by Alice Ward
When my eyes opened, I was still trying to catch my breath. Smiling, I stretched and sleepily realized I was hot and wet and satisfied. “Wow,” I whispered.
The smile died when I shifted to hug myself and the stuffed monkey flopped off the pillow onto my chest.
I flew up to a sitting position and looked around the room to make sure it had been a dream. It was so real. Roman had been so real, my body was still throbbing from it.
And I’d promised to let him love me.
Rolling onto my side, I saw that my monkey had fallen onto the floor. I immediately reached for it, but paused.
“It’s time we had some space, little guy. Just some space for now,” I said as I stretched, trying to drive out the fatigue.
I picked up my cell phone. “Aghh, two o’clock.” I only had eight hours until I had to be back at Jewel. Not quite enough time to get my life together and leave.
I knew I was being crazy thinking that way, but maybe I could find something else. Being at Jewel was making me feel depressed all the time. I only had one day of freedom, which had seemed like enough in the beginning, when I was driving myself in an effort to not think about the past.
Sometimes, it felt like slavery. And now, after the run-in with Brandy, then Jack last night, I had to wonder if some of it wasn’t close to actual sex slavery. I would never allow myself to be manipulated into selling myself. But would I be given that choice?
There were two unanswered calls from Brandy. I laid in bed and listened to her voicemails, which only spiked my anxiety. She was “calling to see if I was okay,” which I interpreted as making sure I hadn’t committed suicide and would be at work on time. There had been a suicide last month and everyone was still on edge from it.
Well, after that conversation last night, fuck her. When I showed up, then she’d have her answer.
After watching the ceiling fan make its lazy rotation over and over and wondering how many women had been pressured the way I had last night and not had the leverage to stand up for themselves, or a handsome gentleman to take on their aggressor, I finally hoisted my body out of bed.
My leg, which had been completely shattered in the accident, was reconstructed over a series of surgeries. Despite being pinned back together, I had lost a lot of muscle function when the ligaments were ruined beyond repair. My only option had been cadaver muscles to replace the useless ones, but my health insurance was cut off before I had a chance to explore that option.
I mostly dragged my leg behind me like dead weight without the brace. I’d gone from America’s Top 50 Most Beautiful Women — number nine, behind Angelina Jolie — to covering my face with a mask and walking like Quasimodo, the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I laughed at myself and made “bwahaha” sounds as I ambled my way into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
Usually, I avoided my reflection in the mirror, but this morning, like a person on the interstate craning their neck to see a car wreck, I inspected myself closer. The scar that ran from the uppermost part of my eyelid — I had just missed being blinded in my left eye — and curved to cut through the middle of my cheek was still a distinct, raised line. No amount of makeup could hide it without also making me resemble a plastic faced mannequin.
I was forever changed by the accident, but Brandy was right in a way. I had to stop running from the past. But instead of forgetting it, I needed to face it.
I traced my finger slowly over the scar.
Someday, I’ll make you see how beautiful you really are.
Last night, Roman had been unreal and that had apparently trickled into my dreams.
“I’m not beautiful, not anymore,” I told my reflection. Then looked closer, trying to see past the scar. “Am I?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Roman
Since Adam had left an urgent message on my phone, I drove to my office in Butte since I didn’t have anything else to do besides harass my housekeeper.
Even though it was Saturday, it was nothing for most of my staff to be in the office. I gave out quite a lot of perks and people went over and above to reach their goals within my employment.
“Adam,” I greeted my assistant and stopped in front of his desk as he stood with a distracted frown.
“Sir, I phoned you. There’s been an internet article on whistleblower dot com naming Crave as a top company for taking advantage of the third-world poor. They’ve made some concerning allegations and name several items on the online shopping platform.”
This wasn’t completely unusual. Any time you were at the top there were plenty of people trying to pull you down again.
“Show me the article.”
Adam typed on his keyboard then swiveled his screen so I could read the article, which claimed I was using people in dire poverty to sell their goods at ten times what I paid for them. It ultimately accused me of enslaving the poor to make a huge profit for myself.
I gritted my teeth, pissed at news stories that didn’t come close to the truth. “Don’t be concerned unless this is mentioned in multiple sources. Someone is always trying to peck away at anything successful.” As I strolled into my office, images of a pissed Jack Marshall popped into my head. To cover my bases, I called my publicity team to ensure that the next round of advertising spotlighted a synopsis of the many businesses and schools I’d built with company funds and the partnerships I’d forged in developing nations.
After that, because of my run in with Marshall, I called Peter. Better safe than sorry. The asshole immediately switched the phone call to a Facetime call.
“Brooooooo!” was Peter’s overenthusiastic answer, doubly jolting because of his overzealous expression popping up unexpectedly on my phone screen. “You should be here.” Before I could say a word, he maneuvered the iPhone camera three hundred and sixty degrees, and I caught a dizzying glimpse of the Canadian landscape.
I instantly regretted calling.
“Hey there, broski,” Liliana added, popping onto the screen with a wide smile. “Are you at the office? You need to be here, stat! Weekends are for weekending, workaholic. Get your overworking ass out here. We saw a bear this morning, and you missed it.” Her smile melted into a pout.
