A second, older woman dressed similarly comes out of the fitting room clapping her hands. “Ladies! Are we ready? I think you’ll both agree that Grace looks absolutely stunning in this Badgley Mischka gown.”
My mother and I turn as Grace joins us in the main salon. Mama gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. And it’s easy to see why. Grace is a vision in a strapless, blush-colored ball gown with a gathered bodice and dramatic ruffled skirt. The saleswoman spreads out the cathedral-length train around her. Grace’s blond hair has been swept up high with a few curls left to frame her face.
Tears sting my eyes. “You look like you’ve just stepped out of a fairytale.”
The smile on her face grows impossibly wide. Her cheeks look like they might burst.
I glance over at my mother, who has yet to say a word. Wetness shines in her eyes as she stares at her future daughter-in-law. I slip my fingers into her hand and give a little squeeze as Grace gathers up her train so she can twirl in front of the three-paneled mirror.
“I know this is the first dress you’ve tried on this morning, but I can’t imagine anything else fitting you more perfectly,” Mama says, her voice thick with emotion. “You look like an angel.”
“We’ve picked out three others for her to try on,” the saleswoman chimes in. “A bride rarely finds her dream gown the first time around, but I have to agree that this one may be a winner. We’ll try on the others, just to be sure.”
Looking dazed, Mama nods. “Of course.”
With the help of the staff, Grace returns to the fitting room to try on the next dress.
I take a sip of champagne. My stomach convulses when the fizzy liquid hits it. I set the flute on the end table and sand as the two pieces of lightly buttered toast I ate this morning revolt.
“Sofia? What’s the matter?”
I wave off Mama’s concern. “I’m going to use the restroom.”
“You look pale.” She frowns. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine.” But I’m not. “I think the champagne just hit me wrong. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
With that, I dash to the restroom around the corner. By the time I get inside, I’m so queasy that I’m worried I might vomit. I rack my brain for an explanation.
Did I eat something funky?
Do I have food poisoning?
Or is this the flu?
I work in a school where bugs and viruses are always floating around. Last year, it seemed like I caught something every other week. My immune system has improved this year, and I’ve been healthier.
I stagger to the sink, gripping the edge with both hands while hanging my head. I close my eyes and focus on drawing fresh air into my lungs. It takes a few minutes for the nausea to subside. Once it does, I glance in the mirror and notice that my mother was right—I look ghastly. I splash cool water on my face and reapply lipstick and blush to add some color.
“Feeling better?” Mama asks when I return to the showroom.
“Much.” I sit on the other end of the couch, leaving room between us. I don’t want to get too close in case I’ve come down with an illness. “I’m not sure what that was about, but it seems to have passed.”
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Good. I’m glad you could join us this morning.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it, Mama.” Grace is like a sister to me, and I’m honored to be part of this special day.
My mother gives me a wink and thrusts a glossy magazine into my hands. “It’s never too early to start thinking about your bridesmaid dress.” She points to a girl on the page. “I was thinking about something along these lines.”
I groan and sink into the cushions.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A wheel on the shopping cart squeaks as I roll down the cereal aisle.
From beneath my lashes, I sneak a glance at Roman as he walks next to me. Memories of the last time we were in the grocery store together flit through my head. That was almost three weeks ago, and our relationship couldn’t be more different.
I pluck a box of Honey Nut Cheerios from a shelf and hold it up. “We ran out this morning.” I give it a little shake after a few beats of silence. “You like these, right?” Getting an answer out of him is like pulling teeth sometimes.
His lips lift into an expression that could almost pass for a smile. “Yes, I like them.”
I drop the box into the cart and roll my eyes. “Was that so difficult?”
“Extremely.”
I grab a small box of Grapenuts from the top shelf.
A month ago, I ate bowls of the crunchy cereal for dinner. I haven’t done that since Roman began staying at the house. As I’m about to toss it in with the other groceries, I hesitate. Holding this box makes me realize how lonely my existence was before Roman came into it.
Even when I put myself out there and dated other men, I kept my distance. It was never a conscious decision on my part, but there’s no way to be your most authentic self when you’re hiding vital parts of your life from the person you’re trying to get close to. I self-sabotaged from the get-go and never understood the rut I’d fallen into, in which I bailed once my relationships hit a certain level of intimacy.
No wonder I ate bowls of cereal alone at night while sitting on my kitchen counter.
I used my mother’s maiden name when I left for college to separate myself from the Chicago mafia because I wanted people to see me for me instead of a Valentini. But all I did was isolate myself from them because I couldn’t risk having my real identity exposed.
It’s different with Roman, though. I’m free to be me with him because he knows everything about my family. This is the first adult relationship I’ve been in where there are no false pretenses, and it’s more liberating than I ever imagined.
The irony is that the shoe is now on the other foot. It’s frustrating to have someone continuously holding back a piece of themselves when all you want is to delve deeper, to continue moving forward. But that’s an impossibility when there are secrets underfoot.
I’m experiencing what the men I dated felt. Roman is withholding the truth from me just as I did to them.
