I want to say, “Fuck off,” but I don’t. “It’s almost ready.”
His palm spreads flat across my stomach, warm and steady. “You sleep okay?”
I shrug, keeping my eyes on the pan. “Sure.”
He lingers, mouth grazing my shoulder, then lets me go and moves to the coffeemaker. He pours a cup, then leans against the counter, watching me with an expression I can’t read.
“Still moping, huh?” he says, not unkindly.
I slide the pancakes out onto a plate. “Why would I be moping?” I spread a pat of butter on each of them, watching asit melts and drips off the edges of the cakes. “It was a fantastic night. I spent the evening being ignored by everyone; Naomi harassed me, and my husband pretended not to know me for three hours. What’s not to love?”
Roman takes a slow sip of coffee, blue eyes steady on me. “I doubt Naomi harassed you.”
“She literally called me a daisy in a field of thorn bushes and told me I wasn’t built to last.” I drop the spatula into the sink with a clatter. “But you’re right, maybe I just misheard her while I was busy being so delicate and fragile.”
“She’s blunt, Kayla. She doesn’t sugarcoat shit. But she’s not out to get you.” His tone is flat, and clearly in his mind, that should be the end of it.
“Are you serious right now?” I stare at him, letting the silence stretch between us. “That’s all you have to say?”
Roman just shrugs. “The club has always been wary of outsiders, especially ones who don’t play by their rules. None of them know you yet. It’s not personal.”
“Not personal.” I grab the serving plate, set it on the table with a little more force than necessary. “God, it’s like talking to a brick wall.”
He stands and closes the distance in two strides, catching my wrist before I can walk away. “Hey.” His grip is gentle but unyielding. “I know they’re not the warmest bunch. But I’m grateful you tried. I am.” He looks at me like he means it, but I’m not in the mood to be soothed.
“Your breakfast is getting cold,” I tell him, twisting out of his grasp.
He lets go and sits, unbothered. He eats with every evidence of enjoyment, as if his wife wasn’t sitting across the table trying to murder him with her eyes. It’s almost admirable, the way he can compartmentalize. Like last night never happened.
I sip my coffee and ignore my food. He glances up, waiting. He knows me well enough to know I’m not finished.
I decide to just say it, the question that’s been eating at me since last night. “What did Atlas mean?” I ask. “When he said you know better than anyone that Naomi can be depended on in a fight?”
Roman’s fork stills mid-bite. He sets it down and looks at me, all warmth gone. There’s a different kind of tension now, something taut and dangerous under the surface.
“Why are you asking?” he says, voice low.
“I just want to know.” I try to keep my tone even, but I can feel the shake under it. “What happened between you two?”
He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “It’s club business, Kayla.”
“That’s it?” I say, voice climbing. “You’re not even going to give me a real answer?”
“That is the real answer.”
I swallow, hands clenching under the table. “You’re my husband. I think I deserve a little more than ‘club business.’”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “There are things you don’t want to know.”
“How would you know what I want to know?” I say, hating how desperate I sound. “You don’t even try to tell me. You just shut me out.”
“I said it’s club business.” His voice is sharp with impatience. “That means it stays with the club.”
There’s a clear warning in his voice to back off, but I’m too angry to let it stop me. “So, did you and Naomi kill someone together? Or… I don’t know, was there some kind of gang war? Were you in danger? You could have died and I—”
Roman’s laugh is sharp, almost mean. “Jesus, Kayla, you don’t know when to quit.”
“You think this is funny?”