel comfortable enough to continue talking.
His body tensed. He was on the brink of yelling, I could tell. Instead, his chest slowly drew in a breath, and he spoke in that low, gravelly tone.
“I have problems with her because she took my freedom and made fear a common, recurring emotion in my childhood. In that closet, I always felt like the walls were closing in. I didn’t know where she was, or when she’d be back. I sat there, in the dark, my stomach aching from hunger and my skin dry from dehydration, and all I thought of was her. Whether she was okay.” He snarled the last part. “And as it got worse, I watched her waste away. Watched her choose to do so instead of taking care of herself or her family. She disgusts me.”
I folded my lips together. My heart ached for him. For his mother. For his broken past.
“She’s clean now,” I offered.
“Yes, she is.” He nodded. “Fifteen years now she’s been sober. Doesn’t change what happened though, does it?”
“You didn’t deserve that.” I gripped his hand and kissed his palm. “Somewhere in her mind, even when she was crashing, I’m sure she thought she was protecting you. Locking you away from the world that was hurting her.”
“I almost starved to death, Amy,” he growled, and ripped his hand from mine. “The last time she left me, she was gone for two weeks! That final straw finally got my father’s attention. And now you sit there and defend her?”
“No!” I moved to grab his hand again, but he went to stand. This was the moment I couldn’t risk. He’d walk away, misunderstanding what I was trying to say, and all that we’d built would be ruined. He couldn’t leave. Not this time.
I quickly launched myself at him, straddling his lap and cupping his face.
“Get off me, Amy.”
