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Marguerite will be delighted to dig into that one. I have no doubt.

We wave goodbye as Roman’s driver pulls out of the driveway to take Greer and the kids home, while another driver follows in her car. I love that Roman insisted before Greer ever got a chance to argue. She’s smart, and a damn good mom, so I doubt that she’d even put herself or her children at risk, even if she was probably fine to drive. But that stubborn trait of hers runs deep, and I know she’d at least have put up a fight if she had time to think about it.

“Did you have a good time?” Roman’s velvety smooth voice cuts through the silence, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

“Tonight was perfect,” I say, turning to face him. “Thank you for everything.” He looks tired, but in a good way. Like the kind of tired that comes from a day spent doing something you love. My heart swells at that realization, feeling relief that he doesn’t seem put out, even though everything was his idea. It’s such an odd thing to meet someone whose body language actually matches the words they say.

“It was my pleasure. Honestly. I’m just happy you enjoyed yourself.” He tips his head toward the house, silently insisting I join him.

After the terms I allegedly agreed to, I’m not naive enough to think he’s really asking. Nor do I care. Besides, I don’t have the energy tonight to play hard to get. As nice a guy as he is, Roman Kingsley isn’t shy about taking charge in the bedroom. It’s honestly so fucking hot.

Our feet fall into step as I let him lead me inside, and I’m surprised when instead of following me upstairs to get cleaned up, like I was expecting, he tells me to join him downstairs when I’m done.

I take my time in the shower, washing my hair and scrubbing my skin until it’s soft and smooth. After a day full of sunshine, laughter, some much-needed sister time, my cheeks hurt from smiling, and my heart feels full.

The quiet moment to myself is nice, giving me space to decompress from all the excitement and sort through my thoughts about my sister. How does this man seem to always know exactly what I need before I do?

After my shower, I pull on a soft cotton tank top lined with lace and matching shorts. I make my way downstairs, where I find Roman quietly sitting in the cozy sitting room, flipping through a magazine.

He looks so comfortable and masculine reading in an armchair, sipping a glass of whiskey as he settles in after a busy day.

Warm lamps illuminate the space, and I let my eyes wander, taking in all the personal touches. Roman’s house looks like something straight out of a magazine. It’s both beautifully designed and filled with personality and warmth that can only be achieved through time. Each piece looks like there’s a story behind it, from the antique furniture to the rich curtains that soften the room, and the thoughtfully curated art. There are so many stories here, a whole lifetime of experiences and lessons. You can feel the energy pulling you in, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

Home. It feels like home.

Resisting is pointless, so I don’t even try to fight it. Not that I even want to, still riding the high of today. So like a little girl at my grandma’s house, I sink into the welcoming sofa.

I enjoy my view of Roman’s spectacular back as he busies himself at the bar cart—such a perfect male specimen. I didn’t know they made them like this outside of the movies. Even in Hollywood, the superhero physique can only be achieved under very specific conditions. Usually involving dehydration and a strict macro diet. Augustus would shit himself if he knew that even after all his hard work and sacrifice, men like Roman Kingsley—and all four of his brothers—are just out here walking around like gods among men.

I make a mental note to document Roman and his brothers for evidence. Just in case I ever need to send my soon-to-be-ex-husband into a spiral.

Revenge truly is a woman’s sport.

I chuckle under my breath as I imagine Augustus green with envy and no way to cure it, just before the promotional tour.

“What’s got you smiling over there?” Roman says as he passes me a rocks glass filled with dark red liquid.

I accept his offering, not bothering to ask him what it is. If it’s anything like his margaritas, then I already know I’ll love it. I gingerly take a sip as the rich, tart flavors explode over my taste buds. I pick up a hint of earthiness from the gin, enhanced by the sweet tartness of the pomegranate juice.

“I was just thinking about how insane your body is. You put all those Hollywood boys to shame.” I swirl the cinnamon stick around my glass before sucking the juice away.

Roman's eyes darken, and he lets out a groan. “Yeah? I’ll have to use that as motivation next time I want to skip leg day.”

He keeps his eyes on me, his charming, golden-boy grin morphing into something much more sinister as he seems to undress me with his eyes.

The tension in the air thickens, and I edge a little closer, drawn to him like a magnet.

When Roman settles his large palm over my knee, my breath catches, heat pooling low in my belly as my body clenches in anticipation.

“So tell me. Earlier you mentioned something about anger management. What’s that all about?”

I blink several times, his question like a bucket of ice water being dumped over my head. I think back to our earlier conversation, trying to remember how much I accidentally let slip.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry,” he says, his large palm now rubbing soothing circles over my thigh.

I’m not sure what it is about him, why he makes me feel like everything is going to be okay, but the tightness in my muscles eases, and I melt into his touch.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I was just curious about what you meant…”