by Melody Eve
I’m not angry about him owning a jet, I’m not even jealous. It’s a known fact that people who own private jets use them more often, and that fuel use ruins the environment. I don’t travel much, so flying occasionally doesn’t make me feel guilty. I’m sure Roman would have to plant entire forests to offset his private jet fuel use.
I’m not arguing with him anymore. We’re going home and this thing between us, whatever it is, will be over.
We agreed.
Chapter 10
Roman put me to bed with two pain pills, a gallon of water on the bedside table, and an ice pack on my head. I woke up in time for dinner feeling much better. My headache only hurt where I cut it, and the nausea was gone. We ate a light dinner in bed together, and I drank more water at his insistence, took more pain pills at my own insistence, and went back to sleep with a fresh bag of ice placed gently on my head.
Roman is a good nurse. Maybe he missed his calling? No, patients would fire him for being too bossy. I wonder if he’s a bossy banker too? I suppose you need to be when you’re the CEO. I’ll never know.
I wake up and feel the melted ice pack slip from my head when I roll over to see what time it is. I slide my phone from the nightstand and see that it’s four in the morning. Great, our flight leaves at seven, and I’ve been sleeping since yesterday afternoon. I’ll never go back to sleep now even with the help of my pain medicine.
I feel like I’m alone in the bed. I reach out, and Roman is gone, his side of the bed cold. I’m going to have to get used to the feeling of being alone. Thanks to my ex-fiancé and my best friend when I get home, I will be sleeping in my big queen-size bed alone, eating meals alone, walking back and forth to work alone, and shopping alone.
The thought is so depressing. How did I get here? How did I go from having it all to having nothing? Well, not nothing. I still have my business and an apartment to live in, albeit a run-down crap hole of an apartment.
I hope the movers got all of my things back in where they belong. I hated having to move when I was out of town on my honeymoon, but it couldn’t be avoided if I wanted revenge.
Note to self, revenge isn’t that sweet. Or at least it isn’t now. It felt pretty kick-ass when I was planning it and carrying it out, but now, I feel empty, alone, and betrayed.
I sit up and wait for the pain to worsen. When it doesn’t, I walk to the dark living room and look around for Roman. I’m about to go back to bed without him when I see the glow of his laptop coming from the patio. He’s working. Should I bother him? I may as well, we will be saying goodbye forever in the morning. This is the last of our time together.
He startles when I step out onto the patio. “You’re awake,” he says exiting out of the screen he is looking at.
“Did I catch you looking at porn?”
He chuckles, “Hardly. It’s work. I’m trying to get caught up before we go home later this morning.”
“I’ll leave you to it then,” I turn to go, and he catches my hand.
“Why are you up?” He tugs me toward him with one hand and places his laptop on the table with the other.
“I’ve been sleeping since noon yesterday. I think I’m all slept out.”
“How’s your head?”
I reach up without thinking and touch the cut. “It hurts, but my migraine is gone.”
“How about the sunburn?”
“My shoulders, chest, and face hurt pretty bad if I touch them. I’m going to look like a peeling lobster next week.”
“A beautiful peeling lobster.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t think shedding your skin like a snake is beautiful.”
“You’ll have all new virgin skin, smooth as a baby’s bottom.” He smiles and pulls me to sit on his lap. “I think you should come and stay with me for a while when we get home. You’re still recovering, and you need someone to look after you. I know we talked about not continuing our relationship outside the walls of the resort, but these are extenuating circumstances. I have plenty of space at my house, you could recover and then when you’re feeling like going back to work, you can ride into the city with me every day. Your store is just down the street from my bank, did you know that?”
Shit. I was afraid of this. Well, not this exactly. I was afraid he would want to date when we got home not invite me to live with him while I convalesce. I need to get back to my life, or the lack thereof. I have to learn how to be independent, solve my own problems, make my way in life without the help of a man.
Besides, rebounds never work.
“Roman, I’ll be fine. I need to figure things out on my own. This was supposed to be a rebound. Remember, we agreed?”
“Things change. What’s your issue with rebound relationships, anyway?”
“I don’t have an issue. I just feel strongly that they don’t work out. It’s not healthy to break up with someone and start dating someone else so fast.”
“What if the someone you were dating hasn’t been right for you for years? What if the new person is your soulmate? Are you going to walk away from a soulmate because of some stupid preconceived notion about rebounds? What is a rebound, anyway? It’s bouncing back. You’re bouncing back, and you’re doing it with me. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“There’s no time between relationships to heal.”
“You said you never felt like you and David were right for each other, right?”
“I said there was something off, yes.”
“I think you knew it wasn’t going to go the distance. I think you were glad when you found those photographs, glad to have an excuse to dump and humiliate him like he’s been doing to you with your best friend. Aria, who says you have to heal alone? I will help you heal, physically and emotionally. Let someone take care of you for a change.”
Why is he doing this to me? I’m weak, sitting here on his lap wounded and burned and medicated for pain. He smells like the ocean and expensive brandy with a hint of his cologne. I want to bury my nose in his neck and breath him in, let him touch me, kiss me, and even boss me around in bed.
