Page 71 of Prelude To You

I heard Roman take a deep breath behind me, and I swung around. There he was, cool and in complete control again. Evenif his voice was tinged with emotional fatigue. “When you’re ready,” he said, “let’s go to the auction.”

He helped me down the spiral staircase. When we stepped into the foyer his hand landed on the small of my back, gently guiding me to our next destination.

We walked in silence, the reality of the situation sinking deeper. I wanted to ask a few questions but I knew that, like the man, the answers would remain a mystery. I stole a sideways glance at him. There was scarcely any trace of him showing any weakness, but I knew it was there because I’d seen it, carefully hidden behind the façade of power and charm.

Even as he brought my hand up to his mouth, brushing my fingers with his lips and causing my breath to falter, it was painfully clear that the longer I stayed, the more I was gambling with my heart, not to mention my sanity.

Our passionate tryst in the secret hallway and that damn kiss on the balcony were proof that getting over him was a fight I’d lose if I allowed this night to happen. The auction probably wouldn’t take long. I needed to leave, and the sooner I did that, the better.

We arrived at a huge hall that was closed off with a thick velvet rope. A man in a suit stood guard. He seemed to know Roman because he nodded respectfully and unclipped the rope.

When we stepped into the room the mood was stuffy, as in zero glamor and a lot of somberness.

A highbrow clique was gathered here but Meg was wrong; it called for dressing down rather than up. People took turns glancing in our direction, some of them shooting prying looks my way.

If I felt out of place in the Belmont Hotel’s foyer, this just hammered it home. I willed myself not to go down the path of defeatism. “What a happy bunch,” I noted. “When does the party start?”

Roman laughed softly. “Not even a minute in and you would have broken a rule.”

“Oh? Which rule would that have been?”

“Making fun of these poor, miserable rich people.”

I surveyed the room.All the items on auction were on tables in locked glass cases, and there were signs everywhere to ask for assistance if you wanted a closer look.

I wanted to know more. “So how does this work?”

“Each glass case contains an item from the estate. There will be a description next to it for more detail, and a bidding sheet by each of the items where the bids are written down. The highest bid wins. All proceeds go to a charity chosen by the estate.”

“What charity is it for?”

“It’s for non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma research. Cyrill Peyton’s wife died of it some years ago. This is his estate.”

Then Roman added in a softer tone. “He was never really the same after Anna’s death. He became a recluse, with only his treasures to keep him company. He once said to me, Poor is the rich man without a true love to share his life.”

Unhappy memories rushed through my mind. And I was confused as to why I wanted to share them with Roman, but I did. “My mom died of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma three years ago.”

Roman’s fingers tensed on my back. “Jesus, I’m so sorry, Isabel.

“She was wonderful and so incredibly beautiful, and I could never fathom why something as horrible as that would happen to her. Everything I know I learned from my mom. The world she created for me was all about books and music and love. And I didn’t realize until after her death the sacrifices she had to makeas a single mother to a kid who had big dreams of becoming a ballerina.”

Questions gathered in Roman’s eyes. But he didn’t interrupt, didn’t probe. He just listened.

‘She didn’t tell me she was sick until it was obvious something was terribly wrong. By then she barely had three months left. Watching her deteriorate every day chipped away at my soul in ways I didn’t think possible. And even though I knew she was dying, her death still devastated me. For a long time after that I was completely lost.”

Roman wrapped his arms around me and buried his nose in my hair. “My sweet,” he said softly. “That’s pain I wish you never had to endure. But I can only imagine how incredibly proud your mom would be. She raised someone pretty amazing.”

The words melted my insides, but instead of folding deeper into him, I wormed my way out of his arms. “I don’t even know why I’d tell you any of this.”

“Why wouldn’t you?

“Because it’s something I wouldn’t share with just anyone.”

“Is that who I am, Isabel? Just anyone?”

There was a long moment of silence, where Roman’s inquisitive gaze burned a hole through me and I tried not to rush back into his arms.

“I wonder if Cyrill and Anna were happy,” I said, veering away from his question.

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