Marrying the Master (17 page)

It
was such an uncharacteristically Ben thing to say, and in such an
uncharacteristic tone for him, that it threw Lola off. Ben wasn’t such a
natural Dom all the time the way Roman was, and so it wasn’t ever something he
took casually. He was usually so deliberate in his intentions, so
careful—which was maybe why she’d been able to trust him in that role.

And that turned out to be a huge
mistake
, she
reminded herself.

Sitting
across from him, looking into his sandy blond hair and his disarming blue eyes,
Lola remembered why she had
wanted
to
trust him in the first place.

“You
look uncomfortable,” he said.

“I’m
wondering if this was a mistake,” Lola admitted. She was feeling queasy. The
last time she had seen this man, apart from his stunt at Volare, he had been
balls-deep in his ex-wife, on a night when she had planned to take him to
dinner. He had left the front door open at his apartment, almost like he wanted
to get caught. Now Lola watched him take a sip of his coffee and remembered
looking around his apartment for bottles after
that night,
even half-full glasses
, anything that might say he was only cheating because
he’d started drinking again. She’d felt terrible about it later, but at the
time she’d just wanted there to be a
reason
besides “he doesn’t give a shit about you.”

“Lola,
please,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Please let me try to explain—”

The
word “explain” made her see shades of red. She said, “You know what? There’s
really no way to excuse—”

“Shit,
that’s not what I meant.” Ben pinched the bridge of his nose the way he did
whenever he needed to concentrate. “I don’t want to make excuses. I just…I
meant that I wanted to try to explain
why
I fucked up so badly, just to make sure that you knew it had nothing to do with
you. That it was
me
. All me. And that I’m more sorry
for this than I ever have been about anything in my entire life.”

He
looked at her, his eyes pleading. And he was saying things that, truthfully,
she was desperate to hear, because no matter how many times she told herself
that it wasn’t her fault, there was always some part of her that wondered. She
knew it was stupid. But hearts were stupid. And hers was still seriously
damaged.

“Ok,”
she breathed. “Shoot.”

Ben
sighed, and gave her a tired smile. “This is harder than I thought.”

“I’m
not all that sympathetic to that, Ben. I really—”

“You
are the most amazing woman I have ever met, Lola,” he said, his
blue eyes clear and steady
, refusing to let her go. “Every
day you blew me away, and every fucking day I couldn’t believe I was so goddamned
lucky as to even know you.
That you would look at me, and
smile.
That you said you loved me, too. Christ, Lola, it felt like I was
dreaming. I felt like it was a miracle that you could love a fuck-up like me.
And the longer it went on… No, Lola, please don’t cry. Look at me.”

He
reached out to touch her face, and she jerked back.

“No,
Ben.”

He
didn’t get to comfort her anymore. He didn’t get to be the one to tell her
things that made her feel good about herself, or at least less badly, even if
she so desperately wanted to believe them. It wasn’t fair.

“I’m
sorry. Lola, I am so, so sorry. I did this—I know I did this. Apologizing
and taking responsibility is part of my recovery; I’ve been talking about it in
group—”

“Did
you start drinking again?” She felt terrible asking. Would that make it better,
if he’d broken her heart as part of a relapse? Or worse?

“No,”
he said, shaking his head. “But I think that’s why I…did what I did. I was so
sure that I was going to fuck up eventually,
Lola,
I
was so sure I didn’t deserve you, that I sabotaged everything. I just…I
couldn’t take it.”

Lola
wiped at her eyes, willing herself to stop crying. Why was she crying? She
should be past this, over this. Done.

This
man shouldn’t have the power to make her feel anything anymore.

“Why
did you come to Volare?” she demanded, taking refuge in anger. “Why?”

Ben
at least had the decency to look ashamed. “Because I saw your picture online on
a gossip blog. It said you were marrying Roman. I…couldn’t believe it.”

Lola
leaned back and just stared at him. Ben looked miserable. He looked like he
hadn’t slept in ages, like he hadn’t shaved, like he hadn’t taken care of
himself at all.

“Is
it true?” he asked. “Are you two really…?”

“It’s
none of your business,” she answered. Besides, it’s not like she really knew
the answer herself.

“Please
don’t take offense at this, Lola, but I have to disagree.”

There
was a silence between them while Lola checked and double-checked what she’d
heard.

“You
what
?” Lola finally said.

“It
is
my business. I might not have any
right to any of this, but the fact is, Lola, I love you. I’m not going to stop
loving you just because I screwed up. And that makes it my business. I just
wanted you to know that I
know
how
wrong I was, that I know what I’ve lost, that I know you are the most amazing
woman who ever lived.
That I want to make all that up to you.
That I want to fight for you.”

Ben
rose, taking his coffee cup with him. Lola was speechless.
Angry,
shocked, ashamed that she was glad to hear some of it, and speechless.

“At
the very least, Lola,” Ben said, rising from his seat, “I want to make sure you
know that you deserve the absolute best in everything. And that includes a man
who will protect you from idiots like Harold Jeels, making those dumbass
statements to the papers, especially when protecting you from him is so goddamn
easy to do.”

“What?”
Lola said, truly confused. He was throwing a lot of curveballs all at once, but
this one needed special attention. “What are you talking about, ‘easy to do?’”

Ben
leaned down and chucked her under the chin. “I can’t believe you don’t
recognize him. You don’t remember Harold Jeels from the scene before you joined
Volare, all those years ago? That man is a switch, and he likes his leather.
Someone’s got to have photos. I’ll be seeing you, Lola.”

