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Resting his forehead against mine, he breathes deeply. “I choose you, Evelyn Meyer. In this lifetime, and the next. I’ll always choose you.”
My eyelids flutter shut as I breathe him in, savoring his warmth and safe scent. This is Roman. My Roman. And knowing we had years taken from us, that we could’ve been together all this time…
“Why didn’t you come back?” I choke out. His body stiffens, his hand tightening on my neck. Not enough to hurt, but enough to ground me.
“Every time I got on my bike,” he begins, his voice hoarse, “I heard his voice in my head. I thought you were better off without me. He said I’d ruin you. That you were good and I was bad. That I’d drag you down to Hell with me.” He huffs a sarcastic laugh. “And how could he be wrong? You’ve always been sunshine and to him, I’m the Devil. To him, I’ve always been this—” he breaks off, gesturing to himself.
“You’ve always been mine.” He pauses, his jaw ticking. I palm his cheek. “He was Hell, Roman. With him, I’ve known true darkness. With him, I’ve known true Hell. I was in the pits of it and I withered and burned but here—” I press my hand to his chest. “Here in the face of his Devil, I flourish.”
“You—” He swallows thickly, his throat bobbing. “You can’t mean that. You don’t need me. Don’t need this.”
I shake my head as he speaks, my brows pinching together. “That’s not true. I’ve always needed you. I always will.”
“I’m sorry, Eve,” he murmurs. “I’m so fucking sorry for not coming back sooner. For not saving you. For not trying harder.”
“You were a kid, too, Ro. It’s not your fault.”
“It is,” he protests weakly.
“You can’t blame yourself. He gave you the bullets. I’ll never blame you for pulling the trigger.” His body goes limp and his eyes gloss over again. “It’s okay.” I know he doesn’t believe me, but it’s true. It’s okay.
“No,” he breathes. Reaching up, I cup his face with my hands and force him to look at me. He takes a deep breath, his chest brushing against mine.
“It’s okay because it has to be. Otherwise, we’ll dwell on the past forever,” I whisper. “It has to be okay, because if I let myself, I’ll spiral into a pit I’ll never get out of. I just…I want to move on.” His throat bobs as he swallows thickly. “Will you move on with me? Will you leave the past where it belongs? Can we start over?”
His face softens, and he presses his lips against mine, his thumb gently stroking my neck. “Of course, Goldie. No more ghosts. Just us and the future.”
Gripping the side of my head, I let out a low groan, then wince as the vibration rattles my aching skull. Roman chuckles beside me, and I slide my eyes to him, glaring.
“You okay, baby?” he coos, but his lips are still tipped up in a teasing grin.
“You know, just because you chose not to drink doesn’t mean you get to mock me and my hangover,” I tell him bitterly. “I need sympathy.”
“Oh, of course,” he laughs. “My bad. What do you need, baby girl? Some water? Maybe a few more margaritas?”
I gag at the word. Never. Again. I’m never having another margarita ever again. Not after I drank my weight in them last night at one of Chase’s stupid influencer parties.
Roman hadn’t wanted to go, but Oli and I did, so he sucked it up and went. He followed me around all night like a bodyguard, growling and snarling at random men who approached. A part of me wonders if I should be scared of him and his possessiveness, if I should run the other way.
But then I decide I don’t care. Because, honestly, it was hot as fuck watching him slam some guy against a wall for trying to touch me. Knowing I’m forever protected makes me feel…safe. It gives me the warm-fuzzies.
Or maybe it’s the alcohol still coursing through my body.
“Want some food?” he asks, and I grunt my response.
Chuckling, he gets to his feet and kisses my forehead. But laying in bed only makes my world spin, so I stumble from his bedroom and follow the greasy scent of food through the loft to the kitchen.
Kon, who surprisingly went last night, sits at the kitchen island watching Roman put a burger on a plate. “It’s the morning, why are you having a burger for breakfast?” I groan, resting against the wall.
“It’s one in the afternoon,” Kon mutters.
“I just woke up,” I shoot back. “It’s morning for me.” He shakes his head, grumbling something in Russian under his breath. “I’m going to learn your language one day, big guy. And when I do, you can’t talk about me anymore.” He gives me a look over his shoulder, one that says he still will, and I roll my eyes.
“Sit,” Roman says, pulling me away from my stare-off with Kon. He pushes the plate in front of a barstool, giving me a pointed look as he does. “You need to eat. I’ll get you some water.”
“You sound like Chase,” I mutter, shuffling toward the stool. Dropping into it, I watch as he grabs a bottle from the fridge and opens it for me before putting it next to my plate.
“I want most of it gone,” he says sternly, giving me a look.
