My fingers curl into the sheet as the memory flashes behind my eyelids. The filthy way he’d groaned. The intense stretch as he filled me. He’d kissed me like he was starved.
And then the reality crashes back in, with a cold crash.
It wasn’t romance.
Roman was just trying to survive.
He’d done what he had to do to get through it. My shattered heart is collateral damage of my own making.
I’ve considered knocking on his door more times than I can count. Or giving in to the desire to be near him at the expense of my morals.
It’s not like they’ve served me well anyway.
I roll onto my side and pull the duvet over my head like a child.
God, I’m an idiot.
So I lay there and listen.
And I bedrot.
My phone buzzes at some point, right as I’m considering whether I can really survive on another dinner of Wotsits and slightly hard cheddar.
Hope flurries, but it’s not Roman coming to beg for my hand, or at least my mouth. No, it’s Eliza.
Eddie’s family don’t suspect us. He was meant to take a job in Wales the day after the wedding. That’s where they’re looking for him. They think he went rogue.
I let out a long, shaky breath. That brings a small amount of relief, at least. Not enough to make me cook a real meal, but enough to reach over and grab a packet of Jaffa Cakes.
Another message comes through.
You can’t hide out forever. Dad still wants you home.
The words blur as tears spill. They’ve been threatening to come since I shut my door in Roman’s face.
On the other side of the wall, the shower turns off.
Life continues.
And I lie here, missing someone I have no right to miss while mourning a romance that was only real in my head.
36
ROMAN
My heart surges as I see Gran’s cottage. For a time up in Scotland, I’d wondered whether I’d ever be back here.
I give a light knock, open her door, and am immediately enveloped in the smell of lavender. Before I go into the kitchen, where I know I’ll find her at this time of day, I steady myself against the wall. Relief floods into me as I rest a hand on the wallpaper that’s been in the house as long as I can remember.
‘Roman, is that you?’ Gran’s voice carries through the small cottage.
‘I’ve brought cake.’ I plaster a smile on my face, hoping that she can’t see how turbulent my thoughts are.
She stands to greet me as I walk into the kitchen, her eyes softening as she reaches up to pat my cheek.
‘Well,’ she says. ‘Look what the cat dragged in.’
‘Nice to see you too,’ I reply, putting the cake boxes on the table and hitting the switch on the kettle.