He
gave her a two-fingered salute and walked out.

“You
look distracted,” Jake Jayson said.

He
was not the first person to mention this to Roman. It was starting to become
annoying.

“A
lot on your mind?” Jake continued. He was smiling.

“What
are you smiling about, Jacob?” Roman snapped.

Jake
laughed out loud as they walked through the Volare lounge, sparsely populated
at this relatively early hour. Roman had come by to check on the operation of
the club, something he’d asked Jake to watch over while Roman and Lola dealt
with the wedding preparations, Harold Jeels, the publicity push—and while
Roman secretly dealt with the preparations for the LA location. Jake was eager
to do it; he had time on his hands while his fiancée Catie visited her
grandmother in California.

“I’m
smiling because not a few months ago, you laughed at me when I had the same
look on my face, and for the same reason.”

There
was no question; Jake Jayson was relishing this. The heir to an industrial
fortune who had devoted himself to charity had, a few months previously, found
himself a pawn in one of Roman’s better plots. Roman had set him up with Catie
without informing anyone that Roman knew Catie to be working undercover for a
gossip magazine. Roman had been confident that Jake would be the Dom to get
Catie to open up, and he’d been right—the result was an engagement.

Of
course, the
Sizzle
article—and
Lola’s fury—had been collateral damage. And, as Roman recalled with a
grimace, Jake hadn’t been thrilled about being left out of the loop, either.

“You
did not have Lola to deal with,” Roman finally said. Then something clicked.
“What do you mean, ‘the same reason?
’
It’s hardly the
same situation.”

Jake
stopped, his hand on the door that led to the Volare performance space, and
looked at Roman with something akin to disbelief.

“Incredible,”
he said, shaking his head. “See if you say the same thing in a couple of
months.”

Roman
glowered. He would let it go. At the moment he had too many other things on his
mind—namely, Lola. He was used to being able to easily see how the pieces
in any given puzzle would fit together, and for this reason the various
situations surrounding the future of Volare didn’t worry him. They occupied him,
but they did not worry him.

Lola
was another matter.

“What
is this?” Roman said, gesturing at the stage. There were a number of people
bustling about, doing hurried bits of choreography, blocking out steps,
coordinating
lighting effects.

Jake
grinned. “A burlesque show from L.A. They come highly recommended.”

He
had really been out of the Volare loop.

“I’ve
been busy,” he said.

“Yes,
with your wedding.”

Jake
was one of the few people who knew the origins of the fraud marriage, which
made that comment…annoying. “Yes,” Roman said, “with the publicity campaign.”

“It
seems as though Lola has forgiven you for lying to her about Catie.”

“We
have reached a kind of…working détente.”

Jake
laughed out loud again, an unusual display of emotion from the normally
reserved man. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

Roman
clenched his jaw and reminded himself, over and over, that this was a good
friend, and that he probably deserved some teasing for what he’d put Jake
through.
Over, and over.

Roman
took a deep breath. At least he did not have to worry about the operation of
Volare while both he and Lola were concerned with other things—Jake
obviously had it under control.

Control.
Or lack of it—that was really the issue.

That
was what bothered him the most. It was not only unlike him; it was unlike Lola.
They were both too responsible to engage in the sorts of risks they were
taking; they had stopped communicating like adults, and simply gone after each
other like animals. In a D/s relationship, that was suicidal.

Jake
clapped his friend on the arm, startling Roman out of his reverie. It happened
more and more now: he’d be thinking about the situation with Lola, and he’d get
lost in it. He shook his head, grumbling angrily.

“It’s
good to see that you’re human, Roman,” Jake
said,
only
half-joking. “Maybe this is all for the best.”

With
that, his friend left him to go speak to a woman wearing only creatively placed
pasties.

Roman
stood motionless, held rigid in a sort of shock.

Human.

Why
did that reverberate? Why did that make him think of Samantha?

He
exploded from his rigid stance, moving with such sudden speed and determination
that he turned the heads of several nearby dancers. His nostrils flared, his
heart thudded, and his arms coiled as he opened and closed his fists.

He
rarely made mistakes, and he was rarely unaware of it when he did, but he
couldn’t shake the feeling as he strode through Volare on the way to his apartment
that he was losing himself to this blind, raging bullish lust. Right now, he
had to find a way to reestablish proper boundaries with Lola. He had to find a
way to establish control.

He
had to find out what the hell was happening to him—to both of them.

~ * ~ * ~

Lola
took her time walking back to Roman’s—Christ, she thought of it as
Roman’s
now instead of Volare—figuring
she needed the time to think.

Thinking
didn’t help.

No
matter how many times she went over the facts, it didn’t change them.

She
rode the private elevator up to Roman’s apartment, one thing in particular on
her mind: Ben had told her there was an easy way to get Harold Jeels off their
backs. Which was great—for Volare. Lola wasn’t totally comfortable with
the idea of using someone’s private BDSM activities against them, but it was
nice to know there might be a way to protect
themselves
if it came to that.

But
if Harold Jeels was no longer a problem, and they no longer had to pretend to
be married, what would happen to her and Roman? Would they just…stop?

She
had no idea—it wasn’t like she had any idea what Roman was thinking.

It bothered
her when she wasn’t with him. It was like everything they once were was
subsumed in this physical relationship. Roman had never been an open book, but
she’d felt like she’d known him—known him well enough to love him. Now
the closer they got physically, the more remote he seemed, and the less she
knew how to approach him at all.