Beyond The Roses - Monica James Page 0,72

chosen another phrase. “If he wants to save me, then he needs to tell me the truth.”

The coffee is ready. It’s the reprieve I need to get my head around what she just said. I pour some coffee, my mind ricocheting and reeling. I’m his world? How does she know? Until a few days ago, she didn’t even know we were seeing one another, and I use that term loosely. Unless…she’s been privy to Roman’s deepest, darkest secrets all along. But why?

I try my best to remain composed as I pass her, her cup. She unexpectedly reaches out and captures my hand. Her touch is a mother’s caress. “I’m here because I needed to tell you things aren’t always what they seem.”

“I really wish someone would give me a straight answer.” I sigh, feeling more confused than ever.

“I was hoping Roman would.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath. He’s most likely long gone by now.”

“Don’t be so sure.” She squeezes my hand before releasing me.

There is an ominous promise behind her words. Once she finishes her coffee, she places the gold-rimmed cup onto the counter and stands. “He’s staying at the Hilton.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Nice to know he’s traveling in style.” I have no idea why she’d think I’d care. It just cements what a downright jerk he is.

“Room 218.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Just in case you wanted to seek out the answers you deserve to know.”

It takes a few moments, but when I realize the reason, I very unladylike splutter on my coffee. “He’s here?” I ask, frantically wiping my chin.

June smiles, the first happy gesture I’ve seen from her all day. “Yes.”

“W-why?”

“You know why.” I can’t speak. I’m too frightened of what I’ll say if I do.

She walks over to my frozen form. Placing her hands on the tops of my shoulders, she levels me with her gentle gaze. “Maybe you’re the one to save him.”

“That seems like a lot of pressure, considering Roman enjoys being a martyr.”

She bursts into a low chuckle. “I can see why he likes you so much.”

Peering upward, I smile. “Thank you, June. For everything.”

“It has been a real honor knowing you, Lola Van Allen. I knew you’d make a difference.” She squeezes my shoulders, tears wet in her eyes. I don’t know what she means, but it’s nice to know I’ve had a small impact on the world.

Releasing me, she smiles, appearing embarrassed to be caught crying. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Anytime.”

With nothing left to say, I walk her to the door, suddenly saddened that this may be the last time I see her. Yet instead of dwelling on the sadness, I rejoice in meeting someone as remarkable as June Carrington. “Goodbye.”

A look of nostalgia overcomes her. “Goodbye, Lola.” She leaves, and my last memory of her will be leaving with a smile on her face.

Once she’s disappeared down the hall, I close the door and lean up against it, processing everything that just happened. June came here to deliver my clothes, but that appeared a ruse to tell me that Roman is in Manhattan. I don’t understand why he’s here, or why she felt the need to tell me. I never took June for cupid, so why would she do what she did? This seems like a lot of effort for one of her staff members.

I allow my mind to wander, and it wanders to the Hilton and room 218.

How dare he come here and expect…expect what? He obviously doesn’t expect anything because he’s not knocking down my door, begging for forgiveness.

June hinted he’s here because of me, but I don’t believe it. What could he possibly want to say he couldn’t tell me days ago? I came home to escape this desolation, but it feels worse somehow.

I must figure this out before I can move on. But how am I supposed to do that?

“Room 218.”

Groaning, I tip my head backward. “Goddammit.” I don’t bother changing or untangling my lopsided bun. If I don’t go right now, I’ll chicken out.

I don’t care that Mrs. Dunned is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind as I run down the hallway without bothering to say hello. All I care about is getting into that elevator and ending this once and for all.

My shoes tear at the carpet, leaving probable footprints in my haste. The elevator doors ding open and I quicken my step, as I’m almost there. Focusing on those doors and nothing else, I bump straight into something, and

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