Who am I trying to kid? I have feelings for this man that far exceed those of a simple rebound. We’ve shared things about each other, we’ve had sex, good sex, no… great sex. He’s shown me he can take care of me. He’s awakened something in me I didn’t know was there. We have things in common, not a lot of things but some.
There are things I don’t like too, which I believe to be important. Too much perfect leads to boredom. Too much perfect leads to wandering eyes and hands and souls. I need fire and irritation and opposing opinions. I need sass and arguments. Without that, it’s all fairy tales, and everybody knows fairy tales aren’t real. I need real. Roman is real.
“I’ll stay with you for a week. I need to make sure David let the movers take my things back to my apartment anyway. Now that I know he’s claiming innocence, I might be going home to a very different situation.” Roman’s face brightens, but I hold up my finger.
“But…”
“But of course, there is a but,” he says relaxing in his chair taking me with him.
“Only a week. I have a place to live. My apartment is right around the corner from my store, and I like being close to work.”
“Fine. I can guarantee you’ll like being close to me better. Let’s say that after one week if you are enjoying your stay, you’re comfortable in my home, and you’d like to stay longer, will you? Or will this one-week rule be non-negotiable?”
“I can’t just leave my apartment sitting empty and move in with you, Roman. We just met ten days ago, that’s the ultimate rebound. Not to mention we might not like each other in real life. We met in paradise where there are no obligations, no responsibilities, just sand and drinks and sex and the ocean. That’s nothing like the day-to-day humdrum of reality.”
“Stop labeling everything. Rebound. Paradise. Reality. My reality is you, and I’ll accept your one-week rule, do you know why?”
“Because you think I’ll change my mind.”
>
“No. I know you’ll change your mind.”
“Cocky much?”
“If being cocky means being sure of yourself and believing in yourself, then hell, yes.”
“I believe the definition is someone who is overly self-confident but whatever.”
“Exactly, whatever. Now, I’m going to take you to bed and hold you until you sleep for another hour or two. Then I’m going to fly you home with me and disprove your rebound theory.”
I have my doubts on all accounts, but who am I to stop him from trying. He carries me to bed and snuggles in behind me making sure not to touch my sunburn. His soft, rhythmic breathing puts me to sleep, and when the alarm goes off at 6:00 a.m., I’m surprised at how much more rested I feel after sleeping in his arms. Sixteen hours sleeping alone didn’t come close to rejuvenating me the way an hour and a half wrapped in Roman’s arms did.
I don’t like to travel. Rushing around to pack and make it to the airport at the crack of dawn and then waiting for hours to board. Checking your luggage, sitting in crowded tin cans breathing recycled air, worrying about my luggage making it to where I’m going, I hate it all.
But that was before I learned how wealthy people travel. I know I complained about Roman’s private jet and his carbon footprint, but after being chauffeured right up to the plane and escorted up the steps into the plush fuselage, I could almost forgive him, almost.
I mean, he would have to fly to get to Cancun anyway. It’s a long flight, and the only alternative is driving which would use a lot of fuel too. I’ll bet it’s equally bad for the environment to fly or drive to Cancun.
“You’ll need to stay buckled in your seat until we take off. Then you can go lay down in the bedroom at the back,” he says when I sit down in the soft, white buttery leather chair opposite him. The plane is luxury personified—white leather, chrome, twinkly lights, Waterford crystal at the bar, and now I learn there’s a bedroom in the back. Rich people kill me. I live in a one-bedroom apartment with drafty floors and chipped paint on the walls, and Roman’s preferred form of transportation is a million-dollar jet. I could budget out a million dollars to last me my entire life, and I’ll bet he didn’t think twice when he wrote the check for this plane.
“I don’t need to lay down. I’m not tired.” I smile big and bright. “I slept more over the past forty-eight hours than I have in the last year. I feel fine.”
“Good. You look happy. Have you forgotten about my carbon footprint?”
“No, but I’m working on a way to justify it in my mind.” He chuckles and fiddles with a coin in his hand. I’ve seen him do this before. I never gave it a second thought until now. I wonder if it’s the same coin, a special one perhaps. “What have you got there?” I ask, and he looks at the coin in his hand.
“It’s a 1971 silver-dollar coin. It was my father’s.” He stops flipping and holds it up to look at it. “He gave it to me when I was twelve.”
“I’ve seen it before. Do you always carry it with you?”
“I do, it’s like having a little piece of him with me all the time.”
“Oh, so he’s… gone?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” He snaps the coin up into his hand and slips it back into his pocket. “So, you’re feeling well this morning?” He’s making it clear that topic is closed by steering the conversation back around to me.
“Yes. I’m still sore here and there, especially the cut on my head, but overall, I’m feeling much better. I’m ready to go home.”
“I’m glad. I’m still taking care of you for a week, though, so don’t get any big ideas about going home.”
I laugh. “Just because I don’t want to take a nap doesn’t mean I’m reneging on our deal. You have a week even if I’m doing cartwheels and tan as a coconut when we land.”
