“As if that makes a difference,” Roman shot back, his voice rising.
“Roman,” I interjected sharply, trying to regain control of the situation.
Dean took a threatening step closer to Roman, but Lizzie intervened, positioning herself between them. “Enough! This isn’t the time or place for your macho posturing. A little girl almost died.”
In a fit of anger, Dean punched the wall before storming off, following the path Chloe had taken.
Roman let out a sharp exhale, frustration radiating off him as he walked away, disappearing down the sterile hallway.
I hesitated for a moment, then decided to follow him.
I found him near the vending machines, his hands pressed against the wall, head bowed in defeat.
“You didn’t have to say that,” I said gently, my voice barely above a whisper. “To Dean.”
He didn’t turn around, his voice flat. “You think I care?”
“I think you’re angry,” I replied, my heart aching for him.
“I am angry,” he growled, finally turning to meet my gaze. “I told you this was a bad idea. All of it. Coming here. Staying with your family. Pretending we’re… this.” He gestured between us, frustration evident in his posture.
“We’re not pretending,” I countered, though deep down, I knew we were. Weren’t we? “Please don’t be mad. I don’t like it when we fight.”
He moved closer, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart race. “You kissed me back.”
“Because you kissed me first,” I shot back, trying to hold my ground.
He didn’t deny it. “I’m losing my damn mind, Savannah. And you’re playing games with Dean like none of this matters.”
“Let’s not talk about him,” I urged, cupping his cheek gently. “You’re frustrated, and I understand that. But don’t take it out on everyone else. That was a mistake.”
“A costly one,” he spat, his anger simmering just below the surface.
“You’re going to make Alyssa feel worse,” I cautioned, my voice softening.
“That was never my intention,” he replied, his tone shifting slightly.
I placed my hand on his chest, smiling in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Look, I get it, you’re wound up. You need an outlet. Maybe even someone temporary-“
His eyes darkened, a storm brewing within them. “What are you suggesting?”
I lowered my voice, trying to keep the conversation private. “Since you can’t find your usual distractions down here, we could find someone else-“
“Fucking hell, Savannah.” He exhaled sharply, clearly exasperated.
“What? I’m just trying to help you. That’s what friends are for.”
“I don’t need a prostitute.”
“You clearly do,” I shot back, my frustration bubbling over.
He stepped closer, his presence looming. “We’re not talking about this when a child almost died.”
“You’re not her father, Roman.”
He raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched on his face.
“You don’t remember? Daddy’s here? What was that about?”
“That meant nothing,” he replied, his voice cracking as he looked away, clearly grappling with his emotions. “I was caught up in the moment.”
“I’m not stupid, Roman.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, Sav.”
I took a step back, feeling the distance between us grow. “Don’t try to control who I talk to.”
“And you don’t get to dictate who I sleep with.”
An awkward silence filled the space, our breaths the only sound breaking the tension.
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to control you, Sav. I’m trying to protect you.”
My chest tightened, confusion swirling inside me. “From what?”
“Stop playing these games with Dean. Let’s just get this wedding over with and head back home.”
“No.” I took another step back, my resolve hardening. “We agreed to this. You promised to help me through this. You said you wouldn’t half-ass it. What’s going on?”
His eyes darkened, deeper than I had ever seen. “You think I wanted this? That I planned for it? I walked out there and saw you in that damn bikini, and I-” He clenched his fists, frustration boiling over. “Fuck, Savannah.”
I swallowed hard, the weight of his words hanging heavily between us.
“You’re my best friend,” he said hoarsely, his voice trembling. “I shouldn’t be imagining what you taste like.”
My thighs involuntarily clenched at his admission. I bit my lip, looking away to gather my thoughts.
His words crashed over me like a tidal wave, leaving me breathless and unsteady. “Then stop imagining.”
He stepped closer, our bodies nearly touching now, the air crackling with tension. “I can’t.”
“Roman,” I hissed, glancing nervously toward the hallway doors. “Don’t.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.