Chapter 4
For the first time since meeting him, I noticed faint shadows beneath his eyes.
“She thought if she waited until everything was final, Lily wouldn’t have to worry while it was uncertain.”
“Instead Lily learned everyone else knew before she did.”
His gaze sharpened.
“How did you know?”
“Because that’s how secrets work.”
I wiped flour from the counter.
“People think hiding something protects you from the uncertainty. Mostly it just means you get the uncertainty and the betrayal together.”
Roman was silent.
Then he asked, “Are you speaking from experience?”
I immediately regretted sounding wise.
“No.”
He waited.
I sighed.
“Yes.”
I didn’t know why I told him.
Maybe because the kitchen smelled like butter and oranges and nobody else was listening.
“My dad left when I was twelve.”
Roman said nothing.
“He didn’t disappear. Nothing dramatic. He just decided he’d rather be somewhere else.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My mother knew for almost six months that he was planning to go.”
Roman’s eyes remained on mine.
“She didn’t tell you.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She wanted me to have one more normal summer.”
Even after nineteen years, I could still remember that phrase.
One more normal summer.
“I spent June and July thinking everything was fine. Then one morning in August, half his closet was empty.”
Roman looked toward Lily.
“My mother meant well.”
“So does my sister.”
“That doesn’t always help.”
“No.”
Lily returned before we could say more.
“What are you whispering about?”
“Your uncle’s terrible dough.”
She looked down.
“It is bad.”
Roman pointed at me.
“She sabotaged me.”
“Obviously.”
The buns went into the refrigerator for their final rest.
I packed two sandwiches for Lily.
Roman tried to pay.
I threatened him with flour.
He put his wallet away.
After that, Wednesdays became routine.
Lily came at four.
Sometimes Roman stayed.
Sometimes Sophia brought her.
Sophia was seventy-two, impeccably dressed and entirely too interested in my personal life.
On the third Wednesday, she sat at my counter and asked, “Have you reconsidered my nephew?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m working.”
“That isn’t a reason.”
“It is while I’m holding a knife.”
She glanced at the knife.
“Fair.”
Sophia drank espresso and watched Roman help Lily pipe pastry cream.
“He’s happier here.”
I kept slicing strawberries.
“He likes coffee.”
Sophia made the same suspicious choking sound she’d made the day of the flour incident.
“He hates coffee.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“He has hated coffee since he was twenty.”
I looked toward Roman.
He was drinking coffee.
Black.
Every morning.
“Then why does he—”
Sophia smiled.
“Oh, Clare.”
“Do not ‘Oh, Clare’ me.”
She smiled wider.
I hated this entire family.
Lily gradually started talking.
Not all at once.
She told me she loved photography but didn’t want to call it a hobby because people always asked whether she planned to “do something with it.”
She hated chemistry.
Loved old movies.
Had stopped playing soccer because practices conflicted with visiting her mother.
She hadn’t decided whether she wanted to go to Arizona for the summer.
Roman wanted her to choose.
Her mother wanted her to come.
Lily wanted everybody to stop asking.
So we baked.
When she didn’t want to talk, I didn’t make her.
Roman learned that lesson more slowly.
One evening, he asked Lily three questions about Arizona in less than five minutes.
She set down her whisk.
“Can you stop?”
He stiffened.
“I only asked—”
“I know.”
She walked into the storage room.
Roman started after her.
I blocked him.
“Don’t.”
His expression changed instantly.
“She’s upset.”
“Yes.”
“I need to—”
“No.”
“Clare.”
“Give her five minutes.”
He looked toward the door.
“She doesn’t need five minutes.”
“She literally just asked you to stop.”
His jaw tightened.
I expected the Roman from our first meeting.
The man who assumed resistance was merely a negotiation phase.
Instead, he stayed where he was.
Five minutes later, Lily came back.
Roman didn’t ask where she’d gone.
He only said, “Sorry.”
She nodded.
Then handed him the whisk.
“Your turn.”
Something softened between them.
I saw Roman notice that too.
Those were the moments that changed my opinion of him.
Not his money.
Not the expensive suits.
Not the fact that people moved out of his way when he entered a room.
It was the way he kept trying with Lily even when trying meant doing less.
But there were things about Roman I still didn’t understand.
For one, nobody discussed his work.
Ever.
If I asked what he did, he would say, “Family business.”
If I asked what that meant, he would say, “Several things.”
If I asked whether those several things had names, he would smile and change the subject.
Chicago had stories about the Ducas.
Everybody did.
Construction.
Restaurants.
Import companies.
Old neighborhood influence.
Political friendships.
And darker rumors that changed depending on who was telling them.
May you like
I wasn’t naive.
I also wasn’t interested in borrowing danger from rumors I couldn’t verify.
