Work Text:
Summer 1996
“It’s all bullshit,” Dad says, leaning back against the railing of the boat.
“But at school they said-,” Roman starts.
Dad shakes his head and sighs. “Fucking hell,” he mutters. “I get that you’re finding it difficult, son. You want to be like the others.”
Roman looks over to the deckchairs, with Kendall and Shiv and Connor…all bare wrists, no soulmates for them.
“I don’t care about that,” Roman says, pushing up his chest.
Dad smiles.
It’s true. He doesn’t want to be like stupid Kendall and Shiv and Connor. But…
“Don’t you want me to find my soulmate?” Roman asks. “How am I supposed to find my soulmate if I’m always wearing this?”
Roman twists at the cuff on his left wrist, fabric scratching at the black and white soulmark etched into his skin below. Not everybody with a soulmate wears one. There’s Mark at school, Jenny, and Mrs Marshall and none of them have to wear a stupid cuff. They just wear their soulmarks proudly for anyone to see.
“People are fucks,” Dad says. “You think, what? One day you’ll meet a nice girl who’ll gasp and go, ‘Me too?’.” Dad shakes his head.
“Maybe. It could happen,” Roman says, and he feels the longing in his chest.
“Don’t be stupid,” Dad says. “People want money or power. A bit of makeup on their wrist, they’ll have you believing anything.”
“They wouldn’t…” But the thing is, Roman is already familiar with the way money can buy you many things, including people.
“That’s why the cuff never comes off,” Dad says, tapping his own cuff with the fingers of his right hand. “Not even when a woman swears up and down she’ll never tell. Pick someone to fuck…but don’t buy into the bullshit.”
Roman sighs and looks away. “Okay,” he says. “I understand.”
Dad snorts. “About time,” he says.
*
27 Years Later
Roman closes his eyes and suddenly he’s back there; the press of bodies, arms around him, his head crunching into the asphalt. The pain.
“Are you okay, darling?” Mom asks.
Roman opens his eyes, blinking in the late afternoon sun. “Fine, Mom,” Roman says.
“‘Cause you look a little…eh.” Mom waves her hand around in the air.
“I. Am. Just. Perfect,” Roman says.
“Hmmm, well, Peter and I are leaving for a bit,” she says. “We’re going to head down to the beach. Do you want to come?”
“I’d rather cut off my own dick,” Roman says.
Mom sighs. “Do you have to be so vulgar darling? We just wanted you to know,” she says, from the doorway to the patio.
“And now I know,” Roman says. He pulls up his shades, and rests them on the top of his head. It’s a little painful on his stitches, but nothing he can’t handle.
“Bye-bye,” Mom says, then she turns around and is gone.
Roman picks up his phone, spinning it around in his hand for a moment before unlocking it and swiping right for news. First item; ‘Why are the younger Roys so awful? Did you see the speeches at Logan’s funeral? ’ and there’s the footage, Roman front and center, crying all over dear dead Dad. Stupid algorithms…but it’s hard to look away, and before he knows it, he’s watched the video three times. Four times. Five times. Him, crying. Kendall holding him. Everyone watching…it’s weird. It makes him feel strange.
Roman flicks over to all the unread messages.
“Come on bro, just let me know what’s up,” Kendal writes.
“Roman, where are you? Are you alright?” Shiv asks.
Roman almost wants to laugh. He might be a mess right now, but he’s not stupid; they just want him confirmed for the board meeting. No thanks. Not interested right now.
He scrolls through the rest of the unread messages, until…is that Gerri? Roman shakes his head a couple of times to make sure he’s really seeing it. But yep, that’s Gerri. Why the fucking fuck is she texting him about anything?
“How are you doing?”
It’s completely generic and non-descript, probably on purpose, to give nothing away. But after their last conversation, why is she even talking to him at all? Roman’s fingers hover over the call button. This is a bad idea. Like, if he can tell it’s a bad idea, then it must be a fucking stupid idea.
He presses the call button and presses the phone to his ear.
“Roman? Is that you?” Gerri asks.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he says.
“Where are you? Everyone’s been looking for you.”
“Oh, I’m around,” he says.
“No, you’re not,” Gerri says. “Not in New York, you’re not. I…the last we heard, you were at the hospital.”
“Aw, were you worried about me?” he wheedles.
Gerri sighs. “Why would I be worried?” she says, and then pauses, and sighs. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“Oooh, does this go against your little plan, the one where you show my dick pics to the world?”
