Marrying The Master (Club Volare)

by Cox, Chloe

But Ben didn’t even try for one. In fact, he kind of kept his distance.

  Probably nothing else he could have done would have relaxed her more than that.

  Lola let him in, thinking, Maybe we really can be friends.

  It wasn’t until he bumped into the doorway on his way to the living room that the bad feeling returned.

  “Ben, are you—”

  “Tired? Hell yes, it’s the middle of the night,” he said, giving her his most charming smile. “But you needed me. What can I do for you?”

  “Honestly, Ben, nothing. This was probably a bad idea.”

  “Oh, come on. I meant it when I said I cared about you, Lola,” he said. His gestures were too big, his words overly enunciated. The bad feeling in the pit of Lola’s stomach got worse. Ben seemed to notice her hesitation. “Come on, just tell me about it. What did Roman do?”

  “It’s not really that simple.”

  “‘Course it is. You gonna come sit next to me?”

  Ben had sat himself down right in the middle of her couch. She’d be squeezed in next to him no matter where she sat down.

  “No.”

  “Come on, Lola, tell me what’s wrong.”

  Lola knew she should be worried, but what she mostly felt was sad. Because while Ben had been an asshole to her, and there was a really good chance that he would be an asshole again in the future, what made it so difficult was that he was also charming, and funny, and sensitive. He had made a sincere effort to be a better man over the past few years, and Lola knew that the biggest part of that effort was his commitment to Alcoholics Anonymous.

  And she was also pretty sure that right now he was drunk.

  Ben frowned, then pushed himself up off the couch.

  “Come on, Lola, you can talk to me. Seriously. It’s important to me that we stay close, you know? I care about you.”

  “You already said that, Ben,” she said softly. She didn’t even know where to begin.

  “That’s ‘cause I mean it twice as much. Come on, what did he do?”

  Ben took a step toward Lola and she backed away, keeping the distance between them the same. She watched him process what her movement meant in real time. His face fell.

  “Lola, come on.”

  “I want you to leave.”

  “Lola, what the fuck?” he said, exhaling with frustration. Ben screwed his face up like he was about to cry, hung his head, and took a deep breath. When he came back up, he looked more angry than upset. “I mean, come the fuck on, right? Roman? Fucking Roman? I could have told you that was gonna happen.”

  “Ben, I said I want you to leave.”

  He ignored her and smiled bitterly. “He doesn’t want you anymore, right? It turned out you were just like all the rest of them?”

  Lola flinched. That was the worst thing about Ben: all that charm, all that charisma. He could use those traits to hurt just as easily as to help. It hurt all the more because he was right: that was exactly what she’d been feeling. She’d been trying to tell herself it wasn’t true all night, that she was just really hurt, but hearing Ben say it, even though he was mad, and even though he was drunk, made it seem…real.

  She didn’t have an answer for him. He took another step closer. Her already small apartment was starting to seem even smaller.

  “You always had a thing for him, always, way before I ever fucked up,” Ben said, working himself up into a righteous, drunken rage. “You had your inside jokes and your fucking looks you would give each other. How long did you want him? Did you have something going on while we were together? Did you? Were you fucking him and just gave me a hard time for fucking up because I got caught?”

  Lola felt the wall at her back. Every time Ben asked one of those angry rhetorical questions he stepped closer, as though that would somehow make him right. With a strange detachment, Lola wondered how long he’d been storing all this stuff up. Was it just bad luck that she had happened to get him here on the night he relapsed? Or would it have happened anyway? She couldn’t believe how rational she was being until she looked down and saw that she was gripping the bag full of ice cream so hard that her fingers had started to poke through the plastic.

  “Ben, you’re kind of scaring me.”

  “Oh, that’s such bullshit, Lola,” he scoffed. “Total bullshit.”

  “I asked you to leave. I still want you to leave.”

  “Lola, we have to work this out.”

  Ben was close enough that she could smell his mouthwash. She realized that that was why he’d kept his distance at the front door. The thought that he’d put that much thought into this scared her even more.

