Roman wanted to get shit-faced and forget about what he'd done, but wasn't in the mood. Liquor wouldn't solve anything. When he sobered up, he'd still be the one who'd allowed Zoya's wicked step-mother to find her. The question now—what to do about it? Marry her?
Maybe it wouldn't be such a big deal. It could be short term. That's all she needed. An eight-month union and then she'd divorce him. That way, she'd save face. It'd be perfectly acceptable. The rich girl finally came to her senses and realized she'd had a lapse in judgement concerning an ex-con. Plenty of uppity girls liked to slum. Typical behavior for an affluent twenty-four-year-old.
Why had the PI even mentioned marriage? Why was he waiting two days to report? He'd said he didn't like his client much, but he was risking a lot. If the woman found out he'd given Zoya time to disappear again, then he'd lose his fee. Something wasn't right about that guy. It was almost like he had a conscience and cared.
Roman knocked back his second shot, then called it a night. He'd go home and fix this mess. Besides, he'd promised to take care of her—keep her safe. And he always kept his word.
When Roman got home, he breathed a sigh of relief. Zoya's car was still there. Not that she'd leave before he got back. She knew him well enough to know he'd need time to wrap his brain around the situation. Besides, she had two days before anything happened. Unless Landry had lied, which was a strong possibility. For some reason, Roman believed the guy.
He got out and took the porch in three steps, then opened the door. "Zoya!"
No answer. His heart kicked up a notch. Hurrying down the hall, he called again. Still no response. Inside the master suite, he rushed to the closet. Her things—gone. He checked the bathroom. Toothbrush, makeup, every personal item—cleared out. Dammit. He hurried to his truck and peeled out toward Mariana's.
She was closing up the shop as he pulled into the drive. "Hey!" he shouted as he climbed from his seat. "Zoya here?"
Mariana turned to look at him and he didn't like her expression. She'd been crying. "What's wrong? You and Flynn have a fight?"
"No. Zoya is gone. Took my car." She reached inside her pocket and pulled out the envelope. "She left this for you."
Roman grabbed the note, ripped it open, and stared down at the single sheet of paper.
Please tell Mariana everything and give her my car. We agreed on an even trade. It's in Charamel's name, so you'll have to transfer the title.
Zoya
She couldn't have said "Fuck You" better if she'd spelled it out. No goodbye. I'll call. Thanks for everything. "Where'd she go?"
Mariana shook her head. "I don't know. Not sure she did either. What's going on, Roman? She'd been crying and wouldn't take time to explain anything."
He folded the note and stuck it in his pocket along with the PI's card from earlier and began the story leaving out how it was his fault they'd found her and how he could have saved her. When he finished, Mariana placed her hand to her throat. "St. Clair Steel. Flynn's job. She did that for him. For us." She fisted her hand and pounded Roman's chest, smearing motor oil on his shirt. He couldn't bring himself to care. "Why did you leave? You should have known she'd panic."
"We had time. I didn't think she'd do anything without talking to me. Fuck. How long?"
"Over an hour. You'll never catch up to her. Besides, we don't know which direction she went. Go home, Roman. She promised me she'd call to let me know she was okay. When she does, I'll try to find out where she is."
He climbed into the truck, but Mariana wasn't finished because she followed and leaned against the fender. "She made a joke about marriage. What was that about?"
He ran his hand over his face. "The guy said if she was married, her step-mother wouldn't be a threat."
Mariana groaned. "Damn you, Roman, you idiot. Why didn't you offer to marry her? It's not a damn big deal if it helps her from being committed."
"If it came to that, I would have. She should have waited. We could have worked this out. I could have protected her. When she calls, tell her that."
"Yeah. Like it'll make a difference now." Mariana turned and stomped into the house.
When Roman returned home, he decided getting shit-faced was a good idea, so he broke out the whiskey. No need for a glass, he'd drink straight from the bottle. He headed to the back deck, shoved his sunglasses on, and plopped down onto the chaise.
Okay, maybe he wasn't clear about his need to get drunk. Hell, he had plenty of reasons. He took a long pull on the bottle and felt the burn. Letting Zoya stay. That'd been his first mistake. He should have kicked her ass out the next morning.
He turned the bottle up again. Going to that fucking banquet. Seeing her in that dress. Hating the way that boy had his hands on her. Shit. Another drink and Roman would feel better.
If he'd just not gone to that website. His biggest regret. But if she'd just been honest with him. No. This wasn't all his fault. She should have waited. Running off didn't prove anything. No way she was safer out there on her own than being here with him. He slugged another gulp. Jack Daniels might not fix everything, but it could sure as hell get him through the night.
"Roman! Wake up!"
The voice came from far away and Roman tried to open his eyes but only managed to squint. God, it was dark. And wet. Where the hell was he?
"Help me get him up," Flynn said.
