Marrying The Master (Club Volare)

by Cox, Chloe

  Who didn’t care if she went and fucked someone else.

  Lola had told herself she was handling it pretty well. Hell, she was proud of the way she hadn’t fallen to pieces, the way she’d greeted Denise Whatsherface, the way she’d handled the interview. She thought she’d achieved the exact mix of sexy and sophisticated that Volare was going for, with just enough hint of mystery-type stuff thrown in. She’d laughed coyly at Denise’s questions about how she and Roman had met, about how they ran Volare together, about how they managed the secrets of powerful people. She’d even looked at Roman with genuine compassion when Denise had asked about Samantha.

  She’d actually thought, I am superwoman. I can handle anything.

  But now Lola noticed that her hands were starting to shake, no matter what she did, and her throat ran dry, so dry that she coughed, looking around for water. She ran to the kitchen island, all decorum and composure gone, and drained one glass, then another.

  “Lola, you all right?”

  It was Roman. She could hear him walking toward her. She thought of him touching her, and she was suddenly desperate to be somewhere else, anywhere at all, when her heart finally broke.

  She could feel it coming, like an impending storm.

  “Lola,” Roman said. He was so close. Right behind her. She couldn’t even look at him.

  “I’m fine,” she said, pulling away from him. “Here, Denise, I’ll walk you out. I was on my way anyway.”

  And Lola walked out of that apartment, and out of Volare, without looking back.

  chapter 23

  Roman knew he had to let her go, but that did not make it easy.

  That was an understatement. On the outside he was a rigid, immovable statue, his muscles tense and his fists clenching as he watched Lola leave; on the inside, he raged and thrashed against restraints of his own devising, wanting nothing more but to keep hold of her. To keep her there.

  He stood still as she walked out the door, practically vibrating with the desire to hold her back.

  After she was gone, he waited for all of that to pass. It didn’t.

  He waited through long moments while his chest ached, his stomach turned, and his lungs couldn’t get enough air. Finally, he collapsed back on the couch, the cushion still warm where she had been sitting, and forced himself to go over all of the reasons why he could not continue this. Why she had to find somebody else. Why he could not keep her forever.

  After he’d woken up and realized what had happened, he’d lain awake the rest of the night, turning the situation over in his mind, but always coming back to the same conclusion: he must stop this. He must stop it before it got worse. And nothing had changed. The fact remained that Roman knew he couldn’t offer Lola what she deserved, and, if he let this continue, he’d do her irreparable harm. Ever since Samantha, it had been impossible.

  He still marveled that, when he’d woken up, he hadn’t gone through the usual sick disorientation, thinking for just a moment that Samantha was still alive. He’d really known it was Lola. Reveled in Lola. That was the first time that had happened since Samantha’s death. He had not thought it possible. But his immediate reaction had been fear and regret—fear for Lola, regret that he had allowed himself to slip. Roman was more certain than ever that he would inevitably end up hurting any woman unlucky enough to fall in love with him, and Lola was the one woman in the world he could not bear to hurt, and he was allowing it to happen.

  He’d been weak, and look what he had done already.

  Inexcusable.

  So when Chance stormed in in a whirlwind of rage, Roman was actually glad. He looked forward to getting what he deserved.

  Chance stopped himself just a few feet from where Roman still sat on the couch, his hands threaded through his hair.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Chance demanded.

  Roman looked up. How long had he been sitting there? The long shadows and orange light indicated that it had been much longer than he’d thought. Hours. She had left hours ago.

  “I made a very grave mistake,” Roman said.

  “Yeah, no shit, asshole. Hey, look at me,” Chance said, smacking Roman’s hand away from his face. “Stand up and tell me what the fuck you think you’re doing.”

  “I’m protecting her,” Roman said.

  He was sure he had done the right thing.

  He was less sure the right thing was supposed to feel like this.

  “I said stand up,” Chance growled, “and say that to me with a straight face. Do you seriously believe that? Have you gotten that fucking dumb?”

  Roman shook himself out of his daze of grief, and stood to his full height, looking directly at Chance. An unlikely best friend, but the best man Roman had ever known. Unfailingly honest, even when the truth was unpleasant, even when it would harm him.

  Roman liked that about him.

  “I understand if you want to hit me,” Roman said.

  “You are a fucking moron.”

  “What else could I do to protect her, Chance? It had already gone too far.”

  Chance just shook his head. “I take it back. You give morons a bad name. You really think you were protecting her?”

  “You know I was.”

  Chance closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Very slowly, he said, “On what planet does Lola need protecting?”

  “Everyone needs protection sometimes, Chance. From some things.”

  “Lola can handle herself, and you know it. She can handle you. This is about you, Roman,” Chance said, stepping closer so his face was only inches from Roman’s. “This is about you being a coward.”

  Roman gritted his teeth, welcoming the flash of anger. Being angry was better than what he had been feeling, that was for damn sure.

  “Watch what you say, Chance.”

  Chance just laughed. “You’re in love with her, you unbelievable dumbass, and you just fucked it up.”