Shaking my head to clear it, I put the Grapenuts back on the shelf.
Good Lord, who would have thought a person could have an epiphany in the cereal aisle? I want to laugh, but there’s nothing amusing about the situation.
“I thought you wanted that?” Roman gestures at the box I just replaced.
I shake my head. No, I don’t want that at all. “Nope.” I smile. “I’m going to give Honey Nut Cheerios a try.”
He raises his brows in confusion, which is fine. For the first time in years, I understand what needs to be done.
“Oh,” I snap my fingers, “I forgot to pick up tea.”
“You stay with the cart. I’ll go back and get it.” He turns and heads in the opposite direction.
I call after him, “Decaf, please!”
He waves a hand and disappears around the corner.
Continuing to push the cart, I throw in a box of chocolate chip granola bars to restock the snack supply I keep in my desk at work for when I can’t take a lunch break. Two boys wearing soccer jerseys barrel around the corner and nearly plow into my cart while I examine a selection of dried fruit. They skid to a halt, shout out quick apologies, and race up the aisle. I watch in amusement as they laugh and pull at each other’s shirts to slow one another. They look to be about ten years old. Their antics remind me of my brothers when they were younger. My mother spent a lot of time knocking their heads together before separating them.
A blonde woman flies around the same corner a few seconds later. “Jacob! Logan! Get back here immediately!”
I’ve seen that murderous look enough times to know that if she gets her hands on them, she’ll go Teresa Valentini all over their butts. I press my lips together to suppress my smile. I highly doubt this woman would appreciate the humor I feel at her expense.
She shoots me a harr
ied expression. “I’m so sorry! You’d think running around on a soccer field for an hour would wear them out.”
I smile in understanding. “I wish I had a tenth of their energy. You need to find a way to bottle and sell it. You’d make millions.”
The lines of tension bracketing her mouth disappear as she chuckles. “Yeah, that’s exactly what my husband says.”
I really could use some of the boys’ boundless energy right now. I’ve been more tired than usual lately. I’ve chalked it up to my extracurricular activities with Roman.
“I’d get so much more accomplished during the day if I had that kind of stamina,” I joke.
She snorts. “Wouldn’t we all?”
Roman rounds the corner with a box of tea clutched in his hand.
The woman has her back turned toward him and glances over her shoulder when she hears his footsteps. Her jovial expression morphs into one of shock. “Roman?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Roman’s footsteps stall, his eyes darting from the blonde to me and then back again.
Is this woman an ex-girlfriend?
“MaryAnn,” he says tightly. “Hi.”
Surprise transforms into delight on MaryAnn’s pretty face, laughter bubbling from her lips. “Ah, hi yourself, stranger! I was just telling Gabe the other day that we haven’t seen you in months. Where’ve you been hiding? You must be working crazy hours again.”
My gaze bounces between the pair as she chatters away, oblivious to Roman’s silence. His discomfort is palpable. By the way she throws names out, it seems like she knows him well. But I don’t get the feeling that they were ever a couple. There’s a connection between them, but no romantic vibe.
“That reminds me,” she jabs a finger at him, “You never got back to us about the birthday party next weekend. Are you going to swing by?”
His jaw locks. “Umm…”
She shakes the same finger with more purpose. “No excuses this time! You’d better come! This is your godson we’re talking about.”
Roman winces.
“Everyone’s going to be there. It’ll be a packed house.” Glancing down the aisle, she waves at the two boys now arguing over a box of cereal. “Jacob, Logan, look who’s here! It’s Uncle Roman.”
Uncle Roman?
I raise my brows at Roman, who studiously avoids my gaze.
MaryAnn, who must be his sister or sister-in-law, turns and faces me again. “Oh, I’m sorry!” She gives Roman an expectant look. When he says nothing, she huffs out a breath and smiles, thrusting her hand toward me. “Apparently Roman isn’t going to bother introducing us. I’m MaryAnn, his sister-in-law, and the two hellions that ran past are my boys. The taller one is Jacob, and the other is Logan.”
“Sofia.” I take hold of her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Dozens of questions swirl through my head. I glance at Roman and find his eyes already on me. A strange guardedness I’ve seen countless times before lurks in them.
The boys run back down the aisle and hurtle their small bodies at their uncle.
Roman scoops them up into his arms with practiced ease, shaking them until they shriek with uncontrollable laughter. His discomfort dissolves, and his guard drops as he focuses on his nephews with a joyful smile that makes my heart constrict.
The Roman I’ve become acquainted with over the past three years has always been cold and standoffish. Indifferent. The expression he now wears is something of a contradiction. It’s like a beam of sunlight filtering down through dark rain clouds.
Roman catches me watching him. The smile on his face vanishes, the tops of his ears reddening as if he’s self-conscious about being observed.
MaryAnn’s eyes soften as she watches Roman and the boys. “It’s really been too long, Roman. It’s impossible to get ahold of you anymore. Don’t you know how to return a call or a text?”
