Page 96 of Lease to Love

I cleaned myself up as best I could, took another long breath, and stepped outside.

Roman was waiting.

He stood a few feet from the bathroom door, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

He didn’t look angry… And that somehow made it worse.

He looked serious. Still. Controlled in that way he got when he was feeling something he didn’t want anybody else to see.

“We’re leaving,” he said.

“Roman—”

“Now.”

There was no room in his voice for an argument. So I didn't give him one.

He guided me through the crowd with a hand at my elbow, shielding me from curious eyes without making a show of it. The valet brought his car around, and within minutes we were pulling away from the curb, the ballroom disappearing behind us as if it had never happened.

We didn't speak.

His hand didn't find my knee.

There were no little smirks. No thigh squeezes. No quiet jokes whispered beneath his breath. He kept both hands on the steering wheel and his eyes fixed on the road, his jaw set hard enough that I could see the muscle working beneath his skin.

I curled toward the passenger-side window and watched Bethesda blur into DC, DC blur into familiar streets, and familiar streets finally become Langston Park again.

I didn't know why I'd fooled myself into thinking I belonged anywhere outside of there.

Why had I expected tonight to be anything other than embarrassing?

I embarrassed him.

After everything he'd made me feel over the last few weeks, everything he'd helped me see in myself, everything I'd started to believe when he looked at me like I was something worth choosing, I'd managed to prove that I wasn't built for his world.

Ayo was right.

I wasn't enough for him, and I wasn’t enough for Roman Sterling.

The thought sat in my chest like a stone.

By the time we pulled up outside House of Autumn, I was fighting tears so hard my head hurt.

I practically flew out of the car before Roman had finished parking, gathering the skirt of my dress in one hand as I hurried up the stairs. My heels caught awkwardly against the steps, but I didn't care. I just needed to get inside. I needed the door between me and the world, between me and Roman, between me and the humiliation still crawling beneath my skin.

My hands were shaking so badly I couldn't get my key into the lock.

I tried once.

Missed.

Twice.

The key scraped uselessly against the plate.

“Come on,” I whispered, blinking hard.

My vision blurred.