Page 64 of Prelude To You

I tried to smile, but it didn’t come out right. “Please excuse me for a minute.”

When I rose from my chair, he stood up like the gentleman he was. His voice was perfectly composed. “Are you okay?”

I stopped at the door and glanced back. “I’m fine. I just want to go and cancel the wedding plans and see if I can get my deposit back on the wedding dress.”

Roman emitted a stunned chuckle. “And she speaks sarcasm.”

“Fluently.” I was ice on the outside, and a flaming mess on the inside.

“Well, I deserved that,” he said, hands in his pockets and remorse gathering on his features. “Are you coming back?” he asked very carefully.

The low light was casting shadows in his eyes. And if I wasn’t convinced that he couldn’t possibly have a care in the world, I might have thought he was battling some kind of internal crisis.

I felt his gaze probing my face, his beautiful mouth set in a tight line, as if he had to restrain himself from wringing the answer out of me. And then I just had to drive the knife in a little deeper. “Yes, I don’t just disappear on people.”

For an instant, a dangerous glint flashed in Roman’s gaze. The kind that said it wasn’t a good idea to continue down my defensive path of sarcasm. Like I cared at that point.

I was barely hiding a smirk. “I have to go to the restroom. I had that huge glass of water… And I probably need to get hold of myself. Privately work through this unexpected insult in a classy and orderly manner.”

“Isabel…”

I left before he could say anything else, closing the door softly behind me. I refused to show this man the tears burning behind my lids.And why the hell did I want to cry?Twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t know he existed.

I looked around for a sign to the restroom. The wine steward was at my side in less than a second, his expression changing from wine steward tosimpatico. “Do you need help?” he asked.

“I’m looking for the restroom, please.”

He could have pointed a finger in the right direction, but no; he made it his mission to accompany me to the door. I managed a soft “Thank you” before darting inside the powder room. It was plush and very quiet. The first tear fell as the door closed behind me.

Fuck. Why the tears?

Crying over this was beyond ridiculous. The entire thing should be a joke, a story I could tell friends at parties.Let me tell you about this tall, dark, incredibly handsome man who swept me off my feet…twice. And then brushed me off…twice.

I preferred getting angry to being this pathetic mess. But there was nothing to get angry about. I wasn’t misled or deceived. I walked into this with my eyes wide open and made it known I was there for the taking.

At no time did Roman do anything I didn’t want him to do. At no time was he anything other than a gentleman, and blatantly adoring me. Did he send the wrong message by putting me on a pedestal? Sure, but where’s the crime in that? I wanted to believe he was as fascinated with me as I was with him. And he wasn’t. He simply wasn’t.

The crazy thing was that it upset me so much. Probably because the only man who’d ever created this feeling in me, considered me just another notch on his bedpost. If that.

When I dried the last tear, I decided getting the hell out, now, was the most dignified option. The wine steward could give Roman a message. Yes, that’s what I should do. There was a notepad and a pen on the vanity, in front of a gilded mirror. Both bore the logo of the Belmont Hotel. Of course.

Any other time I would have wondered what purpose a notepad and pen served in a powder room. Now I knew. It was for those ladies who needed to make a rapid departure before disaster struck.

A pleasant note would be nice, and if nothing else, would be the decent thing to do. I sat down on the velvet chair in front of the vanity, and wrote Roman a note. My fingers were trembling, and my heart was thrumming in my throat.

As I was writing, there was a single moment where I considered going back to him and saying yes to this one night. But somehow I knew that would only make all of what I felt right now even worse.

There were only two things left to do. I needed to get home, and then I had to evict this man from my mind and life.

19

ROMAN

I’m a man of means. There is no limit to the money I can spend, even if spending it doesn’t give me as much enjoyment as holding the power to make it. I live a fairly simple life, and my days start with work and end the same.

Very rarely do I feel the need to chase pleasure. Work gives me all the satisfaction I need. Or maybe, and it’s a big maybe, I find work fulfilling because it requires the bare minimum of emotional input from me.

I’m not devastated if a deal doesn’t go through, because I know there will always be another deal. I don’t fall apart when something in the business goes wrong, because I know I can resolve things, one way or another. Fixing things was what I did.

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