Trapped with My Best Friend’s Dad by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Eighteen

Roman

I sit on one side of the dining table and my angel sits on the other, an unsure smile dancing across her face.

The storm is still going, but a little early-evening sunlight has managed to find its way through the clouds. It shafts through the rain slick windows, making the light distorted and shimmery as it rests on Rayla’s face.

My heart feels just as light, my mood flowing, flying when I think about how today went. We stayed in the office together for hours, as long-withheld ideas poured out of me… the same way the lust poured out of me when I claimed Rayla with my mouth when she told me she’s a virgin.

Which means she’s mine, only mine. Forever.

I wrote today, and the words were good. I reread them and edited them. With Rayla in the room, it felt so much easier like a weight lifted off my shoulders.

She nods over to my plate, smiling tightly. “Are you going to try it?”

I smirk over at her, my eyes moving down her body in another summer dress. Her face is flushed, her chest red, probably from the cooking. My little virgin is taking cooking me a meal very seriously, as though she doesn’t know she’s already given me the greatest gift she possibly could.

Well, except her sopping young slit.

I cut into the steak with exaggerated movements, chuckling teasingly. “I can’t. It’s too tough.”

I put heavy sarcasm into my voice so she knows I’m only joking, so she knows how wonderful she really is.

When I bite into it for real, my mouth erupts with flavor, with the perfection of her cooking.

“Damn,” I say after I’ve swallowed. “It’s perfect, Rayla.”

“Really?” she whispers.

“Really.” I make my voice firm, somehow resisting the urge to lean across the table and smooth her rebellious hair from her face. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I’ve never cooked a meal before, for a… a boyfriend,” she murmurs. “Not that I’m saying that’s what we are. But...you know, you get the point.”

She’s fumbling to find words to mark what we are, what’s passed between us, and I can’t blame her. If I call her my girlfriend, that means we have to discuss telling Millie, and I can tell neither of us wants to venture into that potentially cataclysmic territory right now.

“It’s amazing,” I growl passionately. “Just like you.”

“You’re the amazing one,” she says, all bubbly again, the momentary darkness passed. “Watching you write today, Roman, it was a complete joy. I can’t believe how involved you get. It’s like the rest of the world drifted away.”

“That’s it exactly,” I say, excitement sparking in my voice. “And that’s why I couldn’t do it anymore. Only two things have ever made me feel that way. Writing and – and you, Rayla. I think I needed one to bring back the other.”

She blinks, nodding, as tears threaten to spill from her eyes. “I’m sorry. That’s just so nice. I’ve never felt, uh, needed like that before.”

She looks down as she speaks, as though afraid to meet my gaze.

“I need you more than I’ve ever needed anyone” I snarl, even if I know I shouldn’t be saying this, shouldn’t be saying anything even like this.

But the words spill out all by themselves, driven by something I can’t understand. It’s like there’s lightning crackling inside of me, prompting spiraling and forking tendrils of electricity, spreading through me until all I can think about is how perfect my woman– Rayla is.

What I should be thinking about is…

But I can’t let my mind summon Millie’s memory, because the pain it prompts is too severe, too cruel to address.

“Tell me about this play you’re writing.” I cut into the steak, savoring the juiciness of it with each bite. “Or about the play you’re acting in, for that matter.”

I chuckle.

“What?” she asks, her eyes widening for a fraction of a moment. “What’s funny?”

“It’s just strange how I can know I want you, how my need for you rushes around my body with more and more force each second, and yet I don’t even know that much about you. I know you’re going to make an incredible mother. I know you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I know all of that. But…”

“I want to write a play about a woman who quits her waitressing job and decides to work with animals instead. But that’s the only idea I have so far, and honestly, I’m not even sure if I want it to be a play.”

“What else would it be?”

“A book?” She shrugs, making her answer a question in itself. “A song? A freaking puzzle? I don’t know. It’s just an idea. I realize I’m probably making no sense right now.”

I smirk. “Angel, you’re talking to the man whose writing ability froze before you came along to warm it up again. You don’t need to worry about not making sense with me.”

She giggles, nodding. “Yeah, you’re probably right. That was like magic, the way you started writing. I couldn’t believe it was the first time in three years. The words were pouring out of you.”

