Page 39 of Forever Fighting
He chuckles and shakes his head as we move on to the next little house and set of fairies. “More like he was enthralled by your charms. You gave him a pretty smile and batted your lashes, and he was done for.”
“Not their waiters, though. Do you remember that guy who got all upset and was going to throw me out because I kept asking what different things on the menu meant?”
“You were afraid they were horse meat or frogs.”
I turn, affronted. “Yeah. That’s gross. Who wants to eat a horse or a frog?”
“I’ve had both.”
I scoff derisively. “Of course you have. Is there anything you haven’t tried?”
“Probably not. No, I take that back. I haven’t eaten scorpions or cockroaches.”
I pretend to vomit, though my stomach protests the notion of eating bugs. “Again, gross.”
He hitches up a shoulder. “Gross to you is a delicacy to others.”
“Yeah, no thanks on that.” I look at the magical little cottage, lit up from within. It’s peaceful and sweet. “What was the name of the place in Rome? The little hole-in-the-wall where the owner kept trying to marry you off to his daughter?”
“Oh Jesus. I forgot about that.” Roman rubs a hand over his head and the back of his neck. “Trattoria Del Sol.”
“Right.” I snap my fingers and point at him. “That was it. It was a tiny place, not as cute as these tiny places.” I gesture to the cottage. “But it had the best cacio e pepe I’ve ever had. With the exception of yours,” I amend.
“Thanks for that little nod.” He rubs his forearm against mine.
“Anytime.”
“The man wanted someone to take over his family business and felt a chef son-in-law was just the thing. That’s what I get for you opening your mouth and telling everyone we met that I’m a chef.”
“I was proud of you. It only backfired on us that night because his daughter was seventeen.”
He shudders. “It’s why I never went back there despite how good the food was.”
We finish with the fairy garden and venture out onto the Strip, taking in the bright lights and women walking around with feathers on their backs, in thongs, with pasties over their nipples. Vegas really is an entirely different world, but the spectacle is fun.
“Want a picture with them?” I offer. “I swear not to sell it to tabloids or post it on the internet.”
“You mean along with our wedding picture?”
I gasp. “We have a wedding picture?!”
He angles his head down, his lips curved up into an amusedgrin, and with the lights all around us and the sensory overload, my hazy brain keeps thinking about the kiss. About Roman and what this last week has been. About the fact that I’m married to him.
“We do. It’s on your phone.”
Oh shit. I pull out my phone and dig through, and sure enough, I’m in my blue dress and Roman is in his suit and we’re smiling—even he’s smiling—and we look… wow, we look so happy. “It’s actually a great shot of us.”
“It’s a keeper. Like my wife,” he teases, putting his arm around my shoulders and guiding me around some broken glass.
But that’s Roman. He’s always been there when I needed him, and he’s always taken care of me. I saw what happened the day Nash died rip him apart. The memories of it. The fact that his brother was gone. How it happened.
It wasn’t his fault. He’ll tell you the opposite. But he’s the guy you go to. The one you secretly dream about. The one who will protect you and keep you safe no matter the cost. But that’s nothing new.
So why am I feeling… different with him now?
It can’t be because we’re married, because it doesn’t really count.
I don’t know. It makes no sense, and I can’t explain what this feeling is other than different. It’s making me jittery, almost.