  “You’re drunk, Ben,” she whispered. “Please leave.”

  “Lola, no,” he said, lowering his voice, trying to make it soft. “You just don’t remember how good we were together.”

  Ben grabbed her arm as she turned away, forcibly pulling her back, and tried to kiss her. A few thoughts went through Lola’s head all at once: he’d ignored her every request for him to leave and he’d just put his hands on her, so it was a good bet that he wasn’t going to be respecting any other boundaries; he was scary drunk; and he was angry.

  She kneed him in the balls.

  Then she smacked him in the nose with the bag of ice cream.

  And she bolted to her bathroom, the only room in her apartment that had a working lock.

  It wasn’t until Ben started pounding on the bathroom door that she realized she’d forgotten her phone on the nightstand.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Roman was so focused on getting to Lola that at first he didn’t think much about the fact that her doorman was literally sleeping on the job. He had walked right into the lobby and right past the doorman’s desk to the bank of elevators. It wasn’t until afterwards that he thought much about it at all.

  He checked his watch on the ride up, and only then did he wonder if Lola might be asleep. He was an idiot. It was the middle of the night; he couldn’t barge in on her like this. He’d wait, like a civilized person, and let her get her sleep. There was no chance he would sleep until he’d spoken to her, though.

  The door opened on Lola’s floor, and Roman pressed the lobby button, shaking his head. It was normal to want to tell the woman you loved how you felt as soon as you figured it out yourself, but he’d be damned if he was a jerk about it. The doors were already closing when he heard the noise.

  A banging noise. Someone shouting.

  Someone shouting, “Lola!”

  Roman caught the closing elevator doors and forced them open, his eyes roaming wildly, not expecting to find anything, but looking all the same. Hunting. Weirdly, he thought of that woman in the park; thought about how adrenaline distorts things. He had tunnel vision as he raced down the hall to Lola’s door, and he could hear his pulse pounding in his ears—and a man shouting.

  Lola’s front door was unlocked.

  His brain had just enough time to process what he’d heard before he burst into Lola’s bedroom, which, all in all, might have made him more forceful than was strictly necessary, because he recognized that voice.

  Ben.

  Ben shouting, sounding drunk, angry, and mean, trying to break down a door.

  Where was Lola?

  Nowhere. She was nowhere. Ben was pounding on the bathroom door.

  Only for a second longer. Then Roman grabbed the stupid hood that protruded from his jacket and dragged him away. Threw him on the floor across the room. Ben got up, shaking his head, and Roman punched him back down.

  He stayed down.

  “Lola!” Roman shouted. Insanely, he threw off her bedspread, as though she might be hiding under the covers. “Lola!”

  “Roman?”

  She was in the bathroom. Of course. Clearly. The adrenaline started to fade and Roman took stock. Ben was groaning on the floor, a hand to his bloody mouth, trying to get up. Lola was in the bathroom. Scared.

  “It’s me, Lola,” he said, never taking his eyes off of Ben. His chest heaved
as he drew in great gasps of air.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Ben said. “You’re the knight in shining armor now? You? The fucking dickhead who treated her like shit?”

  Roman was stunned with rage. Almost knocked back on his heels. Ben was up on one knee, rising to his feet, still talking.

  “Such fucking bullshit. You treat her like all those other subs that you just use up and toss out, like she’s fucking nothing, and you’re the hero? I fucking love her, Roman. I didnt’t string her along for years and then just start fucking her when it was convenient. I didn’t dupe her into a fake goddamn marriage because it was politically convenient.” Ben looked at Roman’s face and laughed. “Oh yeah, there’s all kinds of gossip, you piece of shit.”

  Each statement hit Roman like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t the way Ben said them; it was the kernel of truth in each and every one, twisted around to suit Ben’s interpretation of the world, but a kernel of truth nonetheless.

  He had hurt Lola so much worse than he’d thought.