I finish chewing my steak, nodding, as the taste moves through me. And there’s something else, the heat of belonging, the heat of knowing that this woman is always going to support me. In the same way, I’m going to support her.

Forever.

“It was bizarre. Usually, there’s this block inside of me, like all my writing ability has been plugged up, stoppered, but every time I felt that feeling, all I had to do was look across at you and it went away. You’ve changed me, angel. Or let me go back to the way I used to be.”

I aim my steak knife at her, as the candles glimmer all around the room. I laid them out while she was bringing in dinner, so they shimmer against the rain-clouded glass, dancing up and down the room. There’s something perfect about the way the light warps and flickers for us.

“But we weren’t talking about me. What about the other play – the one you’re acting in?”

“It’s just a small community thing in my hometown,” she murmurs. “Something to keep me busy over the summer. I play a woman grieving for her lost love, but then he returns as a ghost and tries to help her deal with the grief. It’s very experimental, and a little odd.”

“And that was the singing part? Longing for your lover?”

“Exactly.”

There’s a pause as I stare hard at her, as her unquestionable beauty washes over me. Every second is torture as I try to stop myself from consuming her with my eyes.

But I can’t fucking stop, not when she’s being so emotional, so forward in her feelings, making me feel closer to her than I have yet.

“Tell me, Rayla,” I whisper.

She tilts her head, giggling. “Tell you what?”

I know I’m right as I lean forward, as I reach across the table and smooth hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. The message is written in every inch of her expression, in the way her lips twitch at the corners, in the light of her eyes.

“You’ve got something you want to say. Don’t try to lie to me. What is it?”

She bites her lip and then quickly lets it go, as she remembers the effect it has on me. But that – the way she bites and then releases it – drives me even more feral than if she’d just bitten it. Because now she knows how badly it makes me want her.

The silent battle we’re waging is almost a physical presence in the room, a heavy scent, a tempting song, a scream as our bodies try to will us together.

“It’s the song, singing about my forgotten lover, in the play.” She looks down at the table. “I was finding it difficult before, you know, to imagine I’d lost a lover. I’ve never had a lover, never even had anything close. But then I met you and—”

A heavy bolt of lightning slashes across the sky, flashing bright blue into the room, creating doubles and triples of everything in the shape of shadows, despite the candles and the soft glowing lamplight.

She giggles, shivering.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, reaching over and squeezing down on her shoulder, hoping she can feel the support through my touch. “I’m here.”

Reaching up, she grips onto my hand, squeezing down and nodding. “I know. And that’s what I mean. I can imagine what it would be like now, to have a lover… and to lose one.”

She looks up finally, staring intently into my eyes.

I wonder if she knows how enticing she looks when she stares like that, with her cheeks flushed, emotion blazing loudly in every part of her.

To lose one…

She’s talking about Millie, about our impossible future, about how our closeness could evaporate once the stormy ceases.

“You’re not going to lose me,” I snarl.

She flinches. “How can you say that?”

I laugh gruffly. “Fine, you’ve got me. I can’t say it, not if you want to be technical about it. Technically, I can’t say a goddamn thing. Technically, I need to keep my mouth shut until I know for sure what the future holds because the alternative is to get our hopes up, to make us care.

“But the thing is… I don’t give a damn. I don’t care about that. Because I care about you, Rayla, more than I can even understand. And whatever obstacles try to stop us from being together, I’ll tear them to pieces. I’d kill any bastard who tried to take you from me. I’d die for you, for us, for our future.”

Tears sparkle in her eyes and she nods. But there’s something unspoken in her expression, in the way she stares.

But what about Millie? You can’t fight that problem away.

She’s right, of course, she is, but I can’t bring myself to face the problem, to address it with words, as though ignoring it will make it go away.

“This steak is delicious,” I murmur, as I cut another strip.

She smiles widely, her face blooming with the simple joy of making me a meal. “Thank you, Roman. It means a lot. Really.”

For now, that’s enough, letting us sink into the beautiful simplicity of sharing a meal together.

We eat in silence for a little while, even if it’s not a true silence. The rain interrupts it and thunder continues to warble in the distance. Occasionally a lightning bolt shattering the heavens.

It’s a personal silence, contained within the two of us, as we sink into each other’s company.

It’s like we’re already married, already fused, so at ease with each other, we don’t feel the need to fill the silence with words.