“I’m going to take a few more photos,” she murmured, touching his arm as she stepped away.
He nodded, aware he could call her back, that she probably wanted him to, but letting her go anyway. He didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve. He didn’t even know how to put on the coat.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MELODIE UNDERSTOOD NOW. She wasn’t tired of Roman, but a woman could take only so much uncertainty. She kept telling herself to live in the moment, enjoy what they had, that taking it day by day was fine. She didn’t delude herself that there was another man out there who had all Roman’s qualities plus an open heart, a desire for commitment and a burning need for children. The man she was with was definitely as perfect as she could expect.
But not knowing how long she and Roman would last made her anxious. She was always looking for the end so she could anticipate it, soften the blow. She could easily see why his other companions had made it happen just to get the suspense over with.
She didn’t want to leave him, though. She loved him.
Loved him, loved him, loved him.
And if she judged him on his actions, he cared quite deeply for her. At least that was what she thought he was communicating. So when she received a job offer, Melodie was torn.
Under any other circumstance she would have been beyond elated by the contents of the email, but it meant leaving Roman for a few days. That made it a bit of a test of their relationship. On the other hand, it gave her the fallback position she needed if they were destined to break up.
The prospect of confronting exactly how tenuous their relationship was kept her silent on the topic for several days, until she had to make a decision or lose the opportunity altogether.
She brought it up over breakfast in the sunroom she adored.
“It’s an Italian couple. Well, the wife is Canadian. They’re friends with the Marcussens and saw the photos I’d taken of the family. They asked if I’d come to their home on Lake Como and take some candid shots of them with their children. It would have to be next week,” she said, trying not to betray how nervous she was.
Roman set aside his tablet and sat back in his chair. He wore his usual morning attire of pajama pants, so he was all bare-chested and manly. She wore the silk robe he’d bought her in Paris. A morning breeze wafted in, dewy and tanged by the lemon grove. The low, quiet murmur of waves on the shore was the only sound for a long moment.
“I have to be in New York.” No inflection. No real reaction beyond exchanging information.
“I know. That’s why I’m talking to you about it. I keep trying to say no, and they keep offering me more money. They’ll pay for my flight, put me up. They’re very determined, but it has to be next week or it won’t happen at all.”
“Do you want to do it?”
She lifted a shoulder, genuinely conflicted. Roman could call her his companion all he wanted, but she knew she was his mistress. As idyllic as it should have felt to let him support her, she had spent a lot of years becoming self-reliant. She might not need a job right now, but she wanted one, and being a photographer was a dream career for her, something she’d barely imagined she could pursue as a hobby, let alone anything more. If she could establish herself at this level, it could be a proper way to make a living.
“It’s a really good opportunity,” she managed to say. “You told me I could be a professional if I took money for my photos, and this couple seems to think I’m good enough. I guess there is a part of me that wants to try.”
Nothing showed on his face. Only his green eyes flickered as he cataloged every nuance of her expression, making her feel more self-conscious by the second. Was she fooling herself? Was she really not that good?
Did it bother him at all that she was talking about leaving? That she wouldn’t be at his beck and call?
“This could turn into a career for you,” he said.
“I keep thinking it could, yes.” She glanced at the hands in her lap that were knotting her belt, trying to disguise the disappointment that he hadn’t first leaped to how it would affect him. Them. “I don’t have any illusions,” she continued, doing the work for him so he’d see the broader picture. “I realize I’d be chasing commissions and have to do a lot of traveling.”
She flicked a look up at him.
Still nothing. Her heart felt pinched in a vice that slowly closed as she squeezed out what she thought needed to be said.
“That’s something I always wanted to do. Travel.” It was his cue to say, “We already travel.” He didn’t.
“Running your own business isn’t a picnic, I know,” she continued. “I don’t even know where I’d pay taxes or if I need a work visa, but...”