Page 49 of Holding On

“Whatever. You have to sit in the back. It’s a tight fit for your ass but you can figure it out. I expect a believable exit in front of the paparazzi, Tinsley.”

I nod and grab Fiona’s hand. So long as she’s with me, I know everything is going to be okay.

If only I knew how much I would live to regret that decision.

As we make our way out of the crowded back hallways, we try not to get stopped too many times, but Fiona and I really did nail our duet tonight, so of course, everyone wants to talk to us or take a photo with us.

Roman goes from loosely holding my hand to wrapping his arm around me and holding my hip—tightly. I lean in to whisper, trying not to make it a bigger deal than it is, despite the triggering panic that is rising inside at him touching me in this controlling way. “Please loosen your grip or move your hand. You’re hurting me, Roman.” His fingertips are firm enough that I won’t be surprised to see bruises there tomorrow.

He leans his forehead against mine, just as a group of photographers come over to where we’re standing. He puts his lips against mine—which is not part of our deal—and whispers, “I don’t fucking care, Tinsley.”

And then he doesn’t just kiss me—he kisses me so hard that it feels like he’s going to bruise my lips. I can hear the shutters going off and the press are yelling at us to give them more, and then Roman slides his other hand around my body, down my backside and grabs a large handful of my ass.

Fuck. This.

I try to shove him, but he was prepared, and he has my arms pinned between our bodies. “Tsk, tsk. Be a good girl, Tinsley. You know you don’t really want to walk away from this. We could be the power couple we were always meant to be,” he whispers in my ear.

I want to puke on him.

Thankfully, Fiona is just steps away and makes a dash to us, using the calls from the press as the perfect excuse to get me out of Roman’s arms.

But the reprieve is momentary.

Roman walks up behind us and wraps his arms around both of us, pulling us to him. Fiona tries to laugh it off, but I’m growing increasingly uncomfortable with his brazenness. “How lucky am I? It doesn’t get better than this,” he tells the press as he sprawls his hands over both of us, clearly implying he is with both of us.

“Get fucked, Roman,” Fiona snaps at him and he jumps back before fake laughing.

“What did you do?” I ask her as we start to walk away with him on our heels.

“I bit his earlobe—and not in a playful way.” Fiona laughs and I look over my shoulder, just as Roman catches up and snatches my hand back. He is fuming.

“Real cute, Fiona. If you wanted it to hurt, you just had to ask, babe.” A dark look crosses over Roman’s eyes, and I really wish we didn’t have to leave with this asshole. We manage to make our way through the step and repeat without any more groping or biting, and I dodge his attempts at kissing me in front of the cameras. I know tomorrow people will say they saw the breakup coming with how I’m acting, but I don’t care. I just want this all to be over.

We finally make it to the valet section and tell Thor which after party we’re going to as it’s going to be tight enough for Fiona to fit in the backseat of the car Roman drove tonight. I doubt it’s even his, but he’ll act like the quarter of a million-dollar sports car is his personal vehicle. But like most things with Roman, what the public perceives about who he is or what is true in his life, is all a mirage.

It's all bullshit.

I try to get into the front seat of Roman’s Ferrari Amalfi without tripping, not that Roman helps, but thankfully, Thor saw and rushed over to assist me getting into the car. “Buckle up, Ms. Sinclair, and please drive safe, Mr. Cash.”

“Thanks, Thor,” I tell him before he slips to the SUV behind us that he and our other bodyguards will follow us in. I click the seatbelt in place before turning to Roman. “You could have at least acknowledged him, Roman.”

“Why? He’s the fucking help. I don’t care what he says or thinks.”

“His name is Thor and he’s on my team, so he matters.” Roman rolls his eyes as he starts the car once it’s finally our turn to pull away from the venue. Parking in New York City is always a pain in the ass, but with a major event like this, it’s almost impossible.

“Your charm just has no end, does it?” Fiona asks from the cramped backseat. The after-party isn’t far though, so she should be okay back there for a few minutes.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m so sick of you two thinking you can tell me what to do or act like you’re better than me, dumb bitches.” Roman accelerates more than necessary as he pulls into traffic, weaving around other cars. When I expect him to turn toward the after-party we told Thor we were going to, he instead turns the opposite direction, heading toward the interstate.

“Where are you going? This is the wrong way,” Fiona calls out.

“Nope. This is my way, and we’re going to do things my way now.”

“What are you talking about, Roman? The party is just a few blocks from the venue; why are we going on the interstate? Can you slow down, please?” The panic in my voice is evident, but I’m done censoring anything around this guy.

“Nope. Another thing that’s going to go my way. I want to go fast, and the sooner we come to an agreement, the sooner I’ll slow down.”

He’s lost it. “What agreement?”