Page 129 of Rome: The Ballerina

“I hate to break the news to you but there will be a lifetime of mornings you wake up– just as you are– and I’m right there in your face, ready to talk or stare if you prefer.”

“I knoooooooow,” she groaned. “I’ve been pinching myself every day and this is indeed real. It’s no dream, baby, but it feels like one.”

“And the minute it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore, you let me know. I never want your feet to hit the ground if I can help it.”

“Okay.”

She pressed her face into the pillow and inhaled. Before exhaling, she lifted her pretty face to the camera.

“I’ve been waiting all week to sleep in.”

“I’m glad you were able to rest.”

“Me, too.”

“Now, find something to put on and be ready in thirty minutes. August and Koen are going to take you to the tarmac. You’re going to board the jet with them. And, then, meet me at the address I’m texting you.”

“Saint,” she breathed out, looking around in a panic, “Baby, I don’t have any clothes over here that we haven’t ruined.”

“Which reminds me that I need to take you shopping. But, don’t worry about clothes right now. We’ll handle that when you land. For now, just get on the plane. I’ve called in an emergency from a friend.”

“Thirty minutes,” she repeated, “God, that’s hardly my face routine.”

Rome moved on her own terms. Her own tone. Her own time. She was never in a rush. Moving hastily was next to impossible in her world. Swiftness was too close to chaos in her head.

“Your skincare routine is on your vanity at home. All seven hundred steps of it, love. Wash your pretty face. Tame your pretty hair. Put some shoes on your pretty feet. Clothes on your pretty body. And I’ll see you in a few hours.”

She nodded. “Forty-five minutes.”

I shrugged, “Forty-five minutes, baby. That works for me.”

“The t-shirts,” she yawned, “Where are they?”

“In the first two drawers on the right side of the closet.”

The left side was empty. Had been since I’d purchased the home. It was my loft that was fully furnished. The bed Rome was resting in was my marital home. The one I had every intention of bringing my wife into and having our children running around.

“Okay. See you soon.”

My other end buzzed as she bid me farewell. I pulled my face away from the phone to find Aliza’s number on the screen.

“You trying to get rid of me?” I asked, slightly contradicting myself.

“I have forty-five minutes to get ready in a home I’m only partly familiar with and no clothes of my own to wear. I don’t want to get rid of you, but I have to if I plan to see you.”

“Point made.”

“Besides, Aliza is on your other end. She won’t stop calling until you answer.”

My head tilted in surprise. Baffled, I inquired, “How’d you know Aliza was buzzing my line?”

She’d ended the last call and was calling back.

“Because, I know, Saint.”

“I’m not talking to her, Rome. Well, not in a way that would make you uncomfortable or jeopa–”

“I know.”

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