As much as I hated to admit it, she was gloriously happy with Pete. He — for all of his devil-may-care philosophy on living, and his throw common sense to the wind lifestyle — was great for her. She’d been the more adventurous of the two of us and she needed a man who loved her quirks and enthusiasm.
Ever since we were little, she’d been hatching one scheme or another. She’d set up a stand on the lawn of our city estate and thrown her all into whatever her latest passion had been. There was: “Save the wild river ducks,” “Lemonade fundraiser for Lyme disease,” and my personal favorite of her awareness campaigns, “Halitosis happens, dare to carry a spare,” where she’d handed out free toothbrushes and mouthwash. She was one of a kind.
As grateful as I was that she’d found her happily ever after, I was also jealous. We were the same age, so I’d often compared our lives and hers had more dimension.
Being a billionaire and running a successful internet shopping site had its upsides. However, looking at her on my iPhone screen put things into perspective.
She had a successful career of her own running a nonprofit organization that helped foster kids and the summer camps that were set up for them. She certainly didn’t squander her life but filled it with rich experiences. When she’d told me recently that she and Pete were trying to start a family, that hit me the hardest.
“Romanski, you’re in the Butte? You have to get your ass out of there and into this wilderness, it’ll bring the manness out in you,” Pete interjected, sucking in what I assumed was pine-scented air. “It’s visceral. Hey, what do you take when your butt hurts?”
“What? My manness is doing fine. Did you fall. Never mind, I don—”
“You take an Assprin!” Pete guffawed. Like a fifth-grade boy, he could never get over my office being located in the city of Butt
e, Montana.
I squeezed my eyes closed and sighed. “Ha ha. Look, Pete—” I’d learned from multiple painful experiences not call Pete Peter when he was in joke mode. “It’s the business I was calling about. No need to worry, just wanted to let you know in case Jack Marshall makes any trouble.” I filled Pete in on Jack and the internet article.
“That’s such shit. How many businesses and schools in poor areas have you set up with whatever they needed? I bet Marshall is behind the whole thing. He never could take a beating.”
“Well, let’s forget about it. It’s probably just some kind of social media rumor. May I talk to Lily for a sec?” I grimaced at the awkwardness of it all.
Always chipper and joyful, she grabbed the phone and shooed Pete away. “Sure, what’s up?”
Pete leaned back into view and shot his fist out into the air as a sign of rousing encouragement. “Bro, grab a plane and get your ass out here. We’ll have a cold one waiting on deck for you. Grab your balls and come on.”
They were too much.
“My balls are happy here, thanks…” I closed my eyes, unbelieving Peter had goaded me into talking this way in front of my sister. And I’d lied too. After last night, my balls were definitely not happy. “Next time,” I mumbled.
Pete’s face lit up. “He said balls, Lil. There’s hope for your brother after all!” A hoot sounded before Liliana’s face popped back on the screen.
“Are you okay?” Her face flashed genuine concern as she leaned into the camera.
“I’m fine. I’ve… well, I need some advice. I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but there’s a woman I’m interested in getting to know…” How was I supposed to ask my sister how to come on to a woman I’d paid to talk to me?
“Pete told me you went to a brothel last night.” She giggled. “Did you fall in love with a hooker? Roman, how Pretty Woman of you. I won’t tell Mom a thing. It’ll be just between us.” Her wide smile was so innocent, I knew she was being sincere.
“She’s not a hooker. Even if she was, that’s not the problem. She’s already rebuffed me. However, I don’t think it’s because she’s disinterested. So, what’s a good tactic to get her to let her guard down and trust me?” Heat rose at my temple and sweat started to bead out on my skin, which was uncharacteristic of me in any situation.
“Sorry, I don’t have great advice for you, Roman. Just be yourself and be honest with her. What I’ve learned most about relationships is that you can’t hide from yourself, eventually your partner will discover who you are so you’re going to have to build on that foundation.”
When did she get so wise?
“I don’t know if she’ll let me near enough to have a proper conversation.” I wiped my brow as a hard breath escaped me.
“Find a way to tell her how you honestly feel. I don’t know, maybe a note or something? I’m really not the best person for this kind of advice. The person to talk to is Marlena. She’s been married a lot longer than I have.” Liliana’s sweet grin was placating, and I could tell she was itching to get off the phone. “I’ll text Marlena right now.”
“No, wai—”
She kept going as if she hadn’t heard me. Typical Wellington female. I’d just had to ask for advice. “Women have always liked you, Roman, but you never seemed that interested in any of them sticking around.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Roman, you’re a total womanizer. Shit, sorry, I mean…” Her face flushed scarlet as she fumbled for words.
“You think I’m totally hopeless, don’t you?” I confronted her, sure my expression was hard and unyielding.
“I think you’re misunderstood. I love you, so someone else has got to one day too.” She laughed uncomfortably.
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“I don’t think it’s always been really awesome for Marlena and Chris, but they’re still in it. They’ve had their struggles, see what she has to say. It’s time you found somebody to love you, because you deserve it. I can tell you how wonderful love is and blow you up with butterflies and rainbows, and you know…” She waggled her eyebrows, her eyes glinting a love-dazed sparkle that turned my stomach.
