Butterfly by Nelle L’Amour

CHAPTER 26

Sofi

There must be something seriously wrong with me. Last night, I was distraught, never wanting to see him again, but this morning I wanted Roman to bang down the door. Barge into my room, swoop me up in his arms, and smother me with apologetic kisses. When the banging on the door ceased and I heard him storm off, I stayed in bed, trying to make sense of my conflicting emotions. I should hate him for how he behaved last night at Harper’s wedding. Instead, I crave him.

Finally, after one long confounded hour, I drag myself out of bed and take off the now creased dress and my stilettos. My blistered feet hurt but not as much as the memory of dancing with Roman in them. And the dazzling gown. The heartache I slept off returns. There’s no way I can face him; I’m going to stay in bed all day. Trading my lacy undergarments for my flannel pajamas, I’m about crawl back under the covers when my phone rings. Thinking it’s my parents—they generally call me every Sunday after church—and confident Roman isn’t here, I unlock my door and retrieve my purse and phone. The ringing stops before I can answer.

Now fully awake, I curl up on a small tufted chair and check all my emails, texts, and missed calls. Every one of them is from Harper. There’s got to be over a hundred. All of them basically the same.

Where are you?

What happened to you last night?

What’s going on?

Why aren’t you picking up?

CALL ME!

The phone rings again. Roman? Begging to see me? Begging for forgiveness? No, it’s persistent Harper and she wants to FaceTime me. Disappointed, I answer, setting the phone to the video chat feature.

Without as much as a “hi,” she goes straight into an endless show-and-tell about her honeymoon, gushing about the amazing hotel she’s staying at—the exclusive Four Seasons Ocean Club—and taunting me with breathtaking views of the sparkling sand and turquoise sea as well as a close-up of her three-hundred dollar red bikini. A wedding gift from some designer. My mind on Roman and last night’s disaster, I half-listen. She turns the camera on Derek, who, in his swim trunks, waves from a beach chair, sipping some tropical drink. We have a rule—no nudity or dick pics.

It’s always all about her. After a half hour of nonstop chatter, I finally manage to say something. Something that makes it seem like I’ve been all ears. “Sounds like you’re having a blast.”

“We are . . . Hey, what happened to you last night? I looked for you when I was about to throw my bouquet, but I didn’t see you anywhere.”

I falter for an excuse. “Um, uh, I must have been in the ladies’ room.”

She falls for it. “And who was that hot guy with the eye patch I saw you dancing with?”

I debate whether to tell her, but decide against it. “Um, I don’t know. Some random guest who asked me to dance. Is he a friend of your parents?”

“Never saw him in my life. And Derek didn’t recognize him either.” My pulse quickens, expecting her to ask about the brawl between Roman and Vincent, but she doesn’t. With her attention deficit disorder, my flighty social butterfly friend obviously didn’t spend much time watching us. Relief washes over me.

“Sofe, gotta go! Derek wants to go for a swim. Keep your phone on! I’ll call you later! And send you photos. Oh, and don’t worry, I promise no dick pics! Mwah!” She blows me a pouty kiss and ends the connection.

Immediately afterward, I get a text. It’s from Vincent. Poor Vincent. My chest tightens as my skin prickles with regret.

Vincent: Hi, Sofe.

Me: Sorry about last night!

Vincent: Don’t be. It’s ok. Your boss Roman came over and apologized.

My spirits brighten. I break into a smile. I had my doubts, but he did it! How I would have loved to have seen that! I reply with a smiley face emoji.

Vincent: He’s a really good guy.

Me: He is??

Vincent: Yeah, he gave me a $5000 gift card to my fave camera shop.

My eyes pop. My heart swells with happiness.

Me: Wow!

Vincent: Plus, he wants me to shoot his next collection!

My smile grows wider, my heart blossoming like a flower.

Me: That’s amazing!

Vincent: He’s a keeper.

Me: Huh?

Vincent: You’re going to end up together.

My heart stutters at his words. My fingers quiver.

Me: NAH! Plus, he’s too old.

Vincent: Bet you.

Me: Bet me what?

Vincent and I have a long history of making bets. So far, I’m ahead.

Vincent: Bet you if you do, I get to be best man and shoot the wedding.

The thought is unfathomable. Ludicrous! But just for fun, I agree to the bet.

Me: LOL! Deal!

Before I can ask what happens if I win the bet, Vincent tells me he’s got to go.

Vincent: Customer waiting! Luv you! Xo

I set my phone down, my head in a whirl. I’ve underestimated Roman; he has a bigger heart than I thought. And I haven’t been honest with myself about my feelings. My telltale heart thuds against my chest, trying to send me a message.

