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If I was to be put on the stand in court, and asked to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, I still wouldn’t be able to explain exactly how I ended up at Roman Montague’s house tonight. If I was threatened, tortured, or bewitched, I doubt it would make a shred of difference, because my memory simply slipped away into nothingness, becoming a blur of confusion and colors.
I remember the strongest urge to escape, then before I knew it, we were climbing down the balcony and ordering an Uber.
“I really need to talk to you,” I mutter to Roman. “But…”
I glance at Cat, unsure if I should leave her by herself, and Roman follows my gaze. “She’ll be fine with them.”
“I know. I’m more worried about them, actually.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re not serious.”
I only shrug. He’ll see soon enough, I suppose.
Honestly, if I’d known Roman had friends over, I probably wouldn’t have come, so in a way I’m glad he didn’t pick up the phone. I’m not sure the same can be said of Cat, who seems wary at best of these guys who have never paid us the time of day before now. Teenage me would be eating this up, while simultaneously hating myself for giving into the desire to be accepted by this group of dangerous, forbidden, popular boys. They’re men now, and no less forbidden or dangerous, and I’m still falling apart just a little at how easily Roman invited me into his world. Even if it isn’t real. Even if Roman isn’t really mine.
I lean over to Cat, speaking low, as if the rest of the room can’t hear me. I jerk my head to the side, indicating that I’m going to leave the room. “Are you okay if I just—”
“Sure,” she says, still eying Roman’s friends like she’s choosing a horse on Derby Day.
Roman takes my hand and tugs me behind him out of the kitchen and across a dark, eclectic living room full of dark oak wood and cozy leather furniture. On the right side of the room, a long hall with several closed doors on either side ends in a primary suite nearly the same size as the living room and kitchen combined.
I glance around at the bedroom, which just looks like the back half of a used bookshop, with a king-sized bed plunked in the center.
“How did you persuade Bennet to give you this room?”
He looks at me sideways. “Giveme this room?”
“Yeah…don’t you guys live together? I can’t imagine there’s another bedroom this big.”
“There isn’t, but I own the building,” he says casually. “So, it wasn’t really a discussion.”
I blink at him, shocked. “You do?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say Bennet liveswith me.Not that he’s not also doing well. He likes to invest in the stock market, and he’s good with star charts so he always knows when to buy shares and when to sell. He runs all our portfolios for us.”
“So, he’s a magical hedge fund manager.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
I suck on my teeth and lower myself to sit on the edge of his huge bed. “Interesting…but how do you own this building? I guess I thought…”
His dark eyes flash with amusement. “That my parents were moments away from disowning me for being an alcoholic, violent, fuck up and I was about to be destitute and homeless.”
“I mean…maybe not in so many words.”
I feel the back of my neck heat. I suppose, yes, that’s sort of what I was picturing. I thought that part of why he had to get married at all was because his inheritance was being dangled over his head, like some sort of regency novel. If that’s not the case, then…why is he doing this?
Roman furrows his brow, as if debating how much to explain to me. He relaxes his shoulders, in a gesture I’ve come to understand as “fuck it,” and says: “That’s half true. My father is constantly threatening to disown me because he’s a prick, but even if he does, I don’t need their money. Having it wouldn’t be anything to scoff at, but it’s not necessary.”
“How?”
“I sell rare books. I’m good at scrying, especially for things I have a connection to.” He grimaces as he says this, looking almost angry for some reason.
“I rarely see you use magic,” I comment, voicing something that’s been bothering me.
A blind woman could see there’s more bubbling beneath the surface than he’s letting on.. Not that Roman owes me anything, but the foolish part of me that knows I’m heading into dangerous waters with this man, wants him to trust me enough to tell me.
His eyes dart to the side and he licks over his lips. “I can find books thousands of miles away, sometimes even in other countries,” he says.
