When I look at Tessa, I see the longing in her eyes. “Look at them all so happy. I love this for them.”
“I agree.” A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips.
Her jaw clenches, and she sighs. “You got the version of him I always wanted. There is a little pain in watching someone else live the life you wanted. I can’t help but be a little jealous.”
Something about the statement irks me. “You shouldn’t be jealous; you have a great fiancé who loves you.”
“That I do. Nothing about us is false. What you see is the truth.”
“As it should be since you are getting married in two days.”
I give her the glass and return to the game.
Roman throws his hand in the air in defeat. “It’sThe Lone Ranger.”
Liam frowns. “Who the hell is that?”
The women laugh, and Cliff and Roman groan.
I clap. “You did good, baby.”
Roman crosses the room and comes to my side. He takes a sip of my rum punch and passes it back to me.
“You okay?” he whispers. I feel like he is asking about the almost slip of the “I love you” that I had in the wine cellar. Good dick really makes you say the most irresponsible things.
“I am sorry.” I didn’t need to explain, but my comment about the contract was mean.
Roman kisses my forehead. “Let’s enjoy the night; we will talk later.”
He sits on a single chair and pulls me into his lap. It’s a perfect night. Tessa looks back at me and raises her glasses slightly. I don’t; something feels off.
Roman’s laughter rumbles behind my back. I don’t know what she has up her sleeve, but for now, I will sit on Roman’s lap and enjoy the night.
Chapter nine
RULE #8: Don’t make a scene.
ROMAN
I tried to ignore it. The small thud I felt when she almost said “I love you,” and she pulled it back. It was just a contract. It shouldn’t have hurt me, but it did. Maybe I was being dumb. I mean, we’ve only known each other for almost two weeks. I like her a lot. In fact, I was looking over the contract to make sure I could continue dating her after this.
I run my hand through my hair and pull it at the root. What the hell am I even doing?
I hear snapping. Blinking rapidly, I see Liam standing on the fitting platform. “How do I look?”
“You look good. The suit fits well,” I reply. It’s Christmas Eve and the day before the wedding.
Liam tugs at the lapels of his white tux and turns to the mirror.
My father stands next to me. “You don’t look bad yourself.”
I look down at the black tuxedo. “I am not a fan of bow ties.”
“You never were, even as a kid,” my dad says.
I look in the mirror in front of us. I am literally my dad. Same face, same green eyes, but I am an inch taller. But he was me in my sixties.
At least I would look good at that age.
