It was up to her to talk, though, she supposed, and searched for her voice, wanting to know why he really was here.
He surprised her by saying abruptly, “It wasn’t just the way your father and brother treated me.” The words dropped into the empty air off the top of the hotel. His hands gripped the rail and he didn’t look at her. “It was the same message again and again my whole life. My needs weren’t important. My feelings didn’t matter. No one cared, so what was the point in showing or asking or wanting? It was far easier to become self-sufficient and not talk to anyone.”
It was such an odd yet intimate statement, she could only stare up at him, shocked and rather suspecting he’d been rehearsing the words, waiting to get them off his chest.
Her hand went to his and he quickly turned his palm up to grasp her fingers, making her blood sing. The pressure was so tight it was just this side of painful, warning her that for all the detachment he was affecting, this was very hard for him. But still he was trying. Reaching out. Asking to be understood.
“I learned to shut myself off, too,” she offered. “When I was surrounded by people who watched to see what was important to me so they could use it against me. I would never try to hurt you like that, Roman. I hope you believe that.”
“I do. That’s why...” In the dark, she saw him struggle to retain his stoic expression.
When he didn’t continue and the only sound became the music that grew louder as doors were opened off the ballroom, she covered his grip in a signal to ease up his hold. “Roman, why are you here?” she asked, pushing the words past the catch in her throat.
“I never saw any point in marriage,” he said, continuing to squish her fingers while she went lax in his grip, not wanting to hear the tiny sparks of her dream snuffed out for good.
“Then I realized that if you were my wife, and you knew I expected you to come back after each job, maybe you would.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, feeling as if this tight grip of theirs was the only thing keeping her from plummeting off the building.
“I want to love you, Melodie, but I don’t know if I know how. I quit feeling anything years ago to save myself pain. I fought what I feel for you as hard as I could, but I can’t not feel something for you. And I don’t know whether it’s enough. Is it love? I don’t know. I just know it’s...good. When I think of you, when I touch you, the way I feel is so damned good. Sweet and hopeful and warm—all the things you are. I lose all that when you’re not with me. It’s just hollow emptiness and I can’t stand it. It hurts. Every day. I want the good feeling back. I want you back.”
Her head spun. Her heart soared on a roller coaster, climbing and dipping and spiraling so she didn’t know which way was up.
“All the way here a voice in my head kept telling me you wouldn’t forgive me for letting you go in the first place. I was afraid I’d broken you again, that you’d stopped believing in men and love and the sort of life you deserve. But...” He reached his free hand into his shirt pocket and came up with something small.
A shiny black pearl nestled against a shiny white one in a platinum setting surrounded by glittering diamonds. She was sure she was going to faint at that point. Or she was dreaming and would wake up. Could this possibly be real?
“How’s that for optimism?” he said. “The minute I saw it, I thought of you.” He started to kneel.
“Oh, Roman, no!”
He froze. “You don’t—?”
She felt his recoil at the perceived rejection and threw herself against his stiff body. “No, I mean, yes! I want to marry you. I love you. You don’t have to go down on one knee!”
His breath rushed out and his arms tightened on her. “Sweetheart. This is one of the few romantic gestures I could possibly figure out on my own. Let me do it.” He gently set her back a step, a half grin catching at the corner of his mouth as he went down on one knee. “Saved me some suspense, at least. Will you marry me, Melodie Parnell?”
He offered the ring and she found her throat too locked to speak again. All she could do was nod and hold out her shaking hand. He threaded the ring onto her finger and she fell on him, letting him catch her on his hard thigh and squeeze her to his brawny chest with viselike arms so tight she could barely breathe except to gasp, “Yes.”
“And you love me? Because if you’re not sure—”
“I do,” she said, sniffing back emotional tears that refused to stay behind her eyes. “Believe me, I’ve tried not to, but I love you so much I feel as if I’m dying without you. I was angry you let me go,” she admitted. “But since you came after me, I’ll forgive you.”