Liliana was right — she wasn’t the best person to reach out to for advice on this matter.
“Ugh, why are you so you?” I slitted my eyes in feigned frustration. “I’ll retract that request for help now please.”
“I’ll be home on Monday. You and I can share a bottle of wine and go over this in detail then.” Her eyes darted from the screen to something in the distance.
She’d really text Marlena. Marlena and I hadn’t talked for months. It wasn’t that I didn’t like my older sister, we just didn’t have much in common. She had three young boys, a busy career, and a life I had a hard time imagining wanting to live.
“I don’t think great detail will be necessary,” I rebuffed, thinking if I gave her details, she would want to give me some of hers. I shuddered.
“I gotta go. Pete says the bear is back on the meadow.” Liliana’s smile melted into genuine excitement.
“Yeah, okay.” I was happy she was having a great time, even if I couldn’t compete with Pete, the great outdoors, and a bear.
“I love you, Roman. Oh, and remember she isn’t Sabrina.” Liliana blew a kiss into the screen. “Call you Monday!”
“Love you too.” I cracked a half smile and hit the end button. The screen snapped to a smiling picture of Liliana giving the peace sign at the top of the Eiffel Tower.
No, Mona wasn’t Sabrina. Mona knew I was wealthy and she could have manipulated much more than I’d paid for her last night out of me if she’d wanted.
I stared out at the beautiful Montana mountains in the distance, contemplating whether to answer when Marlena called. The floor-to-ceiling picture window in my suite had the most amazing view. The mountains gave me peace whenever stress creeped in, and I took a moment to weigh my options.
If I talked to Marlena, between a conversation with both sisters, odds were that the whole family would know that I couldn’t pick up a woman. I sighed. Or not the woman I wanted. I’d never had to give a woman so much thought before. I’d actually spent more time thinking about how to get rid of a woman than how to woo her.
No woman had ever been this important.
Important enough to risk humiliation. I picked up when the phone rang.
“Hey, Roman. Are you okay?” Marlena started out with a note of panic in her voice. She’d always had a mothering gene and had taken to mothering me and Liliana when she was in her teens. I’d tended to turn to her if I had a problem I needed to discuss, rather than my parents.
“Everyone is fine. Why? It sounds like a bad time for you to talk.” I could hear her sons yelling, and given the chaotic din in the background, I assumed her youngest boys were fighting.
How could she live in that kind of chaos?
“No, it’s never a bad time. I haven’t heard from you for forever…” she stopped talking for a moment, diverting her voice away from the receiver and yelled, “Trevor stop that… take your hand out of his pasta. No, it doesn’t matter, just because he did it to you doesn’t mean you do it back… Sorry, sorry.” She returned and continued like the interruption hadn’t happened. “So, what’s going on?”
“Nothing much, just need a little sisterly advice.” About a woman who may or may not be a prostitute. My breath seized in my throat and I knew this was a mistake.
“Well, if it’s about business, unfortunately Chris is out of town.” She growled. “Trevor, I said stop it now!” she shouted.
“No, I think I’ve got business covered, thanks. This doesn’t seem like a very good time for you though, should I call you back later?” Now I remembered why I never called my older sister. Her life, even the tiny glimpses of it I was subjected to, hiked up my anxiety and made me feel like she was always living inside a horror movie.
“No worries, Roman. Just a minute.” She muffled the phone and shouted
, “Boys go outside!”
There was clamoring, scampering, then silence.
“Wow, you’re good at that.”
Her voice revved to high speed. “We have about seven minutes… hit me.”
“It’s regarding a woman I met recently. I can tell she’s interested, but she’s shut me down several times. I’d like to make one last approach before I offer to pay her for her time.” I laughed lamely. “That’s a joke.” Not.
“I get it.” She laughed. “You really like her.”
“I don’t know if I like her yet, but I want a chance to find out. There’s a connection that I’ve never experienced before.” I bit down on my bottom lip, gripping it between my teeth.
“Ahhh. Were you… um, how do I phrase this? Kind? Or… like you usually are?”
My heart dropped into my stomach. “Like usual.”
“Cold and calculating, business is first, kind of usual?”
That was blunt.
“A little warmer than that, I hope.” I felt uplifted by the fact that I’d been more gentle with the Butterfly than my regular persona would be expected to.
“That’s good, that’s a start.” Her tone brightened.
“Most women are just in love with my money, but I’ve found somebody who I think doesn’t care about how much I have. Do you have any ideas how to proceed and maybe also an exit plan if needed?”
“I think women really like traditional, old-school chivalry. Send her some flowers and a note, and when you speak to her, put your real thoughts out there.” It was solid, old-school advice. “Ask yourself, is this the person you’d want to go into hiding with?”
“Wait, what?”
“Is this a person who you could be stuck with for days and days on end without food or water? Could you survive together, if zombies or militant vegans were coming to get you? Could she be your wingwoman? If your answer is ‘yes’ you should tell her how you feel.” She was being perfectly serious, which scared me. She’d been mothering boys for too long.
“Um, zombies and militant vegans?”