Chapter 5: The Toast and the Catch

Nina's POV

"Pretty crazy," I repeated, the words tasting like copper on my tongue.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from his hands. Roman's long, calloused fingers were still loosely wrapped around Julianna’s small, manicured hand, right under the blinding glow of the chandelier. Across the ballroom, Roman stared straight back at me, his face an unreadable mask, his jaw locked tight.

"Crazy doesn't even cover it," Amelia babbled cheerfully, slipping her arm through mine and pulling me toward the center of the room. "Damien told me his family has been trying to lock down that match for years. They're practically high-society royalty."

"Yeah," I rasped, my throat feeling like sandpaper. "Royalty."

"Anyway, come on! Mom is waving at us from the head table. If we don't sit down right now, she’s going to have a full meltdown in front of the photographers!"

The head table was pure, agonizing torture.

It was a long table draped in ivory silk and overflowing with white orchids, positioned on a raised platform under the largest chandelier in the room. Victoria had clearly handled the seating chart herself, placing Julianna directly next to Roman on the right side of the bride and groom.

And directly across from them, right beside Amelia?

Me.

I pulled out my chair, the metal legs dragging harshly against the floor, and sank down. Roman sat four feet away from me. Up close, I could see the faint pulse jumping in his neck. He had fixed his bowtie, but his shirt collar was still slightly crumpled where my fingers had desperately gripped it ten minutes ago in the suite.

Julianna leaned in close to him, her diamond bracelets clinking softly against her glass. "Roman, darling, you barely touched your appetizers. Is London food really that much better?"

"I'm not hungry, Julianna," Roman said. His voice was low, flat, and completely ice-cold.

"Well, you need to eat something," she purred, running her fingers casually over his broad shoulder. "Your mother said we’re staying at the Harrington estate in the Hamptons this weekend. You need your energy."

I grabbed my water glass with both hands, staring down at the floating ice cubes so hard my eyes burned.

"Nina?" Amelia whispered, leaning sideways toward me. "Are you okay? You’re squeezing that glass like you want to shatter it."

"I'm fine," I whispered back, forcing my hands to loosen.

"Are you sure?" Amelia frowned, looking across the table. She watched as Julianna tried to feed Roman a piece of artisan bread, though Roman didn't even tilt his head toward her. Amelia let out a small, sympathetic sigh. "They really do look like a fairy-tale couple, don't they? It must be nice to find someone who fits so easily into your world."

Fits into your world.

Not a girl from Brooklyn who used to eat two-dollar pizza slices on a rusty fire escape while he fixed greasy motorcycle engines.

I slowly raised my eyes, locking my gaze straight onto Roman.

"A match made in heaven," I said aloud, my voice completely steady, directed right at him. "They look like they deserve each other."

Roman’s eyes narrowed into dark, dangerous slits. He reached down, grabbed his glass of neat bourbon, and downed the entire thing in one long, sharp swallow.

Before the thick tension could snap, Damien stood up at the center of the table. He picked up a silver spoon and tapped it sharply against his crystal champagne flute.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

The loud chatter across the three-hundred-person ballroom died down instantly.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Damien announced, his voice smooth and commanding. "Before we open the floor for dinner, my brother—and my best man—would like to offer a toast."

Damien turned and offered a small silver microphone to Roman.

Julianna clapped her hands together excitedly. "Oh, go on, darling! Say something lovely!"

Roman hesitated for a long, heavy second. Then, slowly, he pushed his chair back and stood up. He towered over the table, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow over the white tablecloth. He took the microphone, unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, and looked out at the sea of wealthy faces.

Then his dark eyes drifted down. Straight back to me.

"Damien. Amelia," Roman began, his deep, gravelly voice booming over the sound system.

The room was dead quiet.

"When my brother told me he was getting married, I was surprised," Roman said, his words measured, slow, and dangerous. "In our family, we are taught to measure everything. Value. Status. Investments. We are raised to believe that love is just a transaction. Something you negotiate on paper with the right family name."

Victoria Blake smiled proudly from her front table, raising her wine glass in approval. Julianna sat up straighter, beaming.

"But real love..." Roman continued, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes burned into mine, refusing to let me look away. "Real love isn't clean. It isn't structured. It doesn't care about your family name, your money, or your neat little plans."

I stopped breathing. My hand froze around my cloth napkin.

"Real love catches you in the dark," Roman whispered into the microphone, his chest heaving under his white shirt. "It steals your breath. It makes you foolish enough to believe you can build an entire world with someone on a cold fire escape, eating cheap pizza in the middle of the night."

My heart gave a violent, painful thud against my ribs.

Amelia gasped softly beside me, touching her chest. "Oh, that’s so poetic! Did Damien tell him about our first date at that little Italian place?"

