“Roman, I’m…” I exhale. “Look, I get it, okay? I’ve been there. I understand the confusion, the conflict of identity against societal bullshit. If you ever want to talk…” I grin. “And I really do meanjust talk, as much self-restraint as that would take, I’m here?—”
“I’m good.” He smiles, like everything’s fine. Like he’snotdrowning in a murky pool of confusion.
“Well…” I shrug. “Offer stands.”
“Got it.” He nods his chin and then walks to the door. He pauses as he starts to open it, turning back to look at me. His eyes spark, and his mouth opens a little before it shuts again. “So…uh… Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”
I sigh, chuckling to myself and shaking my head. “Guess we’ll see.”
“I’ll bring groceries or anything else you might need. Just let me know.”
“No milk,” I say wryly.
He nods. “Got it. Okay…”
Our eyes lock as the seconds tick by in silence.
“Okay…bye.”
He steps out quickly and shuts the door behind him.
This fucking guy.
“Come on in.”
There are perks to being “The Marquis”, AKA the head of the Obsidian Syndicate. The big one, along with “obscene power”, is, of course,money.
Lotsof money.
In addition to the sprawling mountain “camp” up in the Adirondacks, my brother also has an apartment in Paris, another in Rome, and an insane all-glass penthouse here in New York…for while he’s having his five-story mansion on Central Park renovated.
It’s fuckinggoodto be the king, apparently.
Vaughn’s shirtless, his sweatpants sitting low on his hips as he steps aside to usher me into the penthouse. He looks groggy, but that makes sense given that it’s two in the morning and I just called and woke him up fifteen minutes ago.
His brows furrow as he closes the door and looks at me. “You okay?”
I shrug.
“How bad?”
I’ve told him before about the nightmares I get, though that's putting it mildly.
The glimpses of memories that come clawing for me in the middle of the night are goddamnterrors.
“Not…great,” I grunt quietly.
My eyes turn to scan his huge, opulent penthouse, and my brows arch when my gaze lands on the lacy black bra flung over the back of the sofa.
“Fuck, man.” I wince, shaking my head. “Didn’t realize you had company. You know what, we’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll?—”
He shrugs. “It’s fine. Come on. Let’s step outside.”
I follow him through the gorgeous space and out onto his veranda. Just like inside, the exterior isridiculous, with huge Japanese maple trees in large earthen pots everywhere, giving the illusion of being in the woods even though we’re high above the streets of New York.
We sink into deep chairs around a stone pit. Vaughn touches a button on the side of his, and a gas fire flickers to life.
“Jesus,” I grin. “Got a little robot that comes out and serves cocktails, too?”
