Chapter 46 YOU ARE NOT MADE OF STEEL
••Roman••
I woke up to a stillness that enveloped me. As I slowly opened my eyes, the ceiling appeared strange for just a moment before memories flooded back. I remembered I was in a hotel suite in New York with Luciana.
But where was Luciana? I glanced around and realized the room was completely empty. She wasn't lying next to me.
With some effort, I pushed myself up, the room tilting slightly as if challenging my right to be awake. My head was still pounding, though the pain had dulled to a nagging throb, a reminder of the night's excesses. I pressed my fingers against my temple, then my neck; the heat lingered, but it was more manageable now.
I reached for the clock on the bedside table.
Past Four.
Four in the afternoon.
A curse slipped from my lips.
Six hours, maybe even more. I had lost half the day, like a man with no obligations rather than someone tied up in deals and under watchful eyes. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, pausing to let the lingering weakness fade before I stood up.
It stubbornly clung to my thoughts, a reminder that I wasn't yet fully in control. Suddenly, the memories of the morning flooded back— the fever, the incessant sneezing, and Luciana's concerned voice, her grip steady while mine had faltered. I could still hear her firm declaration that I wasn't going anywhere in that state, her eyes filled not with fear, but with unwavering certainty.
Clenching my jaw, I realized I had missed the crucial meeting that had brought me to New York. I quickly scanned the room for my phone, my gaze darting from the desk to the couch, to the chair by the window, but it was nowhere in sight. Frustration ignited in my chest, simmering and intense. Just then, I turned toward the sitting room as the door swung open.
Luciana stepped in, a glass of water in hand, her hair loosely pulled back. She halted mid-stride upon seeing me sitting up.
“Oh,” she said lightly. “Good. I was starting to wonder if you were still alive.”
I stared at her.
“You’ve been sleeping for over six hours,” she continued, setting the glass down. “I figured that was either very good or very bad.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be sleeping,” I snapped. “I had an important meeting.”
She blinked, clearly not expecting the tone.
“What did you give me?" I asked, my voice hardening. “What drugs did you put in that water?"
Her brows pulled together. “What?”
“I don’t sleep like that,” I said. “So what did you give me.”
Luciana laughed once, sharp and incredulous. “Are you serious right now?”
“Answer me.”
She set her hands on her hips. “I woke up to you burning up and barely conscious. Am I supposed to just let you lie there and die dramatically.”
“That is not the point.”
“It really is,” she said.
"Where's my phone?" I asked.
She walked to the table near the couch and picked it up, holding it out to me. “Here. Theo called. It kept ringing so I went to the sitting room to answer. I didn’t want to wake you.”
My eyes narrowed. “You picked my call.”
It could have been a matter of secrecy or something she shouldn't know about. Why the fuck will she answer my phone.
“It could have been an emergency.”
“You do not answer my phone.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Roman, listen to yourself.”
“I don’t need anyone handling my affairs without permission.”
“And I don’t need to be blamed for you getting sick,” she shot back. “You think I enjoyed watching you shake like that this morning.”
I scoffed. “You should have woken me."
“You were burning up,” she said. “You could barely open your eyes.”
“That has never stopped me before.”
She stepped closer, voice lowering. “You are not made of steel, Roman. Anyone can get sick.”
“I don’t,” I said automatically.
She looked at me then, really looked at me, like she was measuring something fragile she hadn’t expected to find. “You do. You just don’t allow yourself to admit it.”
Silence fell between us, thick and uncomfortable.
I ran a hand through my hair, frustration coiling tight in my chest. I hated this feeling. Hated that my body had failed me in front of her.
“I missed a meeting that took weeks to arrange,” I said finally.
“And if you had stubbornly gone you would have collapsed halfway through it,” she replied calmly. “Which would have been worse.”
I let out a breath through my nose. “Still, you had no right.”
She lifted her chin. “I had every right to stop you from hurting yourself.”
“That is not your responsibility.”
"Oh! not my responsibility, suit yourself then since you can clearly handle everything yourself." She said banging the glass containing the water on the table.
The words hit harder than I expected, I must have pushed her way more than I should. I looked away first.
She pivoted to leave, her anger palpable now— clearly angry because I got angry at her. Ah, the complexities of women!
As she grasped the doorknob, ready to exit, she paused and said, “Theo really didn’t mention anything important, he said the meeting can be rescheduled,” she said and slammed the door hard.
Now I blame myself for getting all worked up about the meeting and her touching my phone. She was clearly worried about me but I didn't like the way it made me seemed weak to her. Well, I'm left with recovering by myself and an angry wife to deal with.