The entire drive back to my penthouse was agonizing to say the least.
Granddaddy's flimsy explanation turned out to be less than flimsy. He had had us followed, or Roman followed more accurately. Relieved summed up how I felt when he told me he wouldn't dare repeat the same mistake with another precious grandkid of his.
"It saddened me when Leigh stormed out of here and ceased contacting me. Greatly saddened me. I learned my lesson alright, and God be damned if I were to hurt you the same way."
I took a turn down another boulevard, still miles away from Beverly Hills. It sooner occurred to me that I stalled reaching my destination and instead drove through familiar streets and avenues in L.A. I looked out the window of my car, my eyes breezing through landmarks. I reached the stadium where my last movie premiered. A couple minutes later, I parked across the street from the art gallery.
Papa asked me if I would marry Roman. The thought hadn't stopped hounding at my subconscious. Adding that to the vicious thoughts I'd been having where the young Wilder was concerned made Papa's idea seem almost… plausible.
I shook my head and glanced at the art gallery. The doors were open, and a stream of young girls bounced out, one's arm in the crook of another's elbow. The beaming smiles on their faces caught in my chest, making me grin at the group of strangers too. Sooner than I could blink, said merry band headed my way, returning grins on their faces. It was then that I realized my mistake. Oh shit.
"Oh my God, you're Erika Fox!" one asked and squealed a response to herself, not minding my flustered expression. "Jeez, duh. Of course you are!"
"Can we take a picture? Ashley, get out your phone!"
"Should I use my camera instead? Quality will EAT."
"Good call, Miranda."
I laughed to myself at these silly girls, so silly they didn't realize I'd already wound up my windows and propped my sunglasses on the tip of my nose. By the time the picture was clear, my car was gearing up for a zoom off the road. One of them screamed, "FUCK!" so animatedly, I burst into fitful laughter, some of it too charged that I sounded like I was wheezing.
When I zoomed off, a safe distance from the gallery, I thought to myself, this is my life. This was my life, and a quiet, English boy with a generational finance legacy to uphold wasn't going to give up such peace of mind for gawking passengers and hyperactive, entitled girls. He loved his life, and mine scared him; he made that read-between-the-lines obvious. And then blatantly so when we visited the gallery for date two. It was a private establishment so all the paparazzi and fans stood guard outside, waiting for a moment we—I—would appear in the front windows. During our entrance and our exit, Roman tried his best to not have me or himself photographed, and in spite of the strain that caused him, he was as chivalrous and charming as ever at dinner.
The biggest thing that raced across my head had to be the fact that our entire arrangement was supposed to be about sex. Lust. No attachments. No tugging strings. No romance. And yet here I was, fantasizing, and scared. Scared for so many things, and most of all, scared of change.
When I buzzed into the garage of my apartment building, I caught a sight I did not expect to see. The one person I dreaded seeing at the moment. I hadn't come to terms with my wild emotions and thoughts to consider stomaching this right now. Next time I promote a movie and interviewers ask what my superpowers would be: unhearing and invisibility, in that order.
Still, I couldn't avoid him now. Or disappear on him sadly. I steeled my nerves and got out the car, my tank top strap still twisted. Roman Wilder approached me from the other side of the garage, his mocha brown button-down shirt ironed to perfect creases. His dark hair fell to his face on one side, revealing stunning green eyes to the other side. My breath caught as I neared him, one because of his subtly rich cologne, the other part because it was hard looking at him.
Roman extended his hand for mine, and it took all the willpower and… something… to not bury my hand in his. His smile fell, his eyes narrowing as his brows scrunched downwards.
"Erika?"
I swallowed, still fixated on his hand. Then I remembered that even if I was a mental mess, I could take charge of the situation. I looked Roman in the eye, making sure to purge it of any conflict or hesitation.
"Come up with me. I have to tell you something."
I only turned towards the elevators when Roman grabbed my arm and whirled me back around to face him. My blank stare came eye-to-eye with his, like he figured my resolve and deemed it necessary to keep his as well. We technically had no need for this, because it was all us just sleeping together. There should be no need for appearances or hiding feelings—because it had to just be lust—or uncertainty masked with nonchalance. There should be none of that, and yet.
"Are you okay?" Roman asked, polite and friendly, and my heart sunk.
"Not really," I admitted, because I was going to tell him anyway. Why lie now?
Roman stared for a second longer, then he let go of my arm and nodded. "I'll go up then."
In the elevator, whilst we rode to the penthouse level, neither of us jokingly questioned the other. On any other day, I would ask how he found my residence, and he would reply about his many sources. Eyes and ears he called them. Now, only silence reigned in the wide metal rectangle. It became worse when I led him in and stretched my hand to him with a glass of water and he shook his head. I let the glass slid lazily down my hand and onto the kitchen counter, the cool sweat of the glass blending with the sweat of my palm. We stared at each other across the marble countertop until I could take no more of the silence.
Before I reached around to Roman, he already met me halfway with a blistering kiss.
Our hands, frantic and impatient, slid over our bodies, mine on both his and mine. Roman's palm grasped my neck in place, keeping my head steady for the ambush of his lips. All the heat of the first time returned ten fold, a fifty fold. I burned to hold onto Roman, burned to have him inside me, filling me completely. I burned to tell him that it f we kept this up, I wouldn't just want him inside me, I'd want him around me, in front of me, holding my hand and whispering sweet empty nothings, and I wouldn't know why sans the fact that he should.
That flame fizzled to a slow fiery trickle before dissipating into the windy thoughts of my mind. Of course I wasn't telling him any of that. All my bravado earlier, resisting the call of his arms and the scent of him, and I instinctively knew I was not ever going to tell him that. Not tonight anyway. Definitely not tonight. My mouth was rather occupied at the moment.
The air of my penthouse apartment mirrored the breeze outside of it. And I let that breeze carry me, with Roman's aid of course, to an oblivion of raw desire.