Chapter 4 - A Father's Arrival
Caleb extended his right hand, his smile gleaming under the ballroom lights.
Roman swept right past Caleb’s outstretched hand as if the man were made of thin air. One of Roman’s bodyguards, a hulking man with a shaved head and a broken nose, subtly shifted his shoulder, forcing Caleb to stumble backward into Julianne, knocking her champagne glass sideways and spilling golden liquid down her silver skirt.
"Hey! Watch it—" Caleb began, his face flushing crimson with sudden humiliation.
The words died in his throat.
Roman Vale had stopped less than six inches from Tessa Vance.
The entire ballroom seemed to hold its breath. The silence was thick, suffocating, and absolute. The socialites who had spent the last twenty minutes ignoring the "fat, washed-up ex-resident" were now frozen, staring with wide, horrified eyes.
Roman’s expression was an impossible mix of furious authority and profound gentleness. He reached out, his large, calloused hand cupping the side of Tessa’s cheek. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone, tracing the delicate flush of her skin.
"You're late," Roman said. His voice was a low, resonant baritone that rumbled straight through the quiet air. "And you took the stairs from the garage instead of the private lift."
Tessa leaned into the warmth of his palm for just a fraction of a second before lifting her chin. "The lift smelled like lavender disinfectant. It made me sick."
"Then I'll have the ventilation system torn out and replaced by midnight," Roman murmured without a hint of irony.
His gaze dropped slowly from her face, down the dark velvet of her dress, to the pronounced curve beneath her folded hands. The tension in Roman’s broad shoulders melted, replaced by a reverence so raw it shocked every watching socialite into silence.
Slowly, deliberately, in front of three hundred elite members of high society, Roman dropped his hand from her face and flattened his broad palm squarely over the center of her pregnant belly.
A collective gasp rippled through the nearest cluster of guests.
Julianne’s mouth fell open, her spilled champagne forgotten. Caleb stood frozen, his arm still awkwardly hovering in midair, his eyes darting between Roman’s massive hand and Tessa’s rounded stomach as though his brain was violently rejecting the data it was receiving.
"How is he?" Roman asked softly, his thumb tracing the roundness beneath the velvet.
"He likes the string quartet," Tessa replied, her lips curving into a real, radiant smile that stripped away every ounce of tiredness from her face. "He’s been kicking for ten minutes."
May you like
Roman’s eyes darkened with fierce pride. "Good. He knows his father is here."
***