My phone rings again. Hopeful it’s Roman, I glance at the screen. An unknown number. Maybe it’s a bill collector or some investigator calling about the fire. Hesitantly, I pick it up and hit answer.

“Hola, is this Sofi?” The melodic female voice is heavily accented.

“Yes.”

“Bueño. My name is Consuela Suarez, and I am the mamá of Mariposa, the little girl you met last night at the wedding. I got your number from the Plimpton family, whom I work for.”

I immediately relax. “She’s a darling little girl.”

“Gracias. Mí bebé cannot stop talking about you.”

“That’s so sweet. We really hit it off.”

“Hit it off?”

The charming woman makes me smile. “What I mean is that we really took a liking to one another.”

Consuela laughs. “Ah, sí!” There’s a smile in her voice. “I have a big favor to ask of you on short notice. Mariposa is off from school today, but I unexpectedly have to go into my office and cannot take care of her. Would it be possible for me to drop her off and you can watch her? I will be glad to pay you something.”

My heart warms. “I would love to. And you don’t have to pay me a cent.”

I give her the address.

Mari will be here in an hour. My breath hitches.

Maybe I should have asked Roman first.

Though it’s a Sunday, I’m downstairs in the atelier, seated at a drafting table and hand-painting butterflies on black silk moiré when Roman comes crashing through the door with a Blick bag in his hand. My heartbeat quickens at the sight of him, but as he strides my way, I cast my eyes back down. He’s hard to ignore because his virile presence is so palpable. Hot tingles dance between my thighs as his warm breath tickles my neck. He’s standing behind me, looking over my shoulder.

“I’m back,” he singsongs, imitating Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

I’m going to pretend like I don’t know what he did. Stay true to my word and give him the silent treatment.

“Aren’t you going to say hi or ask me what’s in the bag?” He teasingly dangles the bag in front of me.

My lips stay zipped. I laugh to myself. I’m having so much fun playing this little torture game.

“C’mon, Sofi. Give me a break.” Frustration is mounting in his voice. “I apologized to Vincent. He’s my new best friend. Talk to me.”

More of the silent treatment.

“C’mon. You’re killing me. A deal is a deal.”

Stifling a smile, I continue to fill in the wings of the butterfly I’ve designed. It’s an intricate green, yellow, and black Chimaera Birdwing that hails from the mountains of New Guinea. What I especially love about this butterfly is that its abdomen looks like it’s fourteen-karat gold. The metallic paint I bought will be perfect for it.

“That’s really beautiful,” comments Roman.

Silence. Not even a thank-you.

“What kind is it?”

Not telling. Guess.I carefully add a little more mustard yellow to the wings with one of my fine-tipped sable brushes.

“Sofi!” Roman’s voice rises with anger. “Am I going to have to spank you?”

My heart jumps and I almost drop my brush. I jerk my head around and meet his fiendish gaze. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Gotcha!” He bursts into thunderous laughter. “And yes, I would, but you spared yourself the pain.”

The beautiful asshole! I want to punch him. Yet oddly, the thought of being thrown over his knee and having his massive hand mark my bare cheeks turns me on. I feel myself heating with arousal. Roman continues to laugh so hard his eye tears.

“Fuck. It hurts to laugh.”

He rubs his shiner, and for the first time, I notice how bad it is. Deep purple and puffy.

“Oh God, Roman. Your eye! It looks terrible.”

“Not as bad as Garcia’s.”

His new name of endearment for Vincent. I can’t help but smile.

“I know what you did for him.”

“You do?” asks Roman, his laughter dying down.

“Yeah. He texted me. Roman, that was beyond.”

“Nah, it was nothing. Just what any good asshole would do.” He glances down at the bag. “Oh, and here’s a little peace offering for you.”

I take the bag from him and reach inside, sliding out one of the three dozen or so paint jars. It’s a gorgeous shade of my favorite color. Almost iridescent. Roman’s eye stays on me as I read the label.

“Oh my goodness! Luna Green! I can finally paint my favorite butterfly!”

“Moth! The color just came in. I bought out the entire stock.”

“Oh, Roman, I love it!” I leap up from my chair and fling my arms around him.

I love you.

Holy shit! Mental retake. Did I just say those three little words to myself? Reality hits me like a bolt of lightning. Every nerve in my body sizzles with electricity. Little fires are everywhere. I flush all over; my mouth goes dry. I’ve admitted it to myself, but can I admit it to him? Just in the nick of time, the intercom buzzes.

“I’ll get it,” says Roman. “I’m expecting a big shipment of fabric from Italy.”

I glance at the wall clock. It’s exactly eleven a.m. It must be my little bundle of joy.

“I’ll come with you, Roman. I’m expecting a package too.”