“I’m hanging up,” Gerri says, and Roman feels a burst of panic at the words. It’s stupid. Why does Gerri make him feel like this?
“I’m at Mom’s house,” Roman confesses.
“What?” Gerri says.
“You were wondering where I am.” Roman slumps a little into his seat. “That’s where I am.”
“And the hospital?” Gerri asks. “Were you…”
“Just a bump to the old noggin,” Roman says. “And the eye. Some stitches.”
“But you’re okay?” she asks, and Roman laughs. He laughs and laughs because there’s nothing else he can do. He doesn’t know how to react to this. How do people react to their Dad’s death? Not like this.
“I mean, I killed my Dad…so…and I fucked everything up”
“Roman…” Gerri says.
“What? What?” he says, voice getting louder. He feels out of control. “Look, I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says. “Why did I call you? This was fucking moronic.”
Gerri says nothing.
“Well, aren’t you going to agree? Tell me what a piece of shit I am?” he says. “A disgusting, piece of shit.”
Gerri pauses. “Your Mom’s house…” she says slowly.
“Yeah, the one in Barbados,” Roman reveals. “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to see them.”
“You just told me,” Gerri points out.
“Uh, no I didn’t,” Roman lies.
“You literally just did,” Gerri says.
Roman tries to imagine it…Gerri showing up here in her suit and her fancy shoes and her perfect hair. It’s hard to process, and Roman runs a hand through his hair and flinches at the pain.
Gerri sighs. “Roman…”
“I know, I know,” Roman says. “I mean, I’m doing fine. I have Mom and Peter.”
“Well, that’s good,” Gerri says. “That’s good.”
“Yeah,” Roman says. “Yeah.”
“I won’t tell anybody,” she promises.
And okay, Gerri’s being nice. That’s weird. Really fucking weird. “Yeah, okay, thanks, bye,” Roman says and hangs up.
*
But Mom and Peter don’t return for dinner so Roman eats alone and then heads off to the guest room. It’s a nice room--if a little plain--and he strips out of his clothes and then flops backwards onto the covers, relaxing there for a moment, idly stroking his dick. Bored. Boring. Everything is boring. Maybe it's time for some porny porn porn?
Roman starts to jerk off, going from video to video, but it’s not quite hitting the spot…and then suddenly his mind turns to Gerri and their call earlier. It makes him feel kinda weird and lonely, but he has his cock in one hand, phone in the other and it only takes a second to swap over to the photo app. He snaps a pic; perfect. Before he can think better of it, he swipes upward to add some text to it.
‘Thinking of you. One more to add to the collection,’ he writes and taps send. He throws the phone off to the side and imagines Gerri somewhere, maybe in her pyjamas…her phone buzzing…oh God, it’s so fucking hot. And that’s it, game over, Roman is cumming all over himself.
Shit. He reaches for a tissue, cleans himself up and once he’s done, he turns off the light and climbs under the covers. He sneaks a peak at his phone as he does so, but there’s no response. Not that Gerri’s ever responded to any of his dick pics…but still.
He curls up onto his side and closes his eyes. It’s a good thing that jerking off always makes him sleepy. He cracks an eye open and checks his phone again…still nothing. Oh well. Time for sleep.
*
“Roman darling, you have a guest,”
“Ugh, Mom, I’m still sleeping,” Roman says. It makes him feel like a teenager. Not that she ever woke him up like this as a teenager.
“Well you do,” she says. “Just showed up. Someone called Gerri. I didn’t realise anyone knew you were here,” Mom adds.
Roman sits up at that. “Gerri? She’s here?”
“Yes," Mom says. "I don’t know why, you’ll have to ask her. She’s waiting outside.”
“Right, yeah, of course,” Roman says. “I’ll just…” he waves at his clothes.
“Yes,” Mom says and backs out of the room.
Roman scrambles into his clothes in record time and then checks himself over in the mirror, pulling faces as he imagines meeting Gerri. What will he say?
“Hey, how are you?” he mouths in the mirror. Cool. Casual. Will it work? Maybe…maybe…
*
Roman rounds the corner to the entranceway, and yep, there’s Gerri. He does the maths and she must have left New York sometime in the middle of the night. Right when he sent the dick pic. Crap.
Roman walks up slowly and holds out his hand. “Heeeyyyyyy, how are you?”
Gerri looks at him like he’s grown a second head.
“Roman,” she says.
“Gerri…” Roman replies. “What are you doing here?”
“We have some business to go over, the upcoming board vote,” Gerri says, coldly, and she flicks a glance over Roman’s shoulder.
