Chapter 8
The date was almost eighteen months earlier.
From Elena to Roman.
I looked back at Lily.
“I don’t think I should read private messages between your mother and uncle.”
“You need to.”
“Why me?”
“Because if I tell Roman, he’ll fix it.”
“That seems to be his hobby.”
“And if I tell Mom, she’ll explain it until I feel guilty for being upset.”
That sounded painfully plausible.
“So you want me to do what?”
“I want someone to tell me what it means before everyone tells me what I’m supposed to think.”
That was a reasonable request.
For a sixteen-year-old, remarkably so.
I read.
The first email was about school.
Elena worried Lily was withdrawing.
Roman offered to pay for a counselor.
Elena refused at first, saying she would handle it.
Nothing alarming.
The second mentioned Arizona.
More than a year before Elena actually moved.
Daniel had been considering a job there.
Elena was afraid Lily would refuse to go.
Roman suggested talking to her early.
Elena asked him not to.
I glanced at Lily.
“You already know this.”
“Keep reading.”
The third email changed everything.
Elena:
If I take the position with Daniel and Lily stays in Chicago temporarily, I need your promise that you won’t let her believe I’m abandoning her.
Roman:
She won’t believe that.
Elena:
She might. She already thinks leaving means choosing someone else. You know why.
Roman:
Yes.
Elena:
Then promise me.
Roman:
I promise.
The phrase stopped me.
You know why.
I looked at Lily.
“What does that mean?”
She slid another page toward me.
An old handwritten letter.
Her father’s name was at the bottom.
David.
I knew almost nothing about Lily’s father.
Roman had never mentioned him.
Lily stared at the table.
“My dad left when I was nine.”
My chest tightened.
“Left the family?”
“He lives in Seattle.”
“Do you see him?”
“Twice a year.”
Her voice was flat again.
“He got remarried. He has little kids.”
I understood immediately.
Elena hadn’t only been hiding Arizona.
She had been terrified of repeating what David had done.
And Lily had experienced the secrecy as the exact thing Elena feared.
I read the letter.
It wasn’t dramatic.
That made it more painful.
David wrote that he had accepted a job.
That he hoped distance would make things calmer.
That he loved Lily.
That he would call.
He apologized for not telling her sooner because he hadn’t wanted to “upset her before everything was decided.”
The same mistake.
Again.
I put the letter down.
“Your mother was trying not to repeat this.”
“She did repeat it.”
“Yes.”
Lily looked at me sharply, perhaps expecting me to defend Elena.
I didn’t.
“Intentions don’t erase patterns.”
Her shoulders loosened.
“Roman knew.”
“Yes.”
“He knew Mom was planning Arizona.”
“Yes.”
“And he promised her he wouldn’t let me think she was abandoning me.”
I nodded.
“But he didn’t tell me.”
“No.”
“So he chose her.”
There it was.
The conclusion.
I leaned forward.
“Maybe.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You said you wouldn’t tell me what to think.”
“I won’t.”
“Then why maybe?”
“Because I think there are two different questions.”
She waited.
“Did Roman keep information from you?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely.”
“Did he do it because he chose your mother over you?”
She didn’t answer.
“That part isn’t in these emails.”
Lily looked angry.
Good.
Anger was clearer than emptiness.
“He promised her.”
“Yes.”
“So what else could it be?”
“He may have thought honoring your mother’s request was the least damaging choice.”
“That was wrong.”
“Probably.”
“Definitely.”
“Okay. Definitely.”
She almost smiled.
Then she looked toward the window.
“I trusted him.”
“You still do.”
“No.”
“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t care this much.”
She looked at me.
I remembered being twelve.
My mother’s “normal summer.”
My father’s empty closet.
The difference between love and honesty.
“I trusted my mom too,” I said.
Lily frowned.
I told her the story.
Not every detail.
Enough.
“When did you forgive her?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t helpful.”
“Forgiveness isn’t a date.”
She considered that.
“I was angry for years. Then one day I realized I understood why she did it.”
“So that made it okay?”
“No.”
That answer mattered.
“Understanding why someone hurt you doesn’t turn the hurt into something good.”
She looked at the documents.
“So what do I do?”
“What do you want?”
“I want them to stop making choices without me.”
“Then tell them.”
“They’ll explain.”
“Don’t ask for an explanation first.”
Lily looked confused.
“What do I ask for?”
“The truth.”
She was silent.
Then:
“Will you stay?”
“With you?”
“When I tell them.”
I thought of Roman.
Elena.
All the complicated history I had accidentally walked into while selling croissants.
“Yes.”
Lily nodded.
“Okay.”
Roman arrived at seven thirty.
Alone.
No guards.
No second car.
No charcoal suit.
Jeans.
Dark sweater.
He walked in, saw Lily and stopped.
His face gave him away.
Relief first.
Then caution.
He didn’t cross the room.
