“Sure,” he answers. “It’s when I make an effort to make you more comfortable, and you say,Wow, thanks, Roman. You really were a great guy all along!”
Um. “No,” I say before pulling from my championship spelling bee days. “The definition of compromise is an agreement or settlement of a dispute that is reached by each side making concessions. Anagreement. This is not something Ihaveagreedto at all.”
“Hmm,” he considers, settling his free elbow on the table as he turns more fully toward me. “You don’t agree that this is better than before, when I was accidentally pulling your hair and smashing your curls?”
“Better? Yes. Best? Absolutely not even a little bit.”
“Pity you feel that way,” he says. “I feel much different.”
He… what now?
“You’re being weird,” I observe. “Really weird.”
His eyes rove my face, then my hair, snagging on a lock falling over my cheekbone. “I was really worried,” he says, finally. “When you called. About Ruby, yes, but—and I know you might not believe this—but about you, too.” He sighs, and the lock of hair flutters under his gaze. “I care about you, Sweet,” he mutters. “More than I think I realized, based on the scare this,”—he waves a hand through the air, encompassing the table, the bridal party, the restaurant—“gave me. I’m relieved to see that you’re safe and unharmed, but I think I just need… a little more reassurance than what my eyes can provide. Your hair on my arm gives me that. If you’d be willing to allow me this comfort, I’d appreciate it a lot.”
I… don’t know how to respond to that. Vulnerability from Roman? Honest, open communication about his fears and needs in the wake of them? What am I supposed to do with that?
“Okay,” I whisper after an eternity of watching him watching me, waiting for an answer. “You can have my hair on your arm if it helps you,” I concede.
Magnanimous, me.
“Thank you,” he whispers before leaningwayin andkissing me on the cheek. When he pulls back, I’m shell-shocked, and even more so when he twists a bunch of curls into his hand behind me, letting them completely cover his skin as he turns to Brian and Amelia, who watch us with unrestrained curiosity.
I blush, eyes darting to the other people at the table, who are also focused on the Roman and Elodie show.
That’s just… great.
Desperately, I look to Ruby, the only one without eyes on me. Sure, it’s because her head is tilted to the perfect eavesdropping angle, but whatever. I’ll take what I can get.
“I was looking at venues,” I tell her, ignoring Will’s aggressively waggling eyebrows. “There’s a place uptown that’s pretty, and the price seems reasonable to me. I could arrange a tour?”
“We’re getting married in the elevator at Whirlwind Branding.”
“The… elevator?” I ask, using all my willpower to ignore Roman’s fingers twirling strands of my hair around them. “That wasn’t a joke?”
She’d mentioned it, of course,monthsago, when she and Will were first together. I didn’t think she wasserious,though. Who gets married in an elevator? No one, that’s who.
“Why would that be a joke?” she asks, brows furrowing.
“Uh… because it’s an elevator?” Duh.
“It’s a lovely elevator,” Will sighs dreamily. “Supremely romantic.”
“Making out in an elevator doesn’t make it romantic,” I educate. “I’ve made out in plenty of elevators. They’re still just elevators.”
The fingers in my hair tense, tugging not-quite-painfully.
“It’s the love confessions that make it romantic,” Will replies. “Have you done one of those in any of your elevators?”
“Well, no,” I concede, glancing at Ruby for a bit of Will-has-lost-his-mind solidarity. Unfortunately, I failed to account for all of herin-loveness.
“The elevator plan stays. You can talk to Liam about venue costs.”
Venue costs. For anelevator.
“It’s free,” Liam says across the table. “Just let me know what floor you want it stopped on.”
And to think, I thoughtIwas Ruby’s craziest friend.
