Chapter 8 - THE NIGHT ROMAN FINALLY TOLD THE TRUTH
Roman arrived at Serena's apartment the following afternoon.
He came alone.
No entourage.
No armed men crowding the hallway.
He stood outside her door holding a small paper bag.
Serena opened it cautiously.
“What is that?”
He looked down.
“Strawberry cheesecake.”
Her breath caught.
Years ago, he'd driven through a thunderstorm to buy her the same dessert.
She remembered that night.
The laughter.
The kiss in the kitchen.
The feeling that she mattered.
Roman looked at her.
“I know it doesn't fix anything.”
Serena studied him.
“Then why bring it?”
He swallowed.
“Because I remembered something you loved.”
She stepped aside.
“Come in.”
They sat at her kitchen table.
Roman looked around the apartment.
“You've made it beautiful.”
Serena smiled faintly.
“Thank you.”
He noticed the photographs.
The books.
The yellow flowers.
The diploma above her desk.
“You seem happy here.”
She looked at him.
“I can breathe here.”
The words hurt him.
She saw it.
But she didn't take them back.
Roman finally told her everything.
The anonymous threat.
The photograph.
The suspected insider.
His fear that affection would make her a target.
The decisions he'd made without consulting her.
Then he said something Serena had never expected.
“I was wrong.”
She stared.
Roman continued.
“I thought control was the same as protection.”
He looked down.
“I thought if I kept you distant from my world, I could keep you safe.”
Serena's eyes filled.
“You made me feel unwanted.”
“I know.”
“You made me question whether I was beautiful.”
His expression broke.
“Serena—”
“You made me wonder whether loving me embarrassed you.”
Roman covered his face.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Then he whispered, “I'm sorry.”
Serena looked at him.
She believed he meant it.
But she also knew an apology wasn't enough.
“I don't know if I can forgive you.”
Roman nodded.
“I understand.”
“And I don't know if I want to stay married.”
His eyes filled.
He swallowed.
“I understand that too.”
She stared.
For the first time, Roman wasn't demanding anything.
He wasn't ordering her home.
He wasn't insisting he knew best.
He was listening.
And somehow, that frightened her more than his anger ever had.
Before leaving, Roman placed the cheesecake in her refrigerator.
Then he turned.
“Serena?”
“Yes?”
“I still love you.”
She closed her eyes.
The words she'd begged to hear six months earlier.
Now they arrived when she no longer knew what to do with them.
She whispered, “I wish you'd told me when I still believed it.”
May you like
Roman lowered his head.
Then walked away.