Roman turns and sees Mom there, watching. “Uh, yeah, right,” Roman says.
“Do you have somewhere we can talk?” Gerri asks.
“Sure,” Roman says. “Why don’t we go down by the pool?” he suggests.
“Fine,” Gerri says.
Roman nods at Mom.
“Don’t forget to get breakfast, dear,” Mom says.
“I’m not hungry,” Roman says.
*
“I have to tell you, if this is some sort of play…” Gerri starts as they make their way down to the pool. She twists the cuff on her wrist this way and that.
“Oh, it’s definitely a play,” Roman says. “But just so we’re clear, what exactly-,”
“I think you know,” Gerri says and sits down on a pool chair near one of the umbrellas. Roman sits down opposite her.
“Right,” Roman says, awkwardly.
“But I want to know how,” she says. “How you found out.”
Roman shrugs. He still has no idea what’s going on.
“I’ve always been careful,” she says. “Especially with work. Work trips. And you got it so accurate?” She laughs, a little bitter. “I’m almost impressed. What do you want?”
Roman thinks about it. What does he want? He looks out across the pool, to the sparkling sea beyond, and suddenly he’s just had enough.
“Look, as much as this is all…you know, super fun and flirty…my Dad just died and I feel beat to shit. Why don’t we just start from the assumption that I have no idea what you’re talking about?”
Gerri eyes him, dubious. “Okay, fine,” she says. “If that’s the way you want to play it.”
She gets out her phone, swipes this way and that, and then turns it to face him. Roman squints in the sun…but yep, that’s his dick.
“Okay,” Roman says. “Yep, that’s my schlong.”
Gerri sighs. “Not that,” she says. “Your hand. The one holding your…schlong.”
Roman looks a little closer, staring at his hand…and then he sees it. Oh crap. Crap, crap, crap. Fucking shit. Because no cuff, there’s his soulmark completely visible for anybody to see.
“Jesus,” he says, and he feels a burst of shame. And now Gerri…Gerri has it. Oh God, he is now completely screwed. His right hand automatically goes to his cuff and squeezes tightly, as if that will somehow erase the photo in front of him.
“Uh, please don’t sell my soulmark to the papers?” Roman suggests.
Gerri pulls her phone back and puts it away. And she just looks at him for a few moments.
“What?” Roman says. “You want me to beg? Pretty please?”
“Take off your cuff,” she says.
“What?” Roman says. “No way.” He shrinks back.
“Or I could up my request from fucking millions, to fucking you don’t even want to know,” Gerri says.
“Okay, fine, fine. Jesus.”
Roman places his left hand on the table, feeling his breathing speeding up. Fear? Arousal? Both? “But…really? Couldn’t we just, I don’t know, go somewhere and fuck instead?”
Gerri’s face is like stone.
“Okay, okay,” he says and slowly unbuckles the straps of his cuff until his wrist is bare for anyone to see.
He looks around but there’s no one in sight, it’s just him and Gerri. Thank God. Roman stares at the swirling pattern on his wrist; he hasn’t really looked at it in years. The tan lines above and below where he always wears his cuff, the way the tiny hairs on his wrist have been rubbed away by the leather.
“Happy?” Roman says, but he can’t quite meet Gerri’s eyes. “Can I put it back on now?”
“Roman,” Gerri says. “Why do you think I came here?”
“I don’t know,” Roman says. “I mean, I haven’t had much time to think about it. I literally just woke up,” he says. “And to be honest, I have a pounding headache.”
Gerri’s eyes soften. Just slightly.
“Well, I’ll show you,” she says. And then to Roman’s astonishment, she’s unbuckling her own cuff.
“Ooh, saucy-,”
“Shut up,” Gerri says. “Just shut up, Roman. Why couldn’t you have kept your soulmark tucked away where it belongs?”
And then her wrist is bare too. Roman doesn’t know where to look. He’s not looking at her wrist, her soulmark, he’s not…but then he sneaks a peak. And then another one. And then…hang on, that soulmark… Roman looks down at his own wrist. And then back at Gerri. And then back at his own wrist.
His heart jumps all over the place. “Bullshit,” he murmurs. “You saw my photo and you…makeup or a tattoo, or something?”
Gerri just looks at him.
And okay, maybe that isn’t exactly in character for Gerri.
“You really are just an idiot aren’t you?” she says. “It wasn’t a play. You sent me your soulmark by accident because you were horny and couldn’t control yourself.”
“Um, maybe,” Roman admits.