  Roman blinked, but Chance didn’t let him speak. “I’m not blind, Roman. I haven’t seen you like that with anyone since Samantha. Not even with Samantha. You’re different now. We all are. Maybe ten years ago Lola wouldn’t have been right for you, but now… I’ve never seen a man so obviously in love with a woman as you are with Lola. And I saw it in one goddamn night.”

  Roman suddenly felt like he’d aged ten years. Maybe it would be best for Lola if he went to L.A. Maybe that would give her the best chance to move on with her life without having to cope with the stress that their relationship caused.

  Even as he thought it, Roman knew he’d never do it. The idea of being separated from her made him feel sick.

  He said, “Since Samantha…”

  Chance exploded. “Jesus, Roman, Samantha is dead. Do you honestly think she’d want this for you? Or do you think she’d want you to be happy?”

  Roman snapped his head up, but Chance didn’t blink.

  “You know I’m right, Roman. But I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you sit there, you dumb fuck, and you think about it. And if you can honest to God tell yourself that you can go through life without my cousin, that you’ll be able to look at her when she’s hurting because of what you just did and not do something about it, then you’re not the Roman Casta I know. You’re just the dude who broke Lola’s heart because he was afraid.”

  Roman shook, his fists balled up tight. He was furious, but not just at Chance.

  “Yeah,” Chance said, turning away from their standoff. He walked back to the door, pausing just in front of it. “You think about it. And if you come up with the wrong answer, I really am going to have to kick your ass for messing up the lives of two people I care about.”

  chapter 24

  Lola couldn’t sleep. Huge surprise.

  She’d found herself halfway to Stella and Bashir’s place before it had occurred to her that maybe that wasn’t the best choice. Stella and Bashir were planning their own wedding, and, truth be told, the last thing Lola wanted to see right then was a happy couple. It wou
ld just make her feel like more of a fool.

  So she’d returned to her own apartment for the first time in weeks. She didn’t know what to expect, exactly, but she was relieved to find no press hanging around. Without a steady stream of gossip about the membership of Club Volare, their attention had moved on to celebrity bed hopping and overdoses, so Lola probably wouldn’t have to worry about getting photographed or having people go through her trash until the glossy wedding special came out.

  Right. The big, flashy wedding ceremony to commemorate their sham marriage.

  She was still supposed to go through with the wedding.

  She had to. It was her own fault she’d gotten her heart broken; she had actually known better, she’d just…made a mistake. And even though it looked like Harold Jeels could be neutralized with those photographs that Ben had sent her, that didn’t mean Volare wouldn’t be a target in the future. Roman’s press strategy was still the right one.

  Ugh. The Harold Jeels photos—they made her feel awful just knowing she had them in her possession; and, to top it off, they made her think about Ben. He had only sent her those because he was trying to help. He’d gone through the trouble of hunting them down because he’d thought they would protect her.

  Or because he thought they could help him win her back. Which was possibly a little twisted, right there.

  You have fantastic taste in men, Lola.

  She wished she could sleep. She’d slept so well in Roman’s arms. It had been perfect, or as close to perfect as she thought she was going to get, but then it was as if someone had flipped a switch and Roman had gone from being caring and understanding and tender, in his own macho way, to…whatever the hell that was this morning.

  She had been willing to put up with anything. She had been willing to settle for second best, knowing the ghost of Samantha would always be hanging around. And he had thrown that in her face.

  What the hell had she been thinking?

  Oh man, come on, get angry. Get pissed off. Anything would be better than this aching hole in her chest. No matter where her thoughts went, she always had to circle around to one thing: he didn’t want her.

  It was simple as that.

  She was crying again in no time, annoyed with herself but unable to stop, when her phone buzzed across the nightstand. She snatched at it, grateful for the interruption, but mostly—pathetically—hoping it would be Roman.

  It was Ben.

  BEN: How YOU doin’?

  Lola laughed in spite of herself, and answered just to have something else to think about, just to give her fingers something else to do. Sitting in her bed crying was not really working out for her.

  LOLA: Terrible.

  BEN: What happened? Trouble in paradise?

  LOLA: Yes.

  BEN: Oh shit I’m sorry. Do you need a shoulder to cry on?

  Lola hesitated. The truth was that she did need a shoulder to cry on, preferably a shoulder who would understand exactly why this latest thing was a such a big deal to her, and that narrowed the field down considerably. It was basically just Roman, which, for obvious reasons, wasn’t going to work out; Stella, who was probably happily asleep with Bashir; and Ben. Before she could respond, he texted again.

  BEN: I really mean it, just as a friend. Where are you? I’ll come to you.

  It was pure weakness that made her text back. But then, she’d been worn down for weeks and then dumped. She wasn’t feeling particularly strong.

  LOLA: My apartment.

  BEN: Be there in 20.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Roman couldn’t sleep. He appreciated the irony. Anyway, he certainly deserved it.

  So he’d gone for a walk. Manhattan would always be one of his favorite places, especially at night, when the city started to get weird, when the layers of artifice started to come off. Of course, that was when some people put them on. New York was a strange place.

