Chapter 7 - WHEN THE FAKE BOYFRIEND STAYED
Z
Three months later, Sadi quit her job.
Roman reacted terribly.
“You’re quitting?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because sleeping with my employer violates at least seventeen workplace guidelines.”
Roman stared across his office.
“You don’t sleep with me at work.”
“Last Tuesday.”
“That was lunch.”
“That defense makes it worse.”
Roman leaned back.
Sadi placed her resignation letter on his desk.
He looked genuinely offended.
“You hate working here?”
“I love working here.”
“Then stay.”
“No.”
“Sadi.”
“Roman.”
They stared at each other.
Finally, he picked up the letter.
“What are you going to do?”
That was the question she had been asking herself for years.
She had studied art history because she loved restoration.
Color.
Stories hidden beneath paint.
Then student debt and reality arrived.
She had accepted temporary catering work.
Then housekeeping.
Temporary became permanent.
“I applied to the Art Institute conservation program.”
Roman’s expression changed.
“And?”
“I got in.”
He stood immediately.
“You got in?”
She smiled.
“I got in.”
Roman crossed the room.
For one alarming second, she thought he might pick her up.
Instead, he stopped.
Because Roman had learned to ask.
“Can I?”
Sadi’s heart melted.
“Yes.”
He wrapped both arms around her.
She laughed against his chest.
“I start next month.”
“I’m proud of you.”
The words hit unexpectedly hard.
Sadi pulled back.
“You are?”
“Of course.”
“But you’re losing your best housekeeper.”
“I’ll survive.”
“You’re lying.”
“The new one alphabetizes my spices.”
Sadi gasped.
“Fire her.”
“I knew you’d understand.”
Life had become strange.
Derek survived the shooting and eventually moved to Seattle with Madison.
Madison sent Sadi a message after they left.
For what it was worth, she had written, he talked about you more than was healthy.
Sadi replied:
For what it’s worth, don’t let him tell you what to eat.
Madison answered with a laughing emoji.
Her relationship with her mother was harder.
Elaine apologized eventually.
Not perfectly.
Not elegantly.
But sincerely enough.
“I thought criticism would protect you,” she admitted over coffee.
“From what?”
“From how cruel people can be.”
Sadi looked at her mother.
“So you decided to be cruel first?”
Elaine cried.
Sadi almost took the words back.
Then she didn’t.
Some truths needed to hurt before they could heal.
Her mother began trying.
That mattered.
Roman changed too.
Not dramatically.
He remained terrifying to most of Chicago.
He still conducted meetings Sadi was happier not knowing about.
Still disappeared into rooms with men who stopped talking when she entered.
Still owned businesses whose accounting practices probably required creative definitions.
But he stopped believing violence solved every problem.
Mostly.
One evening, Sadi returned to his penthouse after class and found Roman cooking.
She stopped in the doorway.
Smoke filled the kitchen.
“What happened?”
“I made dinner.”
“You attacked dinner.”
Roman glared.
“I followed the recipe.”
“Did the recipe say incinerate?”
“The oven is poorly calibrated.”
“This oven costs more than my old apartment.”
“Price does not guarantee competence.”
Sadi opened a window.
“What were you making?”
“Lasagna.”
She looked at the black rectangle inside the oven.
“That was lasagna?”
Roman folded his arms.
Sadi laughed until tears came.
He watched.
Then reluctantly smiled.
They ordered pizza.
Later, sitting barefoot on the couch, Sadi rested her head against Roman’s shoulder.
His phone remained facedown on the table.
That was new.
Three months ago, Roman would have answered every call.
Tonight, he ignored four.
“Important?” she asked.
“Not more important than this.”
She looked up.
“Who are you and what did you do with Roman Rossi?”
“He’s unavailable.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Probably.”
Sadi smiled.
Then noticed his expression.
He was nervous.
Roman Rossi.
Nervous.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
“I lie professionally.”
“You’re bad at it with me.”
He sighed.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“That’s rich coming from a man who background-checked my student loans.”
Roman took her hand.
He led her downstairs.
A car waited.
They drove for twenty minutes before arriving at a familiar building.
Sadi stared through the window.
“The gallery?”
The same small Oak Park gallery where Roman claimed their fake relationship had begun.
Except they had never actually been here together.
Roman opened her door.
“What are we doing?”
“Correcting history.”
Inside, the gallery was empty.
One sculpture stood beneath a spotlight.
Tall.
Thin.
Bronze.
Sadi laughed.
“Giacometti.”
“I still think it’s depressing.”
“It’s existential.”
“I remain unconvinced.”
They walked deeper inside.
Champagne waited on a table.
Sadi became suspicious.
“Roman.”
“Yes?”
“What did you do?”
He reached into his jacket.
Sadi stopped breathing.
Roman Rossi dropped to one knee.
For once, there was no gun.
Only a small velvet box.
Sadi covered her mouth.
“You are joking.”
“I don’t have the sense of humor for it.”
Her eyes filled.
Roman opened the box.
The diamond was elegant.
Beautiful.
Not enormous.
He had listened when she once said rings so large they needed structural engineering looked ridiculous.
“Sadi Miller.”
His voice shook slightly.
That frightened her more than anything.
“You walked into my life because you needed a fake boyfriend.”
She laughed through tears.
“I overheard you.”
“Fine.”
He looked up.
“I volunteered because I needed an alibi.”
“That was very romantic.”
“I’m improving.”
“You are.”
Roman inhaled.
“Somewhere between table four and getting shot in a country club parking lot, I realized I had made the first irrational decision of my life.”
“Dating me?”
“Loving you.”
Sadi went completely still.
He had said it before.
Privately.
Quietly.
But never like this.
Never while looking terrified she might refuse him.
“My father taught me love gives people something to take from you.”
Roman swallowed.
“You taught me that without something worth losing, there isn’t much worth having.”
Sadi’s tears finally fell.
Roman held up the ring.
“I don’t need an alibi anymore.”
A smile trembled across his mouth.
“But I would like a wife.”
Sadi laughed.
“Is that your proposal?”
“I had a better speech.”
“What happened?”
“You started crying.”
“You’re blaming me?”
“Yes.”
“Roman.”
“Will you marry me?”
She stared at the man kneeling before her.
Then she remembered another night.
Two in the morning.
Dirty dishes.
A humiliating text from her mother.
A desperate whisper into an empty kitchen.
I need a boyfriend by tomorrow.
Sadi smiled.
“Yes.”
Roman closed his eyes.
One quiet second of pure relief.
Then he stood and pulled her into his arms.
“You know,” Sadi whispered against his mouth, “we have terrible luck with weddings.”
Roman kissed her.
“Ours will be different.”
She laughed.
“You absolutely cannot promise that.”
“No.”
His forehead rested against hers.
May you like
“But I can promise I’ll be there.”
For Sadi, that was enough.