“I don’t need this,” Gerri mutters, looking down at her own soulmark. “I’m fucking 64, I have my own life. I’m happy.”
“Oh really?” Roman says. “You’re happy?”
“Yes, Roman,” she says. “Believe me, my life does not revolve around you.”
She reaches for her cuff and buckles it up again, and Roman does the same. It’s hard not to feel downhearted. Your soulmate doesn’t want you, a voice inside his head whispers, somewhere deep down.
“Oh, stop looking so sorry for yourself,” she says, shaking her head.
“What?” Roman says. “This is just my face.”
“Right.”
“So…what do we do now?” Roman asks.
“I don’t know, Roman,” she says. “Believe it or not, I’ve never done this before.” Roman looks her up and down, her suit slightly crumpled. She looks tired.
“Did you sleep on the plane?” he asks.
“A little,” she admits. “I kept going back and forth on whether you were fucking with me or not. But…I’ve always been careful at work, there’s really no way you could’ve known,” she says. “Somewhere, I think I knew that.”
Roman’s stomach grumbles loudly and he glares at his stomach as if that will make it shut up.
“Maybe we should get some food,” Gerri suggests.
*
“There’s nothing,” Roman says, shutting the fridge door. “I think Mom and Peter just go out to eat; I had a sandwich yesterday but there’s no chicken left. Where are the fucking staff?”
“We could go out?” Gerri suggests.
Roman feels his heart speeding up with anxiety. “I don’t think-,” he starts. “I mean, looking like this?” He gestures at his head. “All messed up and-,”
“Roman, it’s okay,” Gerri puts a hand on his arm. “We won’t go out,” she says. “Let me have a look in the fridge.”
Roman steps to the side and Gerri takes over.
“What do you mean, there’s nothing?” she says. “What about these?” She pulls out a box of eggs. “And you said there was bread, didn’t you? Egg sandwiches?”
“Eggs, though,” Roman complains. “Ugh. Who likes eggs? And we’ll have to figure out the cooker and…” He trails off at Gerri’s expression. “We can figure out the cooker,” he mutters.
“You get the bread,” Gerri says, “I’ll do the eggs,” she says, taking the eggs and butter out of the fridge.
Roman squats down by one of the cupboards and pulls out the bread that he had yesterday. “Yes Mom,” he says, to a few sizzling sounds as Gerri cracks the eggs into the pan.
Roman takes out the bread, starts to butter it, and they fall into a companionable silence. The butter is rock hard and almost impossible to spread, but Roman does his best and the repetitive task is relaxing. Once he’s done he grabs a couple of plates and then hovers a few feet away from the stove.
“Sunny side up,” Gerri says.
Roman puts on a British accent. “Oh yes please, I’m so looking forward to my egg sandwiches, please sir, can I have some more?”
Gerri dishes up the eggs, cuts the sandwiches into triangles, and together they take the plates over to the table. They slide into seats next to each other and Roman takes a bite of his sandwich, sighing a little. It’s surprisingly good. He can’t remember the last time he had fried eggs in a sandwich…maybe never.
Gerri watches him eat.
“What? Do I have egg on my face?” he asks.
“No,” she says. “No.”
“So what’s the plan?” Roman asks between mouthfuls. It’s weird thinking about being soulmates. It’s a part of his life he’s written off for so long. Like the tooth fairy or the Easter bunny.
“I just don’t know,” Gerri says. “I mean, I’m leaving Waystar,” she says. “And I always assumed…plenty of people go their whole lives never meeting their soulmate.”
“You thought you would be one of them?”
“Maybe,” she says. “Baird didn’t have a soulmark. And we were happy enough.”
“You were?” Roman asks.
“Yes,” Gerri says. “You’ve had girlfriends. You understand.”
“Yeah,” Roman says, toying with the cuff at his wrist. Though somehow he doesn’t think it’s quite the same. He looks out of the window of the kitchen to the sky beyond, turned grey and stormy. They sit in silence for a few seconds.
“You can’t ask me to throw it all away,” Gerri says.
“Huh?”
“Millions of dollars, the settlement, all of it.”
“I have money,” Roman says. “Like, piles of the fucking stuff.”
“That’s not the point,” Gerri says.
“Oh really?” Roman says. “Then what is the point? You want us to ignore this and go our separate ways? Never see each other again?”
“Roman…”
“I know I fucked it,” he says. “I fucked everything. I fired you. I called my Dad…and then he died. I messed everything up with Mencken.” Roman gets up out of his chair and stalks over to the side of the room, resting both hands on the countertop. “If I hadn’t sent the pic, would you even be talking to me right now?” he asks.
