Vows of Revenge

“Nice try.” She smiled, admiring his confidence. “But I’m not quite ready to head to Paris yet. There are a lot of hoops to jump through when you want to transport ashes. I’ve been wading through bureaucracy for months.”

“I’ll make a call,” he said, weaving their fingers together.

“To whom?” she demanded. “It’s not easy, you know.”

He dismissed that with a snort. “I’m an approved government supplier in both America and France. I have contacts.”

“I wouldn’t say no to a call,” she conceded. “Anything that could streamline that side of things would be a huge favor, but, Roman—”

“Listen,” he said in a grave tone. “I didn’t have the chance to do anything for my mother when she died. If there was a service, I wasn’t invited. I want to do this.”

She blinked, surprised. “Why not? What happened?”

He fell onto his back, untangled their fingers to tuck his fist beneath the pillow under his head. For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer. She couldn’t read a thing on his face and, as the silence lengthened, she felt as though she’d transgressed. He was spurning her, and it left her feeling bereft.

“If you don’t want to talk about it—”

“I don’t,” he said. “But I should. If I want you to stay, you have to know who I am. I was nine when she died. I had already been in foster care for a few years. She...” His face worked, fighting for control. “She had resorted to prostitution to feed me. Ironically, that’s why she lost me. She was just doing it until I was in school. I remember her telling me everything would be better once I started school and she got a real job, not that I really understood what she was doing. That came later, but...”

Shock closed cold fingers around Melodie’s heart.

“Then I was taken from her, so she did get a job, except it was a terrible one in a sweatshop. There was a fire. I realize there wouldn’t have been a body for me to see, but they didn’t even tell me when it happened. It took weeks. I kept asking if I could call and there would be all these muttered conversations, and finally they told me she was in heaven. It took years to find out heaven is actually Hart Island, where the poor and homeless are buried in mass, unmarked graves. There hadn’t been any money for a service, so there wasn’t one.”

“Oh, Roman, I’m so sorry.” She set a comforting hand on his chest.

He caught it. For a moment she thought he was going to reject her touch, but after a few seconds, his hand flexed on hers and he swallowed. “Every time I talked to her, I asked her when she was going to come get me.” His voice had thickened. “She took that stupid job for me.”

She opened her mouth, but only a burn of anguish came in, searing her lungs. Settling over him, she pressed her face into his neck and offered the only comfort she could.

* * *

Roman stiffened as Melodie blanketed him in compassion. It was almost cloying, making his old grief too fresh and unbearable. He wanted to push her away, push all of it away, but after a second her scent penetrated to the most primitive part of his brain. Things he associated with her, such as softness and forgiveness and pleasure, pulled him back from falling into the dark emotions that talking about his mother had opened up.

Jerkily he closed his arm around Melodie’s slender frame, sealing her silken nudity against his own bare skin.

They lay like that a long time. It was strange. He wanted to roll into her and forget all of it with the pursuit of physical gratification, but he wanted to stay like this, too. Still and calm, in quiet harmony.

Maybe they dozed, because the buzz of his phone on vibrate made Roman jerk in surprise. Since he’d pretty much been off the grid for nearly twenty-four hours, he sat up to find his pants and looked at the screen. Melodie’s number flashed back at him.

“Looks like you’re calling me,” he told her, answering with “Sadler?”

“His aide again, Mr. Killian. We’re wondering, is Melodie with you?”

“She is.” He glanced at her.

She sighed and gathered the sheet across her breasts as she sat up and held out a resigned hand.

Roman kept the phone.

“May I speak to her?” the aide asked in a tone of tested patience.

“No,” Roman said. “Lose this number. I don’t want to hear from you again.”

“Wait! Ask her to call us. We’re looking for a file and can’t find—”

“No,” Roman repeated firmly. “Remind Sadler that I told him he’d regret not being nicer to her. Let him know that I’ll be making some calls to his biggest corporate sponsors, too. Melodie can give me that list, I’m sure.”