Page 152 of Guarded King

He steps forward, his throat working, tension radiating from every line of his body. “I wantyou.”

“Maybe so,” I whisper, my heart clenching painfully. “But do youneedme? Because there are things I need, Roman, and I don’t know if you’re ready to give them to me. If you’ll ever be ready.”

His hands go to the back of his neck, gripping tightly, his mouth pressing into a thin line. He doesn’t respond.

“It’s temporary,” I repeat the words he used moments ago. But they feel as flimsy as they sounded when he said them. “Like this move. Maybe… maybe a break would be good for us. Give us time to figure out what’s most important.”

“A break,” he mutters, his voice tight, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. “If that’s what you want.”

It isn’t. Not at all. But I don’t wantthiseither—the uncertainty, the vulnerability, the. Feeling of being at his mercy. I can’t risk everything I’ve worked for, not without a real promise of when things will change—or even if they ever will. I knewthis was the risk, and I took it, because I wanted him. Now I’m terrified I made the wrong choice.

Despite the sharp ache in my chest, I pull my shoulders back. “You made me promise that if I ever stopped feeling safe with you, I’d put myself first.”

A shock of pain flashes across his face. “You don’t feel safe?”

Oh god. Is this what putting myself first is supposed to feel like? Like my ribs have been cracked open and I’m being hollowed out from the inside?

I consider taking the words back. I can’t bear to hurt him. But before I can decide, he shoves his hands into his pockets and takes a step away.

“I meant it,” he says, his voice low. “The last thing I want is for you to feel that way.”

I ball my hands into fists, my nails pressing into my palms hard enough to sting. “Who will you get to replace me?”

He gives a sharp shake of his head. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. Sophie and Samson can cover things for now.”

The tightness in my throat grows almost unbearable, the sting at the backs of my eyes intensifying. He’s resolute. He won’t change his mind. The realization hits like a physical blow. “When does my job with Wright Construction start?”

“Tomorrow.” His eyes bore into mine, full of things he’s not saying.

I nod, my breath shuddering out. “I’ll finish the day, then. Unless you want me to leave now?”

He grips my arms and pulls me against him, his hold crushing. “I don’t want you to leave at all.”

The awful thing is, I believe him. But despite how much he wants me, he’ll do what’s best for the company, just as Katherine said he would. I can’t even be angry with him for it. I’ve known his priorities from the start. Still, I somehow convinced myself that maybe they might shift for me. But even with his fathergone, Roman is still driven by the need to prove he’s nothing like him. I don’t want to stand in the way of that, no matter how much it hurts.

“I know. And I don’t want to risk everything you’ve worked for.” I press my cheek to his chest, but the frantic thump of his heart does nothing to stop mine from aching so hard I can barely breathe.

For a few short months, I loosened my grip on my responsibilities. But I can’t sit around hoping that someone else will take care of Dad and me. That’s my job. It always has been. Yet I can’t bring myself to completely let go of Roman either. The thought of walking away permanently—of ending this for good—feels like being torn apart from the inside.

Ten years ago, I put down my paintbrush and let go of that dream.

I just wish I knew whether there’s any chance I can hold on to this one.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

ROMAN

“Idon’t care about your excuses. Just get it done.” The man on the other end of the phone stutters in his attempt to assure me that he’ll get the issue sorted.

Every damn thing is coming to a head. The grand opening for Genesis-1 is almost upon us, Ellis will be in town next week, and we’re days away from formally submitting our acquisition bid. On top of that, my re-interview withForbes, where they’re going to drill into the nightmare that is my father’s death, is next week.

Everything we’ve been working for—everythingI’vebeen working for—is coming to fruition, but instead of any sense of satisfaction, I feel nothing. I’m fucking numb.

I roll my neck and will my mind not to linger on Chloe. It kills me, knowing she isn’t sitting outside my door. That she won’t walk into my office, filling it with her presence, her intoxicating scent, her warmth, or her humor.

She won’t be at my apartment tonight, or in my bed.

I did the right thing by moving her in the wake of those tabloid reports. Within hours of my decision, our lawyers threatened legal action against the tabloids. It helped assuage my fears, but not as thoroughly as knowing the two of us won’tbe caught together by another long-range lens. Though even that level of relief can’t ease the constant damn ache in my chest.

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