Page 126 of If You Love Me

“Have some toast. I’ll get your phone for you.” He kisses me on the cheek and disappears down the hall.

My appetite has disappeared, but I take a bite of toast, aware that going in with an empty stomach won’t help. I’ve eaten half a slice when Roman reappears with my clutch. As expected, I have an email from Vander Zee and Fielding citing a meeting this morning.

“We’ll do this together, Lexi. They won’t divide and conquer.” His conviction grounds me.

“We present a united front. There’s no more hiding. We tell them the truth and own the choice. They can disapprove, but we’re legally married, and they can’t take that away from us.” I worry my bottom lip. This morning won’t be easy.

He takes my hand. “You freaking out?”

“A little, yeah,” I say honestly.

“Do you regret marrying me?” he asks gently.

“No. Of course not. This won’t be a comfortable conversation, and I’m at peace with that and my decisions.” Regardless ofhow this impacts my career moving forward, he’s what matters most. “But my biggest worry is how it will affect you, and the rest of the team, and what it could mean for the end of your final season. I don’t want your legacy in the hockey world to be overshadowed by this.”

“My hockey legacy has nothing on marrying the love of my life. As for the team, they’re my family, and they might have some feelings about this, but we back each other up.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “We should get ready so we can deal with this.”

Roman moves the lap tray for me and refrains from commenting on the mostly full plate.

“Roman?”

When his eyes lift, I see his love for me. “What is it, angel?”

“I would have married you any day. You’re more important than this job. I’d trade it all to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He crosses the room and with strong hands and a delicate touch, he tips my chin up. “I would do the same for you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” His lips are a balm filled with promises only our souls know.

I disappear into the bathroom to shower. Roman is already dressed by the time I'm done, and my outfit is laid out on the bed. It’s my standard tracksuit for ice practice. Roman helps me into my clothes, then turns me around and expertly french braids my hair. It settles me in a way only he can.

He presses a kiss to the side of my neck. “Tonight, we can work out some of this nervous energy.”

“Something to look forward to.”

He links his fingers with mine and I follow him through the penthouse, taking in the massive space as we go. I slip my feet into my shoes and, hands still joined, we take the elevator to the parking garage.

Roman, ever the gentleman outside of the bedroom, opensthe door for me and helps me in. Then he takes his place behind the wheel.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he shifts the car into gear.

“Like I’m going to vomit,” I admit. The toast I ate sits like gravel. The unknowns are scary, but he’s my one constant.

He leans over and kisses my temple. “Everything will be okay.”

What will my future look like? I don’t want to start our life together unemployed. I don’t want to end up like my mother, who always had to rely on her partner to provide financial stability. There will be other opportunities, though. Other paths I can take if I need to.

He pulls into the parking lot at the head office. Regardless of Roman’s assurances and my mental pep talks, my stomach still feels like it’s trying to turn itself inside out. “Lexi.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m with you on this. You’re not alone, and you never will be again.”

“I love you so much,” I whisper.

“And I love you.” He presses a kiss to my lips before he gets out of the car.

I meet him at the hood and fall into step beside him. My mouth is dry, and my heart is a drum in my chest. I rub my rings as we step into the elevator.

We don’t speak as we watch the numbers climb. I’m sweaty and anxious by the time we reach our floor. But I roll my shoulders back and channel confidence I don’t feel, as Roman’s fingers press lightly into the dip in my spine, and we walk down the hall together.

The scarlet letter on my forehead is burning. Shilpa, who is carrying a file folder and a sleeve of crackers, frowns as we approach each other. She’s always been kind to me. Professional and polite in the office, and chatty and friendly when we’re at the Watering Hole. But she’s the team attorney, and currently she looks less than impressed.

“Morning, Shilpa,” Roman says jovially, like we’re not about to drop a giant bomb on the head office.

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