“No,” Gerri admits.
Roman takes a deep breath. “I want this,” he blurts out, to the other side of the room. “I want it, like, so fucking bad.” It’s like a part of his life has always been stuffed away out of reach in a little box, and now it’s so close he can almost taste it.
“I know,” Gerri says. “But…what kind of future would we have together, really?” Behind him, he hears the scrape of a chair, as she comes to stand next to him.
Roman shrugs, feeling like almost a child.
“Look at me,” Gerri says.
Belligerently, Roman twists around to look at her. He can’t quite meet her eyes, so he stares at the top of her shoulders.
“Look at me,” Gerri repeats.
Slowly Roman raises his eyes.
“What do you want me to say?” he asks.
“This wouldn’t be…” Gerri says. “How would it work out for me?”
“I don’t know,” Roman says.
“Exactly,” Gerri says. “It’s not a matter of what I want.”
“So you do want…” Roman seizes onto her words as if she’s just thrown him a lifeline.
“Of course I’ve thought about it,” she says. “What it would be like to meet my soulmate. But there are practicalities to consider.”
“Is that really what you’re worried about?” Roman asks. It’s not that Gerri hasn’t always been focused on her own position…but… “You’re fucking smart as hell, whatever the practicalities are, I’m sure you can sort them.”
“I’m-,
“So really, it is just about what you want,” Roman says.
She sighs, but something in her eyes…she’s actually listening to him.
“I think…it’s more…” She opens her mouth and then closes it again. There’s a pause for several seconds. “Can I trust you?” she asks.
Roman sees it again in his mind's eye, the way he fired Gerri. Their arguments, refusing to listen to her advice…
“Fuck,” he says. It’s weird, it feels almost like he’s growing up. Not all the fucking way. Just a little. He meets Gerri’s eyes. “I don’t know,” he says. “But…I want to try.”
“Right,” she says.
Roman can’t help dropping his eyes to her lips, and he sways forward a little. After all this time, they still never…
“Not here,” Gerri says.
“Uh, what?” Roman asks, a little dazed.
“Practicalities. Anybody could walk in,” she says.
“Oh yeah,” Roman says. “I have a room.”
*
Roman leads them to his room, and then hovers by the doorway, anxiety ratcheting higher and higher, as Gerri walks over to the bed. Outside, with a whoosh that makes him jump, the sky opens up and there’s the patter of rain on the roof. Gerri sits down on the bed facing away from him and takes off her heels.
“Well?” she asks. “Are you coming?”
“That’s what she said,” Roman says, but he locks the door and walks over to her, heart jumping around like a kid who’s never touched a boob before. It’s ridiculous. He can do this. He can totally do this. His head throbs a little from the stitches, and suddenly he’s thinking about what Dad would say if he knew.
“You’re a fucking sicko,” he hears Dad say. “I always knew you were wrong, and this just proves it.”
“Roman?” Gerri asks.
“I…” He rocks backwards and forwards onto his toes. What is he even doing, trying to have this? It’s not going to work.
He looks down at the cuff on his wrist and imagines the lines etched into his skin below. It reminds him of being a kid, doodling in his room, tracing the lines and patterns…fantasising…but that was a long time ago now.
“I know historically things have always gone a certain way between us,” Gerri says. “But maybe we should talk and…”
Fuck talking, Roman thinks, and then in one quick move, takes off his shirt. “Yeah?” he says.
“Roman…”
Roman unbuckles his belt and pulls it out of his pants. He pulls his pants down and throws them onto the bed.
“Okay, stop there,” Gerri says, her voice stern, and Roman pauses with his hand on his boxers. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Roman feels his words stick in his throat, and he sways a little on his feet. “I…I…” God this is so embarrassing. He can’t even get any words out?
“What, you thought I would see you naked and just fall at your feet?” Gerri asks, and Roman can tell she’s a little amused.
“Maybe?” he says. His stomach is still churning.
Gerri shakes her head, disapprovingly. “Well, go on then.” She nods at his boxers. “You might as well do the rest,” She shrugs.
“I think I…”
“No, you started this,” Gerri says. “Go on,” she says and Roman can’t disobey.
He hooks his fingers into his boxers and pulls them down his leg and it feels weirdly vulnerable, even though Gerri’s right; it was his idea.
Gerri looks him up and down slowly. “The cuff too,” she adds.
