She sniffles and takes a shallow breath. “Please...” sniffle. “Please, don’t be mad at me, okay?”
“Mad at you for what?”
“For missing the stunt,” she whispers, and my heart drops.
Pulling her back from my chest, I search her eyes. “Is that what you think?” The assumption stings. “That I’d be mad at you when you got hurt?”
She scans my face, eyes welling up. “Yeah, Roman. You were so mad in the car, I just... I’m sorry.” She tries to cover her face with her hands, but I cradle her wrists, keeping her face exposed.
“Baby, I could never be mad at you for that,” I whisper. The term of endearment is out before I get the chance to think better of it, but I don’t care. I’m tired of pretending.
Her eyes widen, and she opens her mouth, but I’m notready to hear whatever she has in response to that. Not yet. So I pull her to my chest and continue to rub her back for a few minutes until her tears subside.
Stepping away from me, she goes to wipe her face with her sleeve, but I stop her.
“Here, let me.” I lead her into the kitchen and guide her toward one of the barstools. “I’ll be right back,” I promise, before heading into my bathroom and grabbing some of the extra makeup removing wipes I have stashed in there. That’s one thing about being an actor, you always end up with makeup on when you’re filming, so I’ve got something to get it off with at home in case I don’t want to stay later on set scrubbing it off there.
With a wave, I show her the wipes before I take the seat beside hers. “May I?”
Her eyebrows pinch together in confusion.
“Let me help you. Please.”
She nods slowly, still eyeing me like she’s unsure of all this.
With hands gentler than they’ve ever been with anyone else, I slowly wipe away the mascara streaks. My fingers trace the beautiful planes of her face, wiping the makeup away from her cheeks and forehead. I could get lost in those sea-green eyes, the ones that are scanning my face for answers right now. Being this close to her, staring into them like this... it feels... intimate. I’m not used to this.
“Close your eyes,” I instruct. She obeys, but it doesn’t break the intensity. It’s like she has me under her spell. Willingly and hopelessly under her spell.
Clearing my throat, I push to stand. As I do, Clover’s hand shoots out to grab my wrist.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I nod. “Let’s get you comfortable. We can getyou back in your room,” I offer.
Clover pauses for a minute, looking unsure.
“Or you can come to mine and we can hang out there.”
Relief pours over her features. “No funny business, Everett?”
I draw an “x” over my chest with a finger. “Cross my heart.”
Clover’s eyes are wide as we enter my room, drinking in all the details of the luxurious modern space.
“Holy shit...” she mutters. “It’s a wonder you ever leave your house.” Her eyes land on the grand piano, and she whips her head toward me. She groans slightly when the movement catches up with her.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she answers without taking a beat.
I watch her, studying her expression closely. Tears well up in her eyes once more, ready to spill if she so much as blinks.
“Maybe not,” she whispers.
Chapter Fifty-One
ROMAN