  Roman forced that thought from his mind and grabbed Ben, hauling him up against the wall with one arm pinned painfully behind his back. His focus had to be on making Lola safe. That, right now, he could handle.

  “If you move, or try to escape, or even say anything to her that I don’t like, I will break your arm, do you understand?” Roman said. “I will enjoy breaking your arm.”

  “Roman, what’s going on?”

  “I’ve got him under control, Lola. It’s safe to come out if you want. If you don’t want to, I can make sure we both leave first.”

  He heard the door creak open and turned his head. Lola was standing in the bathroom doorway, looking gorgeously angry, even in baggy sweatpants.

  “No,” she said. “Stay. I don’t know what I want.”

  “Lola—” Ben tried to say. Roman found himself putting more weight on his arm.

  He said, “Please don’t make me behave in ways I will regret, Benjamin.”

  Lola was pacing, her eyes darting about, just like the girl in the park. Lola had been trapped in there, and Ben was obviously angry, and Roman could smell the liquor on him. She had been truly terrified. Right then, all Roman wanted to do was take care of her.

  “Do you want to file a police complaint?” Roman asked, careful to keep his voice calm. He wanted to do whatever she needed him to do in order to help her feel in control of this situation.

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” Lola had started biting her nails. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her bite her nails. Suddenly she turned to Roman, and he saw that she was on the verge of tears. “Ok, no, I’ve changed my mind. Get him the hell out of here. I just want him gone.”

  “Done,” Roman said. He turned back to Ben and saw that he had been crying, too, and was now about to speak. He leaned forward, close to Ben’s ear. “Think very carefully before you speak. If what you have to say makes this even one iota worse for Lola, I can promise you that you will regret it. Not right now. But soon.”

  Ben swallowed. Satisfied, Roman kept hold of Ben’s wrist with one hand, and with the other seized the hood, giving him an excellent hold. He pulled Ben off of the wall and began to walk him out of the room.

  “Wait,” Lola said. “Ben, give me your phone. Now.”

  Roman didn’t feel like giving Ben any slack. He let him struggle for the phone with his free hand.

  “What’s the name of your sponsor, asshole?” Lola said, looking at the phone.

  “What?” Ben said.

  Roman gave his arm a little twist. “What did I say not one minute ago?”

  “It’s under Cheesesteak,” Ben said. His voice broke, like the severity of the situation was just dawning on him. “I’m not supposed to give out names. Dude loves cheesesteaks.”

  Lola shook her head and scrolled, then lifted it to her ear.

  “I’m calling about Benjamin Mara,” she finally said into the phone. “I’m an ex of his. He showed up at my apartment tonight, drunk, and tried to assault me.”

  Roman closed his eyes and willed himself not to break the arm of a helpless man.

  Lola was still talking into the phone. “I think. I don’t know. It is safe to say, at the moment, that he has relapsed. And I want you to give him a message when you see him sober, ok? Tell him if I ever see him again, I’m going straight to the cops. I may go to the cops now. I don’t know—I don’t really want to make any decisions right now. Can you come get him? Great. And yeah, call me to warn me.”

  She gave her address and then hung up the phone, giving Ben the most withering look Roman had ever seen.

  “Ben? Listen to me. Roman’s going to take you downstairs. ‘Cheesesteak’ is going to meet you. If you fail to meet him, he is going to call me back, and I am going to call the police. If you ever contact me again, I am calling the police. If I even hear your voice again, I am calling the police. Do you understand?” Lola was starting to sound like Lola again, but Roman knew she wasn’t recovered. She went on, “Tell me you understand, Ben.”

  Ben was crying openly now, and slurring his words. He said, “I understand.”

  “Please take him downstairs, Roman.”

  Roman went about his task grimly. He didn’t want to leave Lola alone, and he didn’t want to leave Ben unchaperoned, lest he get stupid ideas about making apologies. As they were about to open the front door, Lola called out to him from the bedroom.

  “Roman?” she said.

