Page 72 of Prelude To You

“They seemed to have lived a wonderful life. I think they were happy.”

I glanced over the room. “You have to wonder how many of these things they gave each other as gifts.”

“They didn’t have children,” Roman said. “And they were married for thirty-plus years, so I suppose a lot of these are things they bought each other.”

“And just imagine, it all comes down to this… Their precious belongings sold to the highest bidder, who might not value them the same way.”

I could feel Roman’s eyes on me, but I refused to look back at him. Any trust I had in my self-restraint was obliterated, my self-preservation dangling by a hair.

“Look at me,” he said.

“No,” I said stubbornly. “The last time I looked at you, you nearly paralyzed me with a kiss.”

“We don’t have to be here.”

“No, we do. You have to appreciate the study in contrast. Two strangers contemplating a meaningless tryst while fawning over the belongings of two people who loved each other until the day they died, and probably even in the afterlife. If you believe in such things.”

“I thought we weren’t strangers anymore,” he said.

Only then did I look up at him, and I simply hated the way he held my gaze like he’d give me the world if he could.

“I know nothing about you,” I said. And this thing between us, whatever it is, doesn’t make us friends. Not even close. We’re still strangers.”

He chewed on my remark, and the seconds ticked by while he considered his options. As if he knew he’d have to pull out all the stops if he wanted to stay in my favor. At a wild guess, Roman had never had to settle, and wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted.

He was a novice when it came to making decisions based on feelings. I, on the other hand, was a connoisseur.

“So, what would you like to know about me?” he asked with a worn smile. “What kind of knowledge would make me less of a stranger in your eyes.”

Roman offering me a glimpse into his reality was top-end negotiation, I had to give him that. I was curious about him, yes,so I would ask the thing that had been hovering at the center of my mind all night.

“Are you happy in your life?” I asked.

This was not a question he’d expected. “That’s difficult to answer,” he said. “If you can explain happiness to me, I can answer you more comprehensively.”

“Okay, for me happiness is making the perfect pastry, dancing with Sergei, listening to Nina Simone, reading one of my favorite books in my room with the fairy lights blinking, playing stupid board games with Meg and our friends… A lot of things make me happy. It’s ridiculous how easy I am to please.”

He was looking right through me, as if trying to fathom the joy attached to these simple things.

“Then as I said before,” he answered. “Being here with you, in this moment, makes me happy.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

His smile thawed. “I don’t have a whole lot of time or reason to be happy. But I don’t need an ounce of sympathy since I’m doing all of that non-happiness in a great deal of comfort and of my own free will.”

There was a moment that followed when we were simply going to continue viewing the offerings in the glass cases, carefully burying our burning hunger beneath light conversation and perky smiles. Until it was time for me to go home

But Roman didn’t move. He tilted his head ever-so-slightly as his eyes trailed the length of me and his lips twisted into a scathing smile. “Although I have to say I am curious about this Sergei guy who makes you so happy,” he said, a sharpness to his tone. “Because if he makes you so happy, what are you doing here?”

I met his contemptuous look with disdain. “He’s my dancing partner. And like I said, we used to be together romantically, but we’re not anymore.”

Roman’s gaze traveled idly over my features. He dragged a finger down my cheek, then to the nape of my neck, until his thumb came to rest in the hollow of my throat. Where he could feel my pulse flutter at a dizzying rate.

“You never answered me. Do you still sleep with him?”

My resentment boiled to the surface with a vengeance. I pulled away from his grasp. “In about thirty minutes, or however long this thing is going to take, I’m out of your life. What does it matter to you?”

“Yet you made a point of mentioning him again,” he insisted. “Why is that?”

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