Page 35 of Roman and Jules
“Honey, I couldn’t fake this. I can’t fake anything. I tried to be in a play once and you can imagine how that went. We’re really married. I said ‘yes,’ you said ‘yes,’ and let’s just keep it that way, okay? I like you around me… all the time.”
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him in return. They’d done everything backwards—marriage first and then falling in love. Of course, it wasn’t too much of a surprise. Roman didn’t do anything as expected, but even for him, this was ridiculous.
Jules settled back on her feet, steadying herself. “Don’t you want to date first?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll take this one step at a time.” Roman would do anything to make this work.
“That makes… sense.” She swung her hair behind her shoulder, those ridiculously long sleeves dangling over her hands again. Her pink nails poked through as she continued to nervously play with her hair. “We’ll make s’mores first. How about that?” She glanced over at the fire and let out a dismayed yelp.
It had already died out—it had sparked into an uncontrollable ball of flame and eaten itself like a demented snake—the exact same thing that the officiator at their wedding had warned them about with their relationship: what started abruptly rushed out of control and died just as fast.
Roman shook his head at his sudden superstition. What did Father Lawrence from the Chapel del Frate know? Roman and Jules weren’t victim to the fates, they made their own.
“It’s okay.” He put his arms around her again, staring at the last of the dying embers. The place had fulfilled what it was meant to do. “We’ll roast the s’mores over the fireplace at home.”
Chapter 15
Roman drove Jules through the isolated road out of Dry Lake. The white painted lines became a ribbon under their feet in a sea of blackness in the night. She snuggled into the strength of Roman’s back, barely able to process everything that had happened between them.
He was so different from the other men she’d dated. Disappointment was her usual companion in love. Ty hadn’t been the first one who’d taken her for granted. It had made her lose hope and settle for men who seemed perfect, but didn’t treat her that way.
Roman, on the other hand, was so far from the ideal, but he valued her the way her parents had always told her a man should. It felt strange, but she realized that the next time she performed on stage she might actually believe her own love songs.
The nightfall made the wind lose its heat, and it blew through her hair, cooling her down as they headed into the city. The lights of the Strip burned through the darkness as they sped past exploding volcanos and fountains and pirate shows—the likes only Vegas offered—while Roman drove her home to The Mantua. Was it her home now? Not quite. She’d feel better if they found a way to make things official—of course, what was more official than already being married?
She wasn’t fully taking this in, and as she studied the man before her, a rush of affection overcame her and she squeezed his arm. They’d make it work. Before she knew it, the valet was taking Roman’s bike again, and she gathered the picnic basket with all their snacks and s’mores. Roman wasn’t stingy with his kisses, and soon she was laughing uncontrollably as he rushed her to his rooftop suite and the waiting Mercutio. Roman made everything magic just by being at her side. He got the door open and Mercutio squeaked out a happy bark and sprung at them.
“Hey there!” Roman ruffled the dog’s ears. “Did you think we ran away together?”
Jules’s hand went to Roman’s hair and she ruffled that too and fairly skipped away. His head shot up. “Where are you going?”
She scooped up her guitar from the walkway near the game room. “We’re making a campfire in the living room, aren’t we? We can warm our toes next to it, and if you’re good, I’ll write you another song.”
Roman sprang off the floor away from Mercutio like a sprinter in a race. “I’ve got it.” The dog was after him, his claws scraping over the wooden floor with his happy barks.
This was the way that home should be. Settling into the soft gray couch, Jules spread the guitar over her lap while Roman flipped a switch on the wall and started an instantaneous fire.
“Much easier,” he said with a wink at her.
Jules moved her hands down her guitar and played something light—one of her cheeky hipster songs. And she sang about baking a cake. Pushing his knee into the couch, Roman squeezed in next to her, lifting her so that she sat in front of him on the couch. He played with her hair while she plucked the strings. He wasn’t about to let her pay more attention to the guitar than to himself. Mercutio was the same way. He barked and raced around them, doing his doggy best to sing along with the music.
“Here.” She felt Roman’s hands against her ribcage as he brought her closer. “Teach me how to do that…”
“Well, you just…” She tried to twist around to put the guitar in his hands. He took it, but it was much too awkward to do anything and so she tried to move around him so that she was behind him this time, but when she tried to get her arms around him to guide his hands over the guitar, he was much too big. She laughed and tried to duck under his arm. “Let’s see if you just…”
He set her guitar aside. “Okay, okay, I lied.” Now that she was under his arm, he caught her and slid her nearer. “I don’t want to learn. I just want to kiss you.” He stole one on the side of her lips. She happily swung her feet over the couch. The fire was toasting her toes quite nicely, or maybe that was due entirely to her husband.
“Let’s have that party,” she said impulsively. “The one your aunt said we should have.” She reached up and traced his strong jaw. The bristle felt rough under her fingertips. She chuckled lightly. “I think she was testing us, like she didn’t quite believe we were the real thing.”
“Good for her,” Roman said. “I’d give the old girl a medal if I could. She started all this.”
“How?”
“She said if Ty and I got into it again, she’d disinherit the one who started the fight, and…”
Jules shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t told her that before. Shock spread through her at the uneasy look in his eyes—he knew that he’d said the wrong thing. “But…” she had to ask, “you said that you were trying to helpme?”
“And annoy Ty,” he said, “I said that too.”