“Tan as a coconut?”
“A sunburn turns into a tan. You wouldn’t know that having perfectly bronzed skin at birth, but us Caucasians have to work for that, you know?”
“I see. Well, please, no cartwheels. I’d hate to see how much blood would exit your body if your stitches open up, and as far as a tan after that burn, I think you might be out of luck.”
I look down at my shoulder. “Yeah, you’re right. This is going to peel and leave me pink and raw.”
“My dermatologist will have something for that. I once had a sunburn, and yes I do burn by the way, and whatever he prescribed worked like magic.”
“You have a dermatologist, whatever for?” He has the most beautiful skin on a man I’ve ever seen. Flawless, naturally bronze, smooth in all the right places and peppered with just the right amount of hair in others. No scars, no blemishes, no scratches. Now that I think about it, he’s a little too perfect.
“The skin is the most important organ of your body. I take good care of it.”
I frown and lean forward just as the plane starts to taxi. “Almost too perfect.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“Yes, there is. Are you a vampire, Roman Forrest?”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind for a moment, and then his face breaks out in a big, white smile before he laughs. “Like those books? No, sorry, I’m no immortal.”
“Were you sheltered as a child? You don’t have a single scar on your body, not even a scratch.”
“Quite the opposite. I was into everything, but this doctor is a miracle worker, and he can make any scar disappear.”
“He must be rich.”
“Oh, he is filthy rich. He won’t share his secrets with anyone, though, so only a few select people know what he can do.”
“That seems a little shitty. Think of all the people who have been abused and have scars to show for it, and how he could help them.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way. Maybe I’ll suggest a charity sometime.”
“That would be nice,” I say, and we both stop talking while the pilot announces that we will be taking off soon. It’s not like the announcements on a commercial flight where they tell you the temperature outside and how many hours it will take to get where you’re going. It’ more like a friend talking from the front seat of a car to the passengers in the back. I like the lack of formality, it eases my nerves. Flying is one of my least favorite things to do.
When the pilot is quiet, and the flight attendant has gone to her seat in the small nook right outside the cockpit, Roman’s expression goes serious.
“I wanted to talk to you about something before we leave.” Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good. He had better not tell me he has a wife or a girlfriend. I never even thought to ask. That would be just my luck, meet a great guy—a little weird yes, but still great—and go home only to find out he’s been married for fifteen years to his lovely wife.
“Aria?”
I snap my head up to look at him. I checked out when he said he needed to talk to me. “What?”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, it’s just, the way you looked when you said that. I don’t know, it felt like what you’re about to say is going to be bad.”
The plane accelerates faster and faster down the runway. This is the part I hate the most. The pressure increases, my ears pop, and I feel like I’ve swallowed a rock.
“No, it’s nothing bad. I’ve noticed during our time together you seem to be uncomfortable with my wealth. I don’t want that to be an issue between us.”
The plane goes up, up, up, and my belly sinks down, down, down. If this were a rollercoaster ride, I would vomit, but here in this small jet, I can hold very still which helps me control the nausea.
“Aria?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Um, yeah, wealth, me, uncomfortable, it’s an issue. It’s not an issue, don’t worry about it.” I clutch the arms of my seat at the ends until my knuckles turn white. Roman notices this looking back and forth between my hands and my face.
�
�You don’t like flying.”
“No, I don’t, at all.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know, would it have made a difference?”
“Maybe.”
“How?”
“For starters, I could have gotten something for anxiety from the doctor before we left.”
“No. I’m already taking too many medications. I don’t want to take anything else. I’ll be fine once we stop climbing.”
He unbuckles his belt and moves to the seat next to mine. The flight attendant leans forward to look around the tiny wall that separates her from us and frowns. “Mr. Forrest, you need to stay seated,” she says.
He gives her a look that if spoken would have said shut the fuck up, and she sits back disappearing from our view.
“You didn’t need to move.”
“Yes, I did.” He peels my fingers off the end of the armrest and holds my hand. We sit quietly until we reach cruising altitude, and the ‘remove seat belt’ sign lights up over the door.
“There now, are you better?”
“I’ll be fine. It’s the up and down part that makes me anxious.”
“I understand.”
“So, what’s this about being too rich for me to handle you?”
“That isn’t what I said. I only wanted to prepare you.”
“For limousines and fancy houses and boats?”
He rolls his eyes. “I have a few functions that I have to attend next week. I would love to have you accompany me if you’re feeling better.”
I shrug. “Okay, what’s that got to do with being rich?”
He fidgets in his seat. “I’ve never felt compelled to apologize for being wealthy before I met you. I want to pamper you and treat you like the queen that you are, but you’re so resistant that I’m not sure how to proceed.”
“That hasn’t stopped you so far, what’s different now? And, I’m not resistant I’m…” I pause to think what it is that I am, “… overwhelmed.”
“So, you aren’t opposed to the finer things in life, you’re overwhelmed by them?”
“Yes, that’s the best way I can explain it, I suppose.”