Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
I walk into the kitchen, needing to see what she has. The floor is cool against my bare feet, and if it weren’t for Romy sweating moments ago, I’d be tempted to kick up the thermostat a few degrees. I open the pantry doors, it’s nearly empty: cereal, some pasta, a bag of flour, and some cooking oil. I do the same with the refrigerator, and it’s a barren wasteland: a carton of almond milk that’s near its expiration date, a jar of pickles, and a couple of shriveled lemons.
“Damn it, Romy,” the curse passes my lips. I’m not sure if she’s been too sick to get groceries, too exhausted, or what. But this ends now. I open my phone since it went into sleep mode, open up the delivery app I use far too much, and place an order, paying extra for it to be here within thirty minutes. I add three boxes of saltine crackers, bread, butter, bananas, a twelve-pack of ginger ale, and the same for Sprite. I pay the express delivery fee, adding a massive tip to ensure the driver doesn’t waste a fucking second. I head back to the bedroom, needing to make sure Romy is okay.
“Food and drinks are on the way,” I murmur, making my way to where she’s lying down, her eyes open, bloodshot from the earlier exertion.
“Vik,” she moans. I sit on the edge of the bed, brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek.
“Breathe, beautiful. We’ll get you through this.” Her eyes close, she sinks deeper into my hand, and I massage her scalp even when my phone buzzes. The notification on the screen blinks, showing the delivery app driver started the order. I go through the other messages since one in particular catches my eye, a string of increasingly hostile texts from Alex.
Alex: Vik, if you hurt Romy because of a stupid misunderstanding, I will personally ensure your life becomes a living hell.
Alex: I mean it. She’s dealing with enough right now.
Alex: I’m talking I’ll rearrange your calendar for all of eternity. Million-dollar deals, poof, those appointments won’t be found for years to come.
Alex: Answer your damn phone!
A wry smile touches my lips, and I type back a rapid response.
Vik: Settle down. She’s fine. I’m with her.
Vik: Do me a favor, please. Place a massive grocery and catering order of whatever foods Romy has been eating or craving recently. Have it sent to her apartment as soon as possible.
A few seconds pass before three dots appear, then vanish, only to reappear again.
Alex: Did hell freeze over? Because ‘do me a favor’ and ‘please’ aren’t exactly in your vocabulary, boss.
Vik: Can it, Alex. We’ll call it even since you lied to me about her moving out of state.
Alex: I didn’t lie per se. I outmaneuvered you. But fine, I’ll get started on lunch and the grocery order. Take care of my girl.
I don’t bother replying. I toggle the phone to silent, completely severing us from the rest of the world before tossing the device on the nightstand. My business can wait. My clients can wait. Nothing matters more than the woman sleeping in this bed and the tiny life growing inside her. I shift Romy to the middle of the mattress, placing my arm behind her neck as the palm of my hand moves beneath the covers, landing right on her lower abdomen. She makes a soft, contended sound in her sleep, shifting closer to my warmth, and I soak in the moment, needing her as much as she needs me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
romy
The restaurant is loud, filled with midday chatter from the lunch crowd, and our table is easily the loudest. We’re at an Italian restaurant where the air is thick with the scent of garlic, tomatoes, and fresh bread. For the first time in weeks, I’m able to eat at any time during the day and not have to worry about it coming back up. In that time, I’ve learned that peach tea is my absolute favorite, and I’ve been inhaling it for the last hour.
“I still can’t get over it,” Alex says, shaking her head as she points her fork at me. She leans across the white tablecloth, eyes as wide as saucers. “Vik. Vik Orlov is living in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment where the radiator clanks any time the heat turns on and the water pressure is dismal. I saw him on a Zoom call yesterday, Romy. He was sitting at your tiny kitchen table, laptop in front of him, and I swear to god, there was a pink floral dish towel draped over his shoulder.
The table erupts in laughter. All of us are here today: Alex, Cory, Genny, Mischa, Seraphine, and even Jett, who happens to be in town for the week.
“Oh, please. These men act big and bad. They think they run the world and that their world is law.” Cory leans back in her chair, a wicked smirk on her lips. “And then the woman they love throws a wrench in their plans and they’re brought to their knees.” She glances at Seraphina, who’s hiding behind a glass of wine. Sera is in it deep with Rafe. Cory is with Dom as well, maybe even deeper because those two are inseparable.