Page 113 of Roman Blake
That was enough.
“You still starin’ at the ring?” Roman asked, hand skatin’ up from my stomach to my fingers.
“I’m starin’ at your ashy knuckles,” I lied.
He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed right where the band sat.
“Too late,” he said. “You married now. You stuck.”
I rolled my eyes, but my chest warmed up the way it always did when he said it.
He shifted up the bed, leanin’ over me, his face a little older around the eyes but still fine as hell.
A lot had changed in a year.
Some things stayed the same.
“You good?” he asked, automatic.
“Little nauseous,” I admitted. “Little happy. Little scared.”
He nodded like that made sense. “That about sums this whole year up.”
After we finally dragged ourselves outta bed, I stepped out onto our balcony with my tea, watchin’ the city wake up.
It was the same view from before.
But my life under it was different.
Roman came out a minute later, slidin’ in behind me, arms wrappin’ around my waist from behind.
His hands met over my bump.
We stood there quiet.
“You really sold all that hot shit, huh?” I said, thinkin’ about the last year.
He hummed. “Mhm. Clubs that ain’t clean? Gone. Little street ventures? Wrapped up. Lawyer said I’m almost boring now.”
“Impossible,” I said.
He laughed against my neck.
“I did it for me,” he added. “But I’d be lyin’ if I said you and them ain’t part of it.”
“Them,” I repeated, hand coverin’ his.
Our baby. Maybe babies. We’d find out soon.
A tiny flutter moved under my palm, like they could hear us talkin’.
My throat got tight.
“You scared?” he asked softly.
“Yeah,” I said. “But not like before.”
“How now, then?”