“Hi.”
Lily looked at him.
“Hi.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
He stayed by the door.
She noticed.
So did I.
“You can sit,” she said.
Roman did.
Five minutes later, Elena arrived.
Her face looked as if she hadn’t slept.
She moved instinctively toward Lily.
Then stopped herself.
“Hi, baby.”
Lily’s expression tightened at baby.
Elena noticed.
“Sorry.”
She sat across from her daughter.
Nobody spoke.
The bakery was technically open, but Milo had quietly moved customers toward the front tables and kept the espresso machine running loudly enough to give us privacy.
I made a mental note to double his holiday bonus.
Lily placed the blue folder on the table.
Roman saw it.
Everything in his face changed.
Elena whispered, “Oh.”
“So you know what this is,” Lily said.
Her mother nodded.
Roman leaned back slowly.
“Where did you find it?”
“The old laptop.”
Elena closed her eyes.
Lily’s voice stayed steady.
“I don’t want explanations yet.”
Roman nodded immediately.
Elena looked startled.
“I want answers.”
“Okay,” Elena said.
“Did you know you might move to Arizona more than a year ago?”
“Yes.”
“Did Roman know?”
“Yes.”
“Did you both decide not to tell me?”
A painful silence.
“Yes,” Elena whispered.
Lily looked at Roman.
“You agreed?”
He didn’t hide.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Elena started speaking.
Roman lifted one hand slightly.
“You asked him,” she said.
Elena went quiet.
Roman looked at Lily.
“Because I made the wrong choice.”
She blinked.
No explanation.
No justification.
Roman continued.
“Your mother asked me not to tell you while things were uncertain. I believed it was her decision to share. When the move became likely, I told her I thought you needed to know.”
Elena nodded.
“He did.”
“But I still didn’t tell you myself,” Roman said.
Lily’s eyes filled, but she didn’t look away.
“You always tell everyone what to do.”
“I know.”
“You tell Mom what lawyer to use. Sophia what doctor to see. People at work what building to buy.”
“I know.”
“But when it mattered to me, suddenly it wasn’t your place?”
Roman swallowed.
That was the first time I had seen him genuinely without an answer.
Finally:
“I was afraid.”
Lily’s expression changed.
“Of me?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Of becoming your father.”
The silence was absolute.
Elena looked down.
Roman continued.
“After David left, I became involved in everything. School. Soccer. Birthdays. Problems. I knew how much you depended on me.”
He paused.
“And I knew I wasn’t your parent.”
Lily stared at him.
“I was afraid if I overstepped with your mother, I would make things worse. So when she asked me to let her handle Arizona, I stepped back.”
His voice grew quieter.
“Too far.”
Lily wiped her cheek.
“You should have told me.”
“Yes.”
“You should have asked me whether I wanted to stay with you.”
“Yes.”
“You just assumed.”
“Yes.”
She looked frustrated.
“Stop agreeing.”
Roman almost laughed.
“I don’t know what else to do.”
That broke something.
Lily laughed through tears.
Elena did too.
Even I smiled.
Then Elena said, “Can I answer now?”
Lily hesitated.
“Okay.”
Her mother didn’t launch into a defense.
Instead she said, “I was afraid you would think I was leaving you the way Dad did.”
Lily stared at her.
“So you planned to leave without telling me?”
“When you say it like that—”
Roman looked at Elena.
She stopped.
Then sighed.
“Yes.”
A sad smile crossed her face.
“When you say it accurately, I can hear how foolish it was.”
Lily looked down.
“I didn’t want you to choose between me and Daniel.”
Elena’s face changed.
“I wasn’t.”
“You moved.”
“I know.”
“You married him.”
“Yes.”
“You built a room for me in Arizona before you even told me you were going.”
Elena leaned forward.
“I was trying to show you there was a place for you.”
“It felt like you were deciding my place.”
Elena went completely still.
That sentence did what no argument could have done.
It gave her daughter’s hurt a shape.
“I understand,” she whispered.
Lily shook her head.
“No. But maybe you will.”
Elena nodded.
“Fair.”
Nobody solved Arizona that morning.
That was the most important thing.
Elena wanted Lily for the summer.
Roman wanted Lily to choose.
Lily didn’t know.
So for once, nobody forced certainty.
They made a plan.
Two weeks in Arizona after school ended.
No commitment beyond that.
Lily would return to Chicago afterward and decide where she wanted to spend the rest of the summer.
School next year would be discussed later.
Not decided.
Discussed.
When the conversation ended, Elena hugged Lily.
Only after asking.
Roman didn’t.
He stood.
Lily looked at him.
“You can hug me.”
His composure nearly broke.
He crossed the tiny space between them and hugged her carefully.
Not tightly.
Not possessively.
Just an uncle holding a girl he loved and had nearly lost the trust of by trying too hard not to interfere.
