“Sometimes romance is wild.”
“And sometimes wildness ends with a chaotic feeling,” Emilia said, and I wondered what made her think that way.
Isabella shrugged at her and crossed her legs. “I still think he loves her.”
I didn’t say anything. The conversation simmered for a while, and it gradually died down to silence. That was when the thought began to crawl in. The kind of thoughts that made me wonder if perhaps Roman and I were ever going to have such a wedding that would have the whole of Russia and America shaken. I gently shrugged off the thought. Nonetheless, it’s been weeks since he said anything about it, so I preferred to stay silent.
Stepan walked in with a sealed document. I arranged myself on the couch and looked at his face, unsmiling, while he sighed.
“Do you have any clue as to where Roman is?”
“I have no idea,” I said in all honesty. Surprisingly, the door of Roman’s study opened, and he walked out without a care in the world. He didn’t look at any of us. I wished he would just look at me so I could turn my head away. I wanted him to see that I wasn’t happy with his attitude, but he didn’t even give a damn.
Regardless, he opened the envelope after receiving it from Stepan, who walked out. It was a piece of paper. Roman’s jaws tightened while he read through, and I became flushed with concern.
“What’s wrong?” I managed to ask, and he turned to me.
“It’s another bad report. Another Markov account has been exposed, millions of dollars are gone, and the rival oligarchs are marching close,” he said in one of the saddest tones I’ve heard.
I really wish I knew how my father kept doing all the things he does. It’s depressing to be the face of embarrassment and disgrace. He’s the one who made the mistakes, yet I felt the guilt.
Roman looked at me, and for the first time in a long while, I saw his eyes. His charming green eyes made me weak.
“Won’t you say something?” He asked. His voice was almost pitched high, and the way he said it made me scared for a moment.
“That was harsh,” Isabella said.
“It would be nice if you’d tone it down a little,” Emilia added, and Roman sighed.
“I’m sorry if I raised my voice at you, Liza. But if you don’t give me the details, there’ll be consequences.”
The moment he left, I felt nauseous. I ran to the restroom and threw up. My head ached, and my throat felt clogged at the same time. I washed my mouth, rinsed my face, and breathed before I walked back to them. Their eyes were flooded with concern before I sat.
“You look pale.” I just smiled at Isabella’s comment.
“And honestly, I think you’ve lost some weight,” Emilia said almost immediately.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” I said, trying to get their minds off me, but I doubted it was possible.
***********
They both left, promising to return soon. I sat at my dressing table brushing my sleek bob, which grew longer each day. I checked my calendar, and the only thing that kept crossing my mind was my missed period. The more I thought about it, the more my stomach churned and twisted from the possibility of the unthinkable happening.
It means a lot to be pregnant, I thought. I didn’t want to dread it, but I couldn’t help feeling a little scared. I looked at my body in the mirror. My hands were sliding up and down my belly while I fantasized about having a baby bump.
“Liza, what the hell have you done?” I whispered out loud.
Just then, the door opened, and Roman walked in. I released my hands and prayed he didn’t see anything. He looked calm, reserved in the best possible way, and then he looked at me, sighed, and opened his mouth.
“We’re getting married in two weeks,” he said, and I raised my eyebrows. My mind melted a little, not because I was confused, but because I never saw it coming.
Chapter Eleven
Roman’s POV
The clock read 3:45 AM, and I was awake. I wasn’t prone to anxiety, but a cold, gnawing tension had settled deep in my gut, a feeling entirely inappropriate for the day I was supposed to be celebrating. It wasn’t the kind of dread that came before a turf war, but it was the sharp, sophisticated pressure of a man about to perform a high-stakes, multi-million dollar corporate maneuver using a church as a stage and a woman I barely knew as collateral.
I didn’t bother with the blackout curtains. The faint glow of the predawn Manhattan skyline bled through the sheer fabric of my bedroom… millions of lights, each one a testament to the city’s vast, impersonal power. I controlled a significant portion of that power, running my empire not from a damp basement but from the glass and steel towers that scraped the clouds. Today, that empire was at risk.