As swiftly as his walls tumbled down, they’re once again resurrected. It’s frightening how easily he’s able to revert to his normal standoffish self.
I wish I understood why.
Fresh frustration rises up in me.
“It’s been busy.” He gives her a hard, penetrating look. One I’ve been on the receiving end of numerous times before.
The color in her cheeks drains.
Not understanding the silent communication between them, my gaze shifts from Roman to MaryAnn.
What the hell is going on here?
And then it hits me.
MaryAnn knows.
She knows Roman’s secret and just realized that I’m still in the dark, which is a terrible feeling that makes the pit of my belly churn with nausea.
“Oh. Um, okay.” Her eyes drop to the squirming boys in his arms. “Logan and Jacob, we should probably get moving. We have a few more errands to take care of before heading home.”
This elicits a long groan from them.
A handful of minutes ago, I would have found their reaction amusing. Now, not so much.
Both boys grouse about missing their uncle as they untangle themselves from him. Roman gives them a subdued smile. MaryAnn shuffles from one foot to the other, avoiding any kind of eye contact. This behavior is telling, considering how friendly she’d acted moments ago.
“It was really nice meeting you, Sofia.” She looks like she’s on the verge of saying more, but changes her mind as she looks at Roman. “Bye, Roman.” MaryAnn hustles away with the boys, beelining to the checkout area.
Confused by the interaction, I watch until they disappear from sight as new questions whirl in my brain. I avert my gaze to Roman and sigh at the closed-off expression on his face because the answers I seek will be met with resistance.
Commandeering the cart, Roman silently wheels it down the aisle.
Even though I shouldn’t be surprised by his dismissive behavior, I stare in bewilderment. Does he really think he can sweep what happened under the rug and not say a word about it?
Realizing he’s not going to wait, I shake off my stupor and jog to catch up with him. I grab the cart and yank it to a halt. “Are we going to talk about what just happened?”
His eyes narrow. “What’s there to talk about?”
I sputter out a laugh and give him an incredulous look. “How about we start with the fact that I didn’t even know you had a brother. Or any family, for that matter.” After a few seconds of silence, I ask, “Do they live nearby?”
He sighs and bites out, “No, they live in Wheaton. The boys must’ve had a soccer game in the area. I’ve never seen them around here before.”
I arch my eyebrows, hoping he’ll elaborate.
He doesn’t.
Roman never talks about himself or his family or the past. That’s weird, right? I assumed he wasn’t close to them or, like Grace’s, they were deceased.
But listening to the way MaryAnn carried on and peppered him with questions—before grasping that she should stop talking—made it clear that she was completely comfortable with Roman. And his nephews were the same way. That wouldn’t be the case if they weren’t in touch with one another.
What am I missing?
What isn’t he telling me?
His tight-lipped silence makes me want to scream, but I know better than to let loose. It won’t get me anywhere. In fact, it’ll have the opposite effect. He’ll take a giant step back. I draw in a deep breath instead, trying to calm my chaotic emotions.
He wants me to drop the subject, but I can’t let it go. I just want him to let me in and give me a crumb of information.
When Roman starts pushing the cart again, I reach out and wrap my fingers around his forearm.
He turns and shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I have one brother. We don’t see each other very often.”
“Why not?”
He gives me an irritated look. “Because I work a lot. And so does he. We’re both busy with our own lives.”
Until my run-in with MaryAnn, I knew nothing personal about this man. The only time I see Roman
is in my world. Around my family. At the compound. In my house. Sometimes I forget that he has a life outside of the work he does for the Valentinis. I know zilch about his background. Where was he six years ago? What was he doing? Has he ever been married? Is his past littered with relationships? Does he have any kids?
I almost blanch at that thought.
I don’t know. About any of it.
It’s as if the man didn’t exist before he started working for my father. It’s a disturbing thought that makes me shift with unease.
Unable to accept his stoic silence, I push again with, “Where do you live?”
“How about we finish up with our shopping and then,” he pauses as a pained expression crosses his face, “if you want, I’ll take you there. Okay?”
Astonished by this quick about-face, the ball of nerves rolling around in my gut dissolves. Just a bit. “I’d like that.”
“Fine,” he mutters, clearly exasperated. “Can we drop this now?”
I walk alongside him as we start moving again. “I’m not going to let you renege.”
His lips quirk. “I know.”
I smile at the little bit of headway we just made.
Roman agreed to show me where he lives. Sure, I had to strongarm him into doing it, but maybe now that I’ve pried a few bits of information from him, he’ll be more amenable to opening up to me.
I almost snort.
Then again, pigs are more likely to fly before that happens.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I scan Roman’s one-bedroom apartment, trying to absorb every minute detail.
He lives in the city near the Loop, about two blocks from the El. We’ve been here for forty minutes, and I’ve already heard two trains rumble past.
Roman lurks in front of the door. I get the feeling he wants to give me a quick tour and escort me out. Well, that’s not going to happen. It took three weeks to get him to this point, and I’m not about to be rushed now that I’m here.
“I told you there wasn’t much to see,” he says.
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