  He turned, and the sight of her, looking for the first time vulnerable, open, looking to him for something, left him gasping for breath.

  “Yes?” he said.

  He watched as whatever light he had seen flare there, however briefly, faded.

  “Never mind. Thank you for…this,” she said, and disappeared back into the bedroom.

  chapter 26

  Lola got Roman’s text not ten minutes later.

  ROMAN: Mr. Cheesesteak has arrived, and Ben is safely in his custody.

  She couldn’t help but smile—who else would give a guy called “Cheesesteak” the honorific “Mister”? But then she hesitated. What could she say? “Thank you” didn’t seem quite adequate, or even entirely accurate. She was still a confused jumble of feelings, as far as Roman was concerned, and now, on top of that, she was a mess from this Ben incident. Before she could respond, he texted again.

  ROMAN: Will you speak to me? Please. I want to see that you’re all right

  That, she could deal with. She didn’t know why. Maybe nonverbal communication would be easier. She said yes.

  And immediately after she’d agreed she realized that she wanted to see how Roman would react to the things Ben had said. She’d heard them, of course; it was a flimsy freaking bathroom door. Actually, she was sure that half the floor had heard them. Ben had been drunk and loud. Everything he’d said had been hard for Lola to hear about herself, but in a perverse way she was glad that Ben had said them, because she didn’t know if she’d ever have said any of them herself. But now they were out in the open. And they had to be dealt with.

  She went to the front door and unlocked it. She was waiting there for him when he came back up.

  He looked like hell.

  Roman was normally so effortlessly stylish. Now, his jet black hair was tousled; his suit—a casual suit, obviously, even in the middle of the night—was rumpled. But it was more than that. His expression was dark, and his complexion pale, as pale as he could be.

  Lola opened the door for him, not sure what to say, now that he was actually here. He took care of that. Wordlessly he walked right up to her and wrapped his arms around her.

  “Lola, I am so sorry,” he said, stroking her hair. He pulled back and Lola was stunned to see that his eyes were completely bloodshot. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” she said, slightly bewildered. Roman seemed more freaked out than she was. “He didn’t get to me. He just scared the crap out of me.”

  “‘Just,’” Roman said, spitting out the word.
“I could kill him.”

  “Roman…”

  “Yes?”

  “You have to let me go. I can’t breathe.”

  Roman released her, backing away as though he were unsure of his place. She’d never seen him like this. In fact, she was pretty sure no one had ever seen him like this. Roman Casta, the Master, unsure of himself?

  “Lola,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I am at your disposal. I want you to feel safe. I will do whatever I have to do to make that happen.”

  Lola tried not to show that she was stung by those cold words—“at your disposal,” like all that mattered was that he felt kind of guilty—because she knew her reaction was unfair, and probably a little emotional, and definitely colored by all the other crap that had happened. She didn’t realize just how much her trust in Roman had been damaged, didn’t know how emotionally drained she was, until right then. Just the effort of hiding that one last extra drop of hurt…

  Silently, she walked back into her bedroom and sat down on her bed. She heard Roman come in behind her.

  “Lola, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just so tired all of a sudden, Roman. This…whatever this is…” she said, waving her hand around at the air between them, “it’s just killing me. And then this bullshit with Ben…”

  Roman came and knelt beside her bed. He took her hands in his and kissed them.

  Ok, now she was worried. “Roman, what is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, not anymore,” he said. “Lola, I came here to tell you something important. But you are exhausted, and I do not want to ask anything more of you tonight if you do not feel up to it.”

  Lola hated to admit it, but he was right. As usual. Her body was already pulling her toward the bed, telling her to sleep, and it was getting hard to resist.

  Roman squeezed her hands and said, “But please know that one of the things I need to do is apologize.” He looked up at her, his eyes, those dark, shining eyes, begging her. “I have behaved despicably. Stupidly. Very, very stupidly, for cowardly reasons. And I have hurt you, and for that I will probably never forgive myself.”