  It was a city he got to know with Samantha. Most of the city held memories of her, and of him, learning how to be a good husband, learning how to love someone properly, fully. Good memories.

  He found himself drawn to Central Park. Specifically, to that bench right at the bend in the path by Strawberry Fields. It was where he and Samantha had always ended up when they went on walks together. In the summers there was always an ice cream guy nearby, and they’d sit there feasting on Good Humor bars and ice cream sandwiches, just watching people relax, have fun, be happy. It was where they’d had most of their own moments. She’d told him that she loved him on that bench. He’d proposed to her on that bench.

  In retrospect, he could have made it more memorable, but he’d been young and dumb. Though, according to Chance, he still was pretty dumb.

  Roman sat on the bench. He leaned back. Leaned forward.

  It didn’t feel right.

  Possibly because it was one in the morning.Possibly because he hadn’t been there in a while. But that bench had been ‘the place’ he’d had with Samantha. That bench used to be home, of a sort.

  “Shit!”

  Roman looked around; there was no one nearby. It had been a woman’s voice, and she had been in pain. A moment later, and that was confirmed. “Ow! Shit, shit, shit, this is really bad.”

  It came from around the bend, just through the new foliage. Roman strode around the path and found a young woman decked out in jogging clothes limping heavily.

  “Let me help you,” he said, and moved towards her.

  He didn’t expect the scream. It was one of those things that, again, in retrospect, seemed rather obvious.

  He also didn’t expect the mace.

  “Get away from me!”

  “Hey!” Roman said, backing up quickly, well out of range of the mace. “I’m not going to hurt you. But you cannot walk on that ankle—I can see that from here.”

  “I don’t know you,” the woman said. She was leaning on a tree now; she really couldn’t put any weight on that ankle.

  “Do you know many people in the park at one in the morning?” he said. “Jogging alone at this hour is ill-advised.”

  “Screw you. I couldn’t sleep. Seriously, don’t come near me, ok?”

  “Ok.”

  Roman put his hands up in mock surrender. “I will stay at this distance, yes? But I will not leave you here, alone, wounded, in the middle of the night. Do not even try to argue that point; you will not win.”

  “How do I know you’re not, you know…?”

  “Because I’m staying over here.”

  She leaned more heavily on the tree, bringing her face into the pale light from a far-off streetlight. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, brunette, probably pretty when she wasn’t terrified and nursing a badly sprained ankle. He could see the evidence of adrenaline in her eye movements, her breathing, the way her hand was shaking.

  She looked at him angrily and said, “What are we supposed to do? Just sit here until someone comes and finds us?”

  Roman pretended to think about it. Adrenaline often warped people’s thinking. He tried not to smile. “We could do that, yes. Or we could use a cell phone.”

  She gave him a fierce look and said, “Stay where I can see you.”

  Luckily there was an EMT bus stationed nearby, and in about ten minutes two weary-looking EMTs packed her up, her ankle now swollen up like a balloon. It wasn’t until she was safely in the care of the EMTs, being taken in for X-rays, that her manner softened. She called to Roman as she was being loaded into the back of the bus, her eyes wet and her expression contrite.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Of course.”

  “Um…” She seemed to be searching for what to say. An EMT held the door open for her. She called out, “Get home safe!”

  The door shut. The bus drove away. Crisis averted.

  The words stayed with him. Get home safe.

  Memories of Samantha no longer felt like home. Places that held the remembered feel of Samantha no longer felt like home.

  Home wasn�
�t a feeling he’d had the luxury of growing up, and so once he’d had it, he learned to recognize it. Or thought he had. The last time he could remember feeling at home was the previous night.

  Lola felt like home.

  He knew where he had to go.

  chapter 25

  Twenty minutes turned out to be the exact right amount of time for Lola to begin to regret taking Ben up on his offer to come over. It was the middle of the night, and ex-boyfriends usually came over in the middle of the night for exactly one reason, and that was not what she wanted. Now she was super stressed on top of feeling sad and hurt and humiliated.

  She was just wondering how late was too late to text Ben back and tell him nevermind when her doorbell rang. That alone freaked her out; what the hell had happened to her doorman? But then she remembered that Ollie would recognize Ben, would think he was ok. It wouldn’t be the first time Ben had come over kind of late.

  Why did she have such a bad feeling about this?

  “One second!” she called out, casting around for her bulkiest sweatshirt. She was already rocking the sweatpants—it had been that kind of a night.

  She’d say hi, she’d say thanks, and then she’d send him home. She really was kind of exhausted. Nothing tired her out like crying.

  “Hey,” she said, opening the door. Ben stood there in his black leather jacket, gray hoodie, faded jeans, shadow on his chin. He smiled softly at her, raising an eyebrow rakishly, and lifted a plastic grocery bag full of various ice cream pints.

  “I brought supplies.”

  Lola had to smile. She stayed back, not really sure what kind of greeting to go with. A hug would seem…misleading. Dangerous. Possibly bad news.