Page 61 of Prelude To You

For a single moment, I wondered what it would be like to be that man, free of all the obligations that were costing me the sheer bliss of exploring a possible future with Isabel.

She watched as I poured wine in our glasses, her gaze traveling to where my jaw muscle was working overtime. “You’re worrying again,” she said. “What can I do to make it better?”

“Oh, I can think of a few things,” I teased. And as my gaze met hers there was no mistaking the fact that I was looking at a woman who didn’t have the faintest idea of the threat she posed to an all-powerful empire.

That I even allowed my fascination with her to cast doubt upon my path in life was reason enough reason to end things right here. To finish this glass of wine and bid her farewell. Togo home and shut down all visions, thoughts and whatever these strange new feelings were that clouded my judgment.

But I didn’t. Instead I raised my glass to her. “To you, Isabel, my sweet honey badger.”

When she raised her glass, I etched her smile into my memory. “And to you, Roman… May whatever worries you, fade away forever.”

I found myself staring at her, spellbound, as an ice-cold realization sank its ruthless claws into me. After tonight, there could be no more of Isabel. It was time to lock up these unwanted feelings, and the sooner I made peace with that the better. One night was what I could offer, and one night only.

Now all I could do was pretend it wouldn’t crush my soul if her decision was not to stay.

18

ISABEL

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask Roman what kind of worries someone like him could possibly have. But I figured if that was something he wanted to share, he would.

He confused me, this man. He had an inscrutable mask always at the ready, even if it seemed at odds with his ocean-blue eyes as they lavished me with a look that could melt frost on a cold winter morning.

It was impossible to ignore that look. All I could do was suffocate the temptation to lock the door and crawl into his lap. So I sipped my wine and flirted with some decorum. “So. Those rules of yours. Let’s hear them.”

Wry amusement played on Roman’s lips. “Rule number two, let’s not bore ourselves with personal questions.”

“I see. So you can know a lot about me, but I can know nothing of you.”

“I don’t know anything about you, other than the fact that you’re a dancer, you speak French, you love to make pastries and your name is Isabel.

“Oh,” I said, “and don’t forget I also suffer from cognitive dissonance.”

“Ah, so your principles don’t line up with your behavior.”

“Exactly. As you witnessed for yourself in the hallway.”

Roman smiled at the memory. “I take it then that every single rule will inevitably be broken, despite your virtuous intentions.”

“Not necessarily,” I responded. “For all we know I’m able to scrape together a bit of dignity, behave and not exacerbate this insanity.”

“Well I’d hate for you to behave,” he said. “And what do you mean by this insanity?”

I frowned. “Are you just pretending this is a very normal thing that’s happening here? Or am I making more of it than I should? I mean ever since last night… You know what, never mind.”

Curiosity crept into his eyes. “No, tell me more. Ever since last night what?”

I sighed, feeling stupid for even bringing it up. “Listen, it’s been a strange two days. Really strange. First I was fired from my job, then the Uber got a flat tire and thirty minutes later it was the whole thing with you in the bookshop. And now this. Plus I started a new job today in this weird place, and for my quiet little life that’s a lot to deal with all at once, so let’s just leave it at that. I’m pretty sure it’s not important enough to warrant a deep analysis of my mental condition.”

“What job were you fired from?”

“Pastry chef.”

“Ah, then French pastry book makes sense,” he noted. “Why were you fired?”

“Because some rich fool was sitting at the chef’s table in the kitchen and I punched a pastry into his face. And threw a glass of ice water in his lap.”

“I take it the rich fool deserved it?”

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