Chapter 2 - The Decision Behind Her Smile
Julian Cross had always been easy to talk to.
That was what Serena remembered first.
Not his appearance.
Not his expensive tuxedo.
Not the fact that he had spent the last nine years building one of London’s most successful international law practices.
She remembered sitting beside him in a university library at twenty-one while he made terrible jokes about constitutional law until she laughed loudly enough to get both of them thrown out.
They had never dated.
Not really.
There had been one almost-kiss after graduation.
One summer in which timing could have turned friendship into something more.
Then Julian left for London.
Serena met Roman two years later.
Life moved.
People changed.
Yet standing in the ballroom with Julian now, she remembered what it felt like to speak to someone without carefully measuring every sentence.
“You look exactly the same,” Julian said.
“That is an outrageous lie.”
“A diplomatic exaggeration.”
“That sounds more appropriate for an attorney.”
He smiled.
Serena did too.
Then Julian glanced toward the dance floor.
“Would asking you to dance result in my mysterious disappearance?”
Six years earlier, Serena would have laughed and defended Roman.
Tonight she simply said, “Probably not.”
“Comforting.”
The orchestra changed songs.
Julian offered his hand.
“May I?”
Serena stared at it.
She should have declined.
She knew that.
Roman disliked surprises.
Roman disliked attention.
Roman disliked situations he could not control.
But then Serena heard his voice in her head.
Never touch me in public.
Something cold settled inside her.
She placed her hand in Julian’s.
“Okay.”
Julian led her toward the edge of the dance floor.
They had barely taken two steps when the room changed.
Serena noticed it before she saw why.
Conversations faded.
A woman beside the orchestra turned her head.
Two politicians suddenly found the floor interesting.
Julian exhaled.
“I’m guessing that’s your husband.”
Serena looked over her shoulder.
Roman was crossing the ballroom.
He was not moving quickly.
Roman rarely needed to.
People moved for him.
His expression was composed, but Serena knew his face better than anyone.
His jaw was tight.
His eyes were fixed on Julian’s hand holding hers.
Roman stopped in front of them.
Julian did not release Serena immediately.
Interesting.
Most men did.
Roman looked at Julian.
“Cross.”
“Duca.”
They sounded like two diplomats meeting at a border neither trusted.
Roman lowered his gaze toward their joined hands.
Then he looked at Serena.
The hurt inside her made her reckless.
“What?”
Roman’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Julian finally released her.
“I was asking Serena to dance.”
“I heard.”
“Then you know there’s nothing improper about it.”
Roman said nothing.
Serena could feel hundreds of people pretending not to watch.
Humiliation heated her face.
She leaned toward Roman.
“Don’t.”
His expression changed.
“Don’t what?”
“Turn this into another performance.”
Something flashed across his eyes.
Pain, maybe.
Then it disappeared.
Julian cleared his throat.
“I think