Page 64 of The Billionaire Benefactor

He was reminded of this again as he put the letters in front of him. The best way to calm Blake down was to do what he asked. It shouldn’t be this hard. Yet Roman found himself moving around the room trying to find the most comfortable spot. Then he wanted a glass of water. He needed to check his voicemail.

Anything to keep him from actually reading these words that he had written and now couldn’t remember writing.

I need some help here, God. Help me face this. Let me be ready for these words.

With a sigh, Roman settled into the leather chair in his room and began to read his own letters, hoping that the contents would help ease his aching head and the strange, empty feeling of lost memory.

Dear Jenny,

It’s strange to be hand writing a letter like this. I’m used to texts or email. Writing isn’t really my thing, but doing it this way slows me down. Maybe that’s a good thing, so I can think more about the words. But if they sound stupid—I warned you. I’m not a writer.

Slowing down. I keep coming back to that. I felt like things were moving slowly with us, but maybe it was still too fast. My feelings weren’t moving slowly, but officially we never even kissed. Almost. But I’m kind of glad now my mom interrupted us at the ball. It wasn’t the moment I planned for—being at a public event and all that, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.

You asked me for some time and I’m willing to wait. I just wonder if I’d taken things slower at the start, maybe we wouldn’t have needed a break. Because not seeing you is killing me. I’m not going anywhere. But I sure do miss you.

(not sure the right word to use here),

Roman

Jenny,

I think I need to start with an apology.I KNOW I need to start with an apology. I shouldn’t have gone behind your back about Amanda. And paid her, which you said not to do. I have a lot of reasons and justifications I could make, but they don’t make it better. They don’t bring you back.

Roman

Jenny,

I’m not sure why I’m still writing these letters. You made it clear that you don’t want me waiting for you after what I did. But I still feel like I am. Waiting. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, exactly. Maybe for you to move on with someone else? Because I don’t know what else would make me stop waiting.

Pathetic, right? That’s why I don’t know that I’ll ever send these.

What I wish for is a do-over. Or a start-over. Remember that day when I showed up on your porch like a jerk with a big check and a photographer? I am so embarrassed about that. It was insensitive and impersonal and overall just a dumb move.

I know you could have used the money. But you didn’t want something cheap. That’s totally what it was. Cheap.

I’ve had time to think about this a lot. If I could show up on your porch again, I’d bring lilies. (Maybe two bouquets, since Lucy will take one.) I can’t think of anything to say though. I guess it’s not just writing—I’m not good at words. But I’d at least not try to shove money at you. Maybe you’d let me in and we could talk. I’d throw the football with Matt (who is really good, by the way) and play princess with Little Princess. I’d put my arm around you and not try to kiss you. Because this time, I’d be moving more slowly. Maybe putting my arm around you is too fast. Maybe I could just hold your hand or sit next to you so we almost touch.

I’ve been over this in my mind so many times, but I can’t quite make it perfect. Probably because it’s not real. I’m just imagining. The only thing that would make it perfect is to actually show up at your door. But I’m pretty sure you’d just slam the door in my face again. This time, for good.

I don’t know—I still might do it sometime. Maybe it would give me closure to have you kick me out. Maybe I need you to say it to my face. It would hurt more, but I don’t know that it would hurt worse. I still wouldn’t have you, so it would be the same. Just more.

Roman

Jenny,

Blake told me something the other day. I argued with him about it and he just laughed and made a bet with me. The bet’s about my feelings for you.

The thing is—I think he’s right.

I’m definitely not sending this letter.

_ _ _ _,

Roman

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