"Damn, Roman. What got into you? It's pouring out here." Ophelia asked.
Roman's head weaved. Hell, hell, the gang's all her. I mean...here. Shit. It's raining and Zoya may be afraid. Damn her. She needs to be here. Where he could make her feel safe. His lids fluttered, but he couldn't get his eyes to roll down. "Oh, hey, O."
"Shit, we're gonna have to drag him in the house," Flynn said.
Roman tried to raise his arms, but they were too heavy. Rain must have soaked me to the bone. "Just give me a minute. I'll get up."
They tugged him forward, and he opened his eyes. "See, I can do it by myself."
"No, you can't. Shit, Roman."
He looked up at Flynn and slurred his words. "What day is it? I thought you were in Baton Rouge breaking up with bachelorette number one."
"Yeah, how'd that go," Ophelia asked Flynn.
"Easier than I thought. Once I told her about Tommy and how I planned to get partial custody, she said that was a deal breaker and handed me my ring and called me every name in the book for embarrassing her in the society pages. Didn't even shed a tear."
"Her or you?" Roman said.
"Her, you fucking moron. Now, on three, we're pulling your sorry ass up and getting you inside. One. Two. Three."
A minute later, they let go of him and he fell onto the couch.
"I've been on the road all day," Flynn said. "Then I come home to this shit. She's gone, Roman, and she's not coming back. You're going to have to suck it up and go on with life. You understand?"
"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Flynn. She is coming back, because if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to find her."
Ophelia and Flynn shared a look. "Of course you are, big brother."
Zoya rinsed her hair, then raked her fingers through it. The blond staring back at her from the mirror would take some getting used to.
Just as Zoya planned, by now, Mariana's car had probably been stolen. Even the taxi driver had warned Zoya about being in that part of town. She'd used the excuse her jerk of a boyfriend had dumped her there. Thank goodness the cab arrived minutes after she'd parked. The dark street had given her the creeps.
Pulling peanut butter and crackers from her bag, she used her finger to rake a glob from the jar onto the saltine. She took a bite and washed it down with water. She knew from experience she could live on the two items for days. She'd done it before, and she could do it again.
She replaced the lid on the jar, twisted the paper around the crackers, and reminded herself to forget the past. She needed to concentrate on the future and for now, this room was it.
Motel 6 wasn't fancy, but it was clean and they accepted cash. She'd liked the cab driver so much, she'd asked him to come back in the morning to take her to the bus station. It was a risk. He'd notice her new hair color. But she figured if he believed her story about the abusive boyfriend, then changing her looks and leaving town made sense.
She walked to the window and stared out. Not much of a view. A parking lot with the motel sign flashing no vacancy. Desk clerk told her she'd gotten the last room. Things were falling into place which convinced her she'd done the right thing. The fear of starting over squeezed the air from her lungs, but there was also a sense of relief. No more lying to people she'd grown fond of. By now, Mariana knew the truth. Soon, Ophelia, Lemon, and Flynn would know. Then they might all hate her because friendship was based on honesty and that was the one thing she couldn't afford.
She ate her last cracker, brushed her teeth, and settled onto the scratchy sheets. If only the PI hadn't found her, she'd be curled next to Roman listening to his steady breathing. She dug her fingernails into her palms, the pain taking her thoughts. No. No more dreaming about a man she'd never have. A guy who'd never love her. Instead, she forced her mind to Homer. What she'd give to have him with her. But traveling by bus made it impossible to bring him. With that final thought, she drifted to sleep.
The next morning, Zoya got up early. She'd eaten more peanut butter and crackers for breakfast, then finished her remaining bottle of water. She should be in Austin by noon and hopefully have an apartment by the end of the day.
All the way to the bus station, the cab driver, Milford, supported her decision to leave the bad relationship. He and his wife had been together for fifteen years and he saw no reason for a man to mistreat a woman no matter what.
The biggest surprise was how easily those lies spilled out. During the last three years, she'd gotten good at avoiding the truth. Easier with strangers, but still, it shouldn't be so effortless. Come Christmas, she'd go back to being Dove St. Clair. Truthful to a fault. Zoya. How she'd loved how the name rolled off Roman's tongue. Dammit. She didn't want to think about his tongue. Big lie. She did want to think about it. How it felt in her mouth and other places. The sensation she got when he wrapped her in his arms. She'd felt so small. So safe.
Maybe she'd legally change her name on her birthday. She had liked being Zoya. Zoya St. Clair had a ring to it.
Taking a deep breath, she looked out the window at the passing landscape. Not much to see on the Interstate. Cars whizzing by. Everyone in a hurry to get somewhere. So was she and in another couple of hours, she'd reinvent herself one more time. She'd keep Zoya.
Zoya Sky, maybe.
Austin artist.
Hasn't even been a day and Roman already falling off the rails.
TEASER: "No. But I wanted to be prepared."
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