Roman looks down at his wrist. “I don’t…” he says. “I mean…” and suddenly he seriously can’t do this. Like, he can’t do this at all. “I can’t…” he says. “I can’t…”
And then Dad’s back, with a disapproving stare that makes Roman want to fall through the floor. “You’re pathetic,” he hears. “Pathetic. ”
But through the haze, Gerri’s walking over to him, reaching out for his hand. He lets her take it, and she traces along the lines of his palm, towards the buckle of the cuff.
“Do you trust me?” she asks.
She runs her fingers over the black leather, tracing around the edge of the buckle, but then she stills, waiting. Waiting for him.
He wants to say yes. They’re soulmates…isn’t this supposed to be easy?
“I don’t know,” he says, finally. “I want to. But I don’t know how to do…” he gestures violently between them. “This.” He looks down at the cuff.
“That’s okay,” she says, and she lets his wrist go. “We can figure it out. There’s no rush,” she says, gently.
“There isn’t?” Roman says. He’s starting to feel a bit cold now, must be the aircon blowing at full blast.
“Of course not,” she says.
“Right,” he says. But we could still…can we…” Roman mimes fucking, and throws in the sign for a blowjob for good measure. He strokes his dick, once, twice.
“Roman, I haven’t slept in 30 hours and…” she starts, but his disappointment must show on his face because she relents. “Oh go on then,” she says, and there’s the hint of a fond smile before it disappears. “You incorrigible fuck. This is absolutely ridiculous. Can’t you control yourself?”
“I-,”
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”
Roman shakes his head.
“Nothing? It’s disgusting,” she says. “Here I am trying to rest and you’re bothering me with this?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, but his dick is getting harder and harder the more she speaks.
“Sorry’s not good enough,” she says. “Get on the bed right now and sort yourself out.”
Roman dives for the bed and props himself up on the pillows and starts jerking himself hard and fast. “Aren’t you going to undress?” he begs.
“No, I don’t think so,” she says. “You don’t need it, look at the state of you. You can get off like this, can’t you?”
But she comes to sit next to him on the bed, and Roman can’t help a moan as she places a hand on the flat of his stomach. A slight uptick in her breathing is the only sign that she’s not unaffected.
“Please,” he begs. “Please.”
“You’re an animal,” she says. “It’s disgusting.” She runs her hands up his chest, circling his nipples, and he gasps at the sensation.
“I want…I want…” he gasps.
“I don’t care what you want,” Gerri says. “You revolting creature.”
Roman feels the pressure building in his groin, and that’s it, he’s gone, he’s cumming all over his own chest with a groan. “Shit fuck,” he says.
And Gerri smiles a small, pleased smile.
“Do you want…can I…” he reaches for her.
“I meant what I said,” she says, with a small laugh. “I need to rest.”
“Oh,” he says, disappointed.
But then she leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead, and then finally she kisses him softly on the mouth. Roman surges forward, trying to deepen it, but she puts a hand on his chest to stop him, and just kisses him, sweet and slow, no tongue. It’s crazy, but it almost makes him want to cry.
Finally, she pulls away. “Now where did your Mom put my luggage?” she asks. As if Roman has any fucking clue.
“Just use my t-shirt,” he says. “If you want something to sleep in.” He yawns and gets under the covers. He can feel himself dropping off already, and after a few minutes, he feels the other side of the bed dip, as Gerri gets inside next to him. Roman turns onto his side, facing away from her.
“I know this whole thing’s fucking weird,” Roman says. “And not how you thought your life was going to go.”
But I think maybe I love you, he doesn’t say.
“Yes,” Gerri admits, and she tucks herself up behind him, draping an arm over his waist. “But that’s fine. I suppose we’ll figure it out as we go,” she says.
*
When Roman wakes a few hours later, Gerri is gone, and his t-shirt is folded neatly on the bed next to him. It smells like her.
He pulls on his clothes and shoes, and runs his hands through his hair. Where is she? He leaves the guest room and wanders out into the rest of the house, quickly finding her by the wooden doors looking out over the gardens, towards the sea. She has a mug of coffee in her hand, phone in the other.
“Hey,” he says, as he comes up to stand next to her. The scent of petrichor is in the air.
“Hi,” Gerri says, turning to him. “It really is beautiful out here,” she says.
“Yeah, it’s fucking…the garden of Eden,” Roman says, leaning against the side of the doorframe.
“You know people are going to figure out you’re here,” she says. “We’re going to have to strategise for the board meeting.”
“We are?” he asks.
“Yes,” she says. “Together.”
And Roman knows he’s forgiven.