The Under Boss's Ballerina [18+]

27

"It's okay to let things go, Roman." I said to the man standing before me, looking as if he was out of place in the head.

His usual impassive demeanour changed into a messed up, confused one.

He stayed silent.

Tentatively reaching up, I patted the highest point of him that I could.

His upper arm, but moved my hand quickly smiling at the distraught soul.

"I have no idea what am I supposed to do." I says shaking his head slightly.

"It's okay." I say. "If you need time, take time. But not too long."

He somewhat gave me a nodding gesture.

"It's not only you who's hurting and confused." I said gently.

"Blaire is hurting too." I whisper.

"She's just as confused as you are and no matter what anybody does will make it better except you."

"I know." He sighs. "I just feel so torn between emotions that are old and emotions that I thought shouldn't feel-"

"We don't get to choose what we feel, Roman." I said.

"Some times we just do, and that's human nature. You can not expect not to fall in love after-"

I shake my head.

"She would never want you to punish yourself like your are, hiding yourself from every positive emotion."

"I don't hide myself from positive emotion." He argued

"You did, you pushed Blaire away. Isn't a kiss a positive emotion?" I asked.

I feel like a very inexperienced therapist that seemed not to help him in anyway.

"I suppose." He says shaking my head. "I just need time, can you make sure she doesn't kill people?"

I nod.

"Thanks, Ariel." He says with a barely there smile placing a barely there kiss on my cheek.

"I'll got to the inn and just clear my head-"

"Stay for dinner." I say moving away to a respectable distance from the larger man.

"I'm just putting up a plate for Angelo, I'll make you one too." I add.

He reluctantly takes a seat on the dining table chair as I tell him to help himself with the whiskey.

He does.

Minutes later, Angelo joins me in the kitchen placing a desperate and needy kiss in my mouth, his fingers around my throat, as he looks me in the eye.

"You took off the dress." He whisperers.

"It was tight." I mumbled.

"It made you look like Bubbles." He whispers. "I need Bubbles."