He sets his phone down and scoops up a bite of omelet. “It’s Skylar. I think that says it all.”
“You didn’t tell her.”
He smirks as he slides his fork from his lips and chews. “About the marriage or the sex?”
“Yes.”
“I figured I’d let you have the honors. Or not if you’re not ready to share.”
I change the subject, because yeah, not ready. “How’s your hand? Any signs of infection?”
He glances down, then holds up his palm for me to see.
No extra redness, drainage, or swelling. “Looks good.”
“Feels good. I have a good nurse. One I get to spend the next five days with.”
He watches my expression, and I hide it behind my coffee.
“Then we go home. Back to life.”
“Could be a new life,” he counters. “Even if you want a divorce, it could still be a new life.”
I lean back in my seat, taking a croissant with me and nibbling on it as I stare past the floor-to-ceiling windows at the ocean. “Roman, is that what you want? I’m honestly scared to ask, but I think I have to know all the same.” I turn back to him. “Is this just some vacation fun for us? Or are you asking formore?”
His intense gaze holds mine. “I’m afraid to answer because I’m not sure you’re ready to hear what I have to say about it. And things are… complicated in my life right now. It’s things we’d have to talk seriously about.”
My heart sputters in my chest. Complicated. Meaning he doesn’t date. He doesn’t get involved with women. But he’s talking about a new life with us. Meaning… friends with benefits? Is that what he wants? Is that what we are right now? Ugh.
He’s right. I don’t think I’m ready for this discussion.
“We have five days here together. Can we have these five days?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” he agrees and continues to eat. “We can figure the specifics out later.”
I swallow and smile a little at that. Five days of sun, water, and Roman. I can handle that.
22
ROMAN
“We’re narrowed down to two potential sites in London, and the architect in Frankfurt needs an hour with you,” my assistant, Katie, says. “Also, the supply company is giving us some grief on the fridge and freezer pricing.”
I rub a hand across my forehead and pace by the window in the restaurant that overlooks the ocean. “What kind of grief?” I swear, it’s always something.
“Oh, you know, that they want to double the initial quote because they’re swearing we never told them we’d want standalone units instead of side-by-sides.”
“Yes, we did tell them that, and that’s what they quoted us at. Tell them that if they can’t meet their quoted price, we’ll go with someone else. I know for a fact that they’re not the only restaurant supply company in Germany.”
“On it. Have you had a chance to review the housing options I sent you?”
I stop pacing and instead get lost in the waves as they roll in. Braelyn doesn’t want to talk about anything serious. Shedoesn’t want to talk about what we’re doing or what we are or what we could be. Fine. She’s been single all of like three weeks. Not even that. Before she was engaged and nearly married.
I get that she needs time. The last thing I want to do is push her. If I do, she’ll retreat. Hell, she already hid in the bathroom and cried because she was overwhelmed. That nearly killed me. I thought I had fucked up. Seriously, irrevocably fucked up.
I keep reminding myself to be patient. To remember that she’s in my bed with me. That she needs time and space to work this out because that’s how she operates. It’s why I came into the restaurant after breakfast, when what I really wanted to do was stay there with her. There’s all the time in the world for this to build between us, except there’s not because I have a very real and looming deadline on my head.
“I haven’t really looked yet,” I admit.