The Billionaire's Daughter

7 - Roman

I watched as she thinly chopped the green onions on her wooden cutting board. Her eyes were focused on the task at hand, probably feeling my stare burn through her.

I couldn't help it.

All the feelings came rushing back once I realized she was here.

The excitement in her eyes, when we recognized each other, relit the fire in my heart. All I could think about is her.

The way she cooked now, the way her fingers moved with grace, the way she was focused and precise.

It felt like I fell for her twice as hard as before.

Fuck.

Renée glanced up at me, her eyebrows furrowing as she caught my stare.

"You need something?" she murmured as she continued to chop.

I watched my words carefully, hesitant about what she'd do with the knife in her hand. She was bolder than four years ago.
 It was weird to see her standoffish to someone that wasn't her dad.

Standoffish to someone that was me. 

She'd tell me everything. Now silence fills the room with every breath we take.

Then again, this was my fault.

I shouldn't have said anything.

"What are you cooking?" I quietly asked.

Renée took in a small breath, stopping her movements. The annoyance in her eyes as she looks up at me brought an unfamiliar fear.

"Pad thai."

"Sounds complex," I said with a small smile.

She didn't respond.

"When did you get so good at cooking?" I asked, trying to talk to her once more, but she refused to respond.

I scoffed softly, pushing my hair back in frustration. "I'm stuck with you almost every day, Renée. The least you could do is try to talk to me."

She slammed the knife down on the countertop, her jaw clenched in annoyance, "The least I could do is follow what Dad says and let you inside the house."

"If you didn't let me in, I'm sure you're Dad would lend me a key either way."

Renée's eyes narrowed in shock at my comment. She huffed and rubbed her eyes with her wrists, letting out a frustrated sigh. I felt bad pushing her limits further, but I needed her to talk to me. I needed to hear her voice.

"What the hell do you need, Roman?"

"I need to know why you won't talk to me."

Renée sucked in a breath as if I was supposed to know the obvious. She was holding back.

"I'm respecting boundaries, Roman. That's all it is." Renée finally looked up at me, her brown eyes glistening with what looked like tears about to form.

"Hey," I rushed urgently to the other side of the kitchen island where her head was buried in her hands. I pushed aside the braids that covered her face, holding her up in my arms.

My shirt wasn't covered in tears, which was a good sign, but she refused to look at me.

We stood in silence for a while, the smell of spices doing most of the talking for us.

"Did you read the letter...? The one I gave to you before I left" Her voice broke as she asked me.

We pulled away from each other as the feeling of guilt crept up on me. I shook my head, not anticipating her response.

She looked down at her hands, forcing a smile on her face, "Then it doesn't matter."

"I never read it–" I blurted out, knowing I had started something I didn't want to admit. But it would give us both peace of mind, "I never read it because if I did, it would mean that you were really gone. And I didn't want to accept that."

Renée's eyes softened at my words as she let out a soft breath, "I never knew..."

"I didn't want you to. It's stupid, really," I sighed, "I may have moved on, but I never stopped thinking about you. Holding you in my heart. That shit never stopped."

I carefully held her around her waist and pulled her close. She tried to pull away knowing this was wrong. I was almost a married man and I knew it was wrong.

But I couldn't help it.

She felt good in my arms again.

"I've wanted to hold you like this for so long..."

"We can't, Roman."

"I've missed your touch. Your smell..." I pulled her closer.

This is wrong.

"Roman, please."

"My heart beats for you every second, Renée."

She gently pushed herself out of my grasp, a look of regret in her eyes, "You have a girlfriend–"

"Fiancee," I said in my head.

"I respect that. You should too."

Renée turned back to her cutting board, putting the green onions to its side.

An awkward silence filled the room again along with the smell of the savory flavors in the air once she removed the lid from the pan.

"I still keep it around. The letter." I nodded, "It's in my glove box. I still kept a part of you with me."

"You're sweet." She commented with a lack of expression.

"I'm serious. Even though I've moved on, and I use that term loosely, I've never stopped thinking about you."

"I'd ask what you mean by that but I don't think I want to know." She put the finished pad Thai on a small plate, adjusting the minor details and presentation of the dish. It was cute how focused she was on something I found to be casual.

"You should, but I'll keep quiet." I smiled to myself, looking back up at how the kitchen lights glowed in her hair, "Do you want me to read the letter?"

Renée's eyes widened at me and she quickly shook her head in embarrassment, "Don't bother. Just eat. I need to know how it tastes."

She slid the plate toward me, "The first taste is always with the eyes."

"If it is, then I'm fucking starving," I asked, staring at the plate. It did look good. Smelt lovely, too.

I took a bite, the flavors like an explosion in my mouth. My eyes lit up and Renée's did the same.

"You like?"

"Fuck. That's good." My head swiveled with excitement, "Try it."

My hand hovered beneath the opposite that held the fork, feeding the next portion to Renée.

"It's good," she commented.

"It's great. I really like it."

I wasn't talking about the food.