Within These Walls (Within These Walls #1)(88)

Life was no longer about hiding in the shadows. If I wanted to experience all the normalcies of it, I had to embrace the darker sides as well, and that started with a few stares and whispers.

“It will be beautiful,” Grace said, holding it away from my face.

The three of us looked at my teary-eyed smile staring back.

The girl who had never cried now couldn’t seem to ever turn off the damn water works.

I’d always been so good at keeping things together and in check. I wouldn’t break down, and I’d never shown my weaknesses.

But now, I let it all out. When I had been in pain during recovery, I’d cried out for help and cursed fate for making me go through so many obstacles. As I’d recovered, I’d cried for the ability to have a second chance. And late at night, I would cry because I missed him.

Six months had gone by, and I still awoke each morning, reaching out for his warmth. The dream I’d had in the recovery room wasn’t the last. I would see him nightly when I closed my eyes, but they were always memories—pizzas and pudding, laughing under an indoor rain shower, and feeling his tender touch as he made love to me while saying he’d never leave.

But he had.

“Beautiful dress,” a deep male voice echoed from behind.

I looked up, and my breath caught.

Jude.

But on second glance, I realized his hair was a bit too dark, his eyes were a little too hard, and he carried himself differently.

“Holy moly, that’s Roman Cavanaugh,” Grace whispered, turning quickly to see if the reflection she’d seen in the mirror was indeed real.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, taking a step forward to take Grace’s hand.

A slow, sensual kiss was placed on her palm, leaving her awestruck and tongue-tied.

“Grace,” she murmured. “I’m Grace.”

His lips turned upward, and he smiled as he took her in. His eyes roamed over her hair and curvy figure until they finally settled on the engagement ring on her left hand.

“Lucky man,” he commented.

A faint blush colored Grace’s complexion as she pulled her hand away, shaking herself from the trance she’d stumbled into. “Thank you.”

He gave a polite smile and then looked up, setting his eyes on me.

His eyes reminded me so much of Jude.

Closing the distance between us, he held out his hand, and I took it.

“Roman Cavanaugh,” he said. “You must be Lailah Buchanan.”

His gaze shifted briefly down to my scar, making me feel naked in my dress.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Good. Well then, is this your mother?” he asked, looking over to where my mother was standing, silently observing everything.

“She is.”

“Great. Do me a favor, will you?” he asked, stepping forward toward her. “Run home, and pack Lailah a bag. Maybe enough for a week or two. Whatever you can find. Anything else she needs, we can provide for her.”

My mom’s eyes widened at his bold request.

“Excuse me? I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not going anywhere with you!” I exclaimed.

He turned back around, his face transforming into a wide grin. “Oh, sweetheart, after what I have to tell you, you’ll be begging me to get on that plane. And if you don’t, I guess you’re not worth everything my brother’s done for you after all.”

After I changed out of my dress, Roman and I headed to a coffee shop across the street while my mom and Grace headed home. He’d promised to deliver me safely back to my mom’s in an hour after he explained himself.

He might look like Jude, but the domineering attitude he carried made me want to dropkick him. He had exactly twenty minutes to reveal exactly why he had flown all the way across the country to pack my bags and order me around like one of his employees.

We stood in line, and I shifted from one foot to another as I read the menu posted above.

Number thirty-three—order a ridiculously priced cup of coffee.

I’d never been in a coffee shop—let alone, ordered a cup of coffee. The names baffled me.

Why couldn’t they just call them small, medium, and large?

“Are you okay?” Roman asked, obviously sensing my distress.

“What?” I startled. “Oh, yes. Um…what are you getting?” I asked.

We got to the counter, and I almost chickened out by saying I’d have what he was ordering, but I managed to get through it, ordering a grande mocha something or other. I didn’t know. It sounded decadent.

We both ordered scones as well, and we made our way to a small table in the corner by the window. I smiled, thinking about yet another thing I’d be able to cross off my list.

“So spill,” I finally said. I started to pull the corners off my chocolate scone before popping them into my mouth.

Yum. Real food is awesome.

Roman repeated my actions and took a bite of his blueberry scone. “When Jude called me last summer and said he was coming home, he was very specific about a few things.”

Taking a sip of my mocha, I watched him run his fingers over the edge of his cup. “Two things actually—one, he wanted more control, more power over what we did…and didn’t do.”

“Why does this involve me?” I hated every word, every sentence that involved Jude. It was like a lance to the heart, pulling me back, making me remember those beautiful few months where I’d felt soul-defining pure love—until he’d left.