“I left her at a house party with friends, not a rowdy roadhouse bar,” I say sarcastically. “Plus, it turns out one of Sloan’s coworkers is friends with Zoe. She said she’ll give her a ride home if she needs it.”
“Cutter will make everyone’s life miserable if anything happens to that woman.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re asking. I should have known it wasn’t out of genuine concern.”
There’s a long pause between our exchanges. The air between us feels heavy with many things said and unsaid. We haven’t been this communicative with each other in weeks and since Knox is asleep, this might be a good time to have the conversation that I’ve been putting off.
“Are you okay?” I ask him. “Like, are we okay?”
“We’re always okay, Duchess.”
I search for the right words to get my point across.
“Then why did you basically push me out the door when I tried to stay home tonight? Why do you always seem so disappointed with me lately?”
“Come here, Elizabeth.”
“We’re talking. I think I should stay over here.”
“Come here,” he says in a firmer tone.
Roman knows that being physically close to him is my Achilles heel. That’s because being near him is always a tactile experience. His body is fit and hard, yet warm and enveloping. He smells like a mixture of clean soap, strong whiskey, and hot sauce. I can’t help but wonder in amazement how he managed to fit in calling in an order of hot wings and taking a shower while watching Knox for only two hours and I can’t seem to fit in eating a yogurt and taking a bird bath for three days.
“Not there,” he instructs. “On my lap.”
My favorite party jeans are skintight thanks to my post baby body, but fortunately they have enough spandex in the fabric that allows me to spread my legs and straddle Roman’s lap. His request seems very calculated. I feel so vulnerable whenever I’m in this position with him. He could ask me to do almost anything and I would say yes.
“I want you to slow down, Duchess.”
Yes to anything but that.
“What do you mean?” I ask as if I’m clueless to what’s he asking of me.
He raises my eyes back to meet his.
“Admit it. You didn’t stay at the party because you’re completely exhausted. You were probably sitting in the corner somewhere, sipping on a ginger ale, and fighting to keep your eyelids open.”
He’s exactly right.
“That’s not at all what happened,” I fib.
“Lying was never your forte, baby.” He pulls my body closer into his. “Do you know that it physically hurts me to see you like this?”
I close my eyes and snuggle into Roman’s embrace, listening to the beating of his heart. Sometimes the construction of the human body amazes me. The steady rhythm of this organ is keeping the man I love most alive and is also the sound that lulls me to sleep most nights. It’s a sound I pray I hear every night for the rest of my life.
“I’m fine, Roman,” I say in my most convincing voice. “Trust me, I would tell you if I was drowning.”
“Interesting that you use that word.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said that you’re drowning.”
“I said I would tell you if I was,” I annunciate my consonants to make a stronger point.
“Quiet,” he says, holding me tighter. “Just rest.”
My body curls into his, but my brain is moving a mile a minute. I can’t stop it if I wanted to. There are several more things I need to do before I can just rest, but I don’t feel like hearing any disapproving remarks about it. I need to pump my breasts, make some bottles for tomorrow with the milk, check some emails, wash off my makeup. Oh God, now that I think about it, I’ll be up for another two hours at this rate. He’ll be furious with me.
