“Presumptuous there, Sparky.” He smirks before taking a drink from one of his wines. I don’t even want to know the shade my cheeks turn in response. Mercifully, Roman puts me out of my misery.
“I’ll be nice and answer your question. I wouldn’t know any different, since it’s been this way my entire life, but this level of fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” His expression shifts to distant, and his gaze drops down to his wineglass.
“Alright, humor me. Why’s that?”
“You saw it with Jill.” He drinks, draining one glass. “We’ve all got our shit. No one could grow up in that household and end up normal.”
“What’s your shit then, Roman?”
“We haven’t had nearly enough wine to be having this conversation.”
Raising my glass in a mock cheers, I down the rest of the contents. “You’re the one who said you wanted to move past superficial.”
“You’ve had the misfortune of meeting my father.”His posture remains casual, but I can see the irritation flit across his face.
“He’s kind of a dick.”
Roman laughs, but there’s no humor in it. The sound makes my heart clench. Something about this hurts him, even if he’s too stubborn to ever admit it outright.
“Is he like that even at home?” I ask, thinking back to the night of the concert.
“What you’ve seen is a hint of who he was at home.” Roman drains the rest of the glasses in his flight. Not wanting to be left behind, I do the same. “There’s a reason my brother’s gone no-contact with him.”
I think back to theUnder Violet Skiespremiere and remember there was a moment where Deacon and James seemed to be locked in conversation. I’m not sure what was said, but I remember that Deacon didn’t look thrilled. Then again maybe that’s his general disposition.
“And you? Why haven’t you?”
He appears to mull over the question as the server approaches our table.
“Can I interest you in–”
“We’ll take this bottle of the cab sauv, and this chardonnay,” Roman says pointing to the menu. My eyes nearly bug out of my skull. He just picked the two most expensive bottles the vineyard has to offer. I would know because I looked at the price and wondered who in their right fucking mind would ever spend that kind of money on wine.
“Absolutely, I’ll be right back,” the server’s eyes light up, no doubt calculating the wild tip they’ll be receiving later.
“Roman,” I hiss, “those cost more than my rent!”
“Relax, Clover. I’m paying.”
“It’s the principle of the matter.”
“There’s something to be said for seizing the moment andenjoying what you want. You like this chardonnay best. We’re getting a bottle, end of discussion.”
“How did you know I liked that one best?”
“It’s not hard, I paid attention.” When he says it, I wonder just how much else he’s noticed.
The server returns with the bottles and two fresh glasses. We thank them and they head back inside.
Uncorking the wine, Roman gives my glass a generous pour before filling his own.
“To enjoying what we want,” he says as heat floods my system.
“Mhmm,” I agree before taking a drink of the most expensive bottle of wine I’ll ever have the privilege of tasting. I focus on Roman’s grip on the glass. It looks so small and fragile in his broad and strong hands. Hands that, despite common sense, I’ve fantasized about roaming over my body and taking whatever they want.
My gaze snags on the compass, and the beginnings of the tattoo sleeve working its way up his arm. None of the costumes for the movie have given me the chance to see any more of the tattoos, and I shouldn’t be, but I’m curious.
“What’s on the rest of your sleeve?”