Damien frowned slightly, shooting Roman a flicking, suspicious look. But Roman didn't glance at Damien. He didn't look at Amelia.

"Sometimes," Roman rasped, his knuckles turning pure white around the metal handle of the microphone, "you lose that love. Sometimes you think it vanished into thin air. You think the person you gave your whole life to was just a ghost who never cared about you at all."

The silence in the ballroom was suffocating. Nobody moved. Nobody took a sip of their drink.

"But then you see them again," Roman whispered, his dark eyes flashing with a raw, terrifying intensity. "And you realize... you were wrong. They weren't a ghost. And you are never going to let them go again."

He raised his empty glass toward Damien and Amelia—but his gaze stayed glued to my face.

"To the bride and groom," Roman finished coldly. "May you never learn what it feels like to lose the only thing that mattered."

He set the microphone down on the silk tablecloth with a heavy, final thud and sat back down.

The crowd hesitated for two terrifying seconds, utterly confused by the dark, heavy tone of the speech, before bursting into loud, polite applause.

"Oh, wow," Julianna gasped, instantly grabbing Roman's forearm. "Darling, that was... so intense! I had no idea you were such a romantic!"

"I'm not," Roman muttered, roughly pulling his arm out of her grip.

My hands were shaking so violently under the table I had to dig my fingernails into my palms to stop them.

"Alright, everyone!" the DJ’s booming voice suddenly shattered the air. "It's time for the tradition you’ve all been waiting for! All the single ladies, please step up to the dance floor for the bouquet toss!"

"Oh! Nina, go!" Amelia stood up, grabbing my arm. "You have to go stand in front!"

"Amelia, no, please," I pleaded, trying to pull back. "I really don't want to—"

"I don't care! It's good luck!" Amelia laughed, practically dragging me out of my chair and pushing me toward the dance floor.

Before I could slip away, I was shoved into the front row of twenty single women standing beneath the grand floral arch. Upbeat pop music blasted from the speakers.

Suddenly, a sharp elbow dug into my ribs.

I stumbled a step and looked over. Julianna was standing right beside me, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. She gave me a sweet, sharp smile that didn't reach her eyes at all.

"Oops. Sorry, Maid of Honor," Julianna purred, her voice dripping with poison. "I need a good spot. Roman is watching."

I glanced toward the side of the room. Roman was leaning against a marble pillar, a fresh glass of bourbon in his hand, watching the crowd like a lion waiting to strike.

"Take the whole floor," I muttered, turning my face away. "I couldn't care less."

"Ready, ladies?" Amelia called out, standing at the top of the stairs with her back turned to us. "Three... two... one!"

Amelia tossed the heavy bundle of white orchids high into the air.

The flowers arced under the chandeliers, spinning softly. The women around me squealed and reached up.

The bouquet was coming down straight toward my head.

I instinctively took a step back, raising my hands just to block my face so I wouldn't get hit—

Smack.

Julianna lunged directly in front of me, snatching the bouquet right out of the air. She slammed the flowers against her chest, her high heels clicking loudly on the marble floor.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

Julianna turned around with a triumphant smirk, raising the bouquet high over her head. She looked straight past me toward Roman, mouthing, I caught it!

"Congratulations," I mumbled under my breath, turning on my heel to walk away before I threw up.

"Nina!" Amelia called out, jogging down the steps and catching my arm near the quiet side corridor.

"Amelia, I really need some fresh air—"

"Did you see the way Julianna practically tackled you for those flowers?" Amelia laughed softly, wiping a tear of mirth from her eye. "She is so pushy! Honestly, I feel a little sorry for Roman. He looks like he wants to jump out a window."

"He's a big boy," I said stiffly, staring at the floor. "He can take care of himself."

"I know, but still..." Amelia’s voice trailed off.

Her laughter died completely.

"Amelia?" I asked, looking up. "What's wrong?"

Amelia wasn't looking at me. She was looking past my shoulder, toward the dark shadow of the marble pillar near the bar.

I turned my head slowly.

Roman was standing in the dim light. He wasn't looking at Julianna, who was showing off the flowers to his mother. He wasn't looking at the investors trying to talk to him.

He was staring directly at me.

His dark eyes were wild, raw, and burning with a terrifying, heavy hunger that no stranger should ever have. He was watching the way Amelia held my arm, watching every breath I drew, as if he was ready to tear the entire ballroom apart just to step between us.

A suffocating, dangerous silence fell over the hallway.

Amelia slowly turned her head back to look at my face. Her dark eyes narrowed, filled with a sudden, razor-sharp suspicion that turned my blood into ice.

"Nina..." Amelia whispered, her voice dropping into a low, terrifying pitch. "Why is Damien’s brother looking at you like he wants to devour you alive?"