Page 94 of Sapphire Storm

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The first few days after Roman’s arrival, Diana’spublicist had taken a dozen photos of him lounging around the house, thenanother batch of him and Rachel walking the gardens together as a hand-holding,happy couple. He figured they were posting them to his social media accounts duringthe run-up to the wedding. A smart move on their part, since he might haverefused to pose for any after the blowup following his interview.

But it left Roman with blessed little to do during the finalweeks of his captivity.

He worked up a sweat in the villa’s state-of-the-art gym,occasionally convinced the security guards to accompany him off the property sohe could go for a hike himself, and relieved himself each night to fantasiesthat he was back in Ethan’s arms as they rode ocean swells or slept peacefullyhigh above San Diego Harbor.

In the hours left over, he did something he’d never donebefore—he kept a journal.

It wasn’t a daily chronicle of his life in Provence.Instead, he filled it with various versions of an exercise one of his fellowtrainers at Apex had taught him years before. Gratitude lists, she’d calledthem. Lists of all the things in your life, ranging from the tiny to the grand,that you were grateful for—the beauty of a sunset you’d witnessed the nightbefore, the fact that both your legs were in good working order, the taste of awarm croissant in the morning. Only the lists he made this time all had thesame focus—his mother.

He detailed all the gifts, both large and small, she’d givenhim over the years—from the way she’d picked him up from school every day,never one minute late, to the used car she’d found for him at a steal once hegot his license. The lists made his vision of his own past expand and growwarmer.

And if Diana got her hands on the damn thing and dared toflip through its pages, she’d simply be reminded of how much he’d come todespise her.

But as they neared the end of their stay, his chief captorspent less and less time at the villa. Shopping trips to various Europeancities. Jetting off to Paris to get fitted for her dress for the wedding. Hecaught a glimpse of the design, a strapless gold ball gown that puddled likedrapes and came with a matching wrap. Intended, no doubt, to upstage herdaughter and remind everyone who the real star was.

Halfway over the Atlantic, he was drifting off whilewatching a movie on one of the private plane’s built-in screens—she’d stilldenied him the use of personal devices—when he heard his mother’s voicespeaking to him from someplace between dreams and memory.

You know, Ron. You’re going to have a wedding of yourown someday.The memory came back to him clear and vivid for the firsttime in years, no doubt stirred up by all the writing he’d done.

Freshman year of college he’d made his first rich friendsince leaving Scarsdale as a child, a girl from San Francisco who lived in hisdorm at Cal Poly and happened to be the daughter of tech billionaires. She’dasked him to be her platonic plus one for another rich friend’s wedding at theFlood Mansion in Pacific Heights. He’d never been to San Francisco or a fancywedding, and his mom reacted as if he’d gotten an engraved invitation from thequeen of England. She’d excitedly ordered him to make the four-hour drive homeso she could outfit him with a good rental. Then, when they arrived at thestore, she’d surprised him with the news that she was going to buy him a tuxedoinstead.

Never the most physically affectionate, once they’d foundthe right one and the tailor had marked it for alterations and loaded it upwith pins, she’d primped him endlessly, adjusting the jacket and cummerbundwith little bursts of fussy pride. Petting him like a puppy. He didn’t mind.Lucy Russo was always happiest when fully engaged in a task. Focus and exertionrelaxed her. The source of his restless nature, no doubt.

“You know, Ron,” she’d said to him, her big brown eyesbeaming up at him as he stood atop the fitting platform. “You’re going to havea wedding of your own someday.”

The topic sent prickles of tension racing up his neck.

He’d come out to her awkwardly and abruptly around the endof high school, mainly because she wouldn’t stop asking if he and Nicki Garciawere more than friends since they spent so much time together. Finally, he’dblurted out that he couldn’t be interested in Nicki that way because Nickiwasn’t a boy. He’d been living in fear that his gayness put him in a terribleleague with the dad who’d derailed their lives. Blurting it out the way he’ddone had only made him feel worse. So what if his mother had simply nodded and said,“Well, all I want is for you to be happy, Ron. You know that.”

He’d thanked her and made a hasty exit, but since then, theconversation had felt perpetually unfinished. He’d shared nothing with herabout the few guys he’d dated—more like hooked up with—at college. So when thesubject of weddings came up in the tuxedo store that day, his throat had gonequickly dry. “Yeah, I’m not sure I want to spend it in a monkey suit like this,Ma.”

“Monkey suit? Come on, now. You look handsome as a prince inthis thing. Although, you keep at it with the weights and you’ll be bulging outall over the place like the Incredible Hulk. We might have to take it out orsomething.”

He’d laughed, and she’d started fastening the bowtie aroundhis neck. “Seriously, though,” she’d said, “what kind of wedding do you want?”

“Nothing this fancy. Something outside, probably.”

“Outside,” she’d whispered, shaking her head. “Huge shock.”

“I’ll have an umbrella for you, though. ’Cause I know howyou are about the sun.”

“How about a tent? Most people go for a tent.”

“Deal,” he’d said.

She’d nodded and stepped back to admire the completeensemble.

“I mean, you’ll be there, right? For real?” he’d asked.There’d been a catch in his voice as he’d said it. It had felt like he’dstepped out to the edge of a cliff without a parachute. “Even if I marry aguy.”

When her eyes had shot to his, he’d feared she’d storm out.Instead, she’d taken a step toward him and placed her hand on his cheek. “Iwant you to have whatever wedding you want, to whoever you want. And I’ll bethere with bells on no matter who it is. Unless he’s a freakin’ serial killeror something.” When she’d kissed him on the cheek, it had felt suddenly likehis messy little coming out scene had resolved itself. Then, quickly, she’dadded, “Although, honestly, I don’t think you’re ever going to stay still longenough to get hitched, Restless Ronnie.”

He’d laughed.

Forty thousand feet over Greenland, he laughed again. Thenhe remembered he was destined for a wedding he didn’t want, and his laughterdied.

They chased the sunset across the Atlantic, then most ofNorth America, and by the time they touched down at John Wayne Airport, there wasstill pale light in the sky. On the tarmac, two different SUVs greeted them, theexcuse being that Diana’s dress, which had been hanging in the back of theplane for the entire flight, needed to lie flat across the backseat. But he wasgrateful for the separation.

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