I looked away.
Some moments belong partly to the people in them.
Elena left first.
Lily went with her to breakfast.
That surprised everyone.
Especially Elena.
Roman remained in the bakery.
He sat at the corner table.
I brought him coffee.
“Black?”
“Yes.”
“You really hate coffee?”
His head lifted.
“Sophia.”
“She told me.”
He looked betrayed.
“I don’t hate it.”
“She said you haven’t liked it since you were twenty.”
“I tolerate it.”
“For five weeks?”
“Apparently.”
I sat.
“So why did you keep ordering it?”
He looked at me as though the answer were obvious.
“You made it.”
I hated the warmth that moved through me.
“That’s a terrible reason.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Roman.”
He smiled faintly.
Then sobered.
“Thank you.”
“For keeping Lily’s confidence?”
“For knowing when not to.”
That was more perceptive than I expected.
“I almost didn’t tell you she was safe.”
“I know.”
“I would have, if I thought she was in danger.”
“I know that too.”
He looked toward the window.
“I have spent most of my life believing information is protection.”
“Sometimes it is.”
“And sometimes?”
“Sometimes people become rooms you keep locked because you’re afraid of what will happen if they open the door themselves.”
He looked at me.
“You practice these lines?”
“Three-thirty mornings create strange thoughts.”
He smiled.
Then something changed.
The quiet between us became personal.
Not Lily.
Not Sophia.
Not fake dating.
Us.
Roman folded his hands.
“I owe you another apology.”
I sighed.
“What now?”
“The proposal.”
“The fake girlfriend proposal?”
“Yes.”
“That was six weeks ago.”
“It was insulting.”
“Yes.”
“I understood that eventually.”
“The flour accelerated your education.”
“Considerably.”
I waited.
He continued.
“I treated you like a problem that could be solved with money.”
“Yes.”
“And then I kept coming back without asking whether my presence made things difficult for you.”
“That part didn’t.”
His eyes lifted.
I immediately regretted answering so quickly.
“What part did?”
“You.”
“That is vague.”
“Good.”
A small smile.
I hated his smiles.
Mostly because I no longer hated them.
“I don’t want an arrangement with you,” he said.
My pulse jumped.
“Good.”
“I don’t want you pretending.”
“Also good.”
“I don’t want Sophia deciding anything.”
“Excellent.”
His gaze stayed on mine.
“I would like to take you to dinner.”
I stared.
He waited.
No amount offered.
No manipulation.
No assumption.
A question.
“You’re asking?”
“Yes.”
“And I can say no?”
His mouth curved.
“I’ve learned you can say no under almost any circumstances.”
“Good.”
“Is that a no?”
I thought about it.
Longer than I needed to.
“Not yet.”
His expression shifted.
“Meaning?”
“Ask me Friday.”
He stared at me.
“Why Friday?”
“Because I want three days to decide whether liking you is temporary insanity.”
“I can accept that.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“That sentence is becoming familiar.”
He left with his coffee.
Friday morning, Roman came at eight fifteen.
Exactly.
He waited in line.
There were seven people ahead of him.
He did not buy their pastries.
He did not complain.
When he reached the counter, I handed him coffee.
He paid.
Exact change.
Then he asked, “Dinner?”
“Yes.”
He blinked.
It was immensely satisfying.
“You could pretend not to be surprised.”
“I expected a longer negotiation.”
“You’re terrible at negotiating.”
He smiled.
I pointed at him.
“Don’t steal my lines.”
Our first date lasted four hours.
No guards inside the restaurant.
No private room.
No intimidating displays of importance.
Roman chose a small Italian place owned by a family friend but apparently resisted the urge to have the entire restaurant emptied.
I appreciated that.
We talked about everything except his reputation.
His father.
My bakery.
Lily.
My mother.
His habit of solving everyone’s problems.
My habit of never asking for help.
At dessert, I finally asked.
“What exactly is the family business?”
Roman put down his fork.
“I wondered when you’d ask.”
“I’ve asked before. You avoided answering.”
“I did.”
“And now?”
He considered it carefully.
“My father built several legitimate businesses in construction, hospitality and freight. He also inherited relationships from a generation when those lines were not always clean.”
“That is the most diplomatic sentence I’ve ever heard.”
“I practiced.”
“Are you a criminal?”
His gaze remained steady.
“No.”
I believed he understood exactly what I was asking.
He continued.
“There are people who associate my family name with things I did not choose and do not participate in.”
“Why let people keep thinking it?”
“Sometimes reputation prevents conversations I don’t want.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“It is.”
“And lonely.”
That surprised him.
I continued.
“People can’t know you if you let them fill in the blanks with whatever scares them most.”
Roman looked down.
“You’re very annoying.”
“Thank you.”
“I meant it sincerely.”
“So did I.”
He told me more.
May you like
Not dramatic secrets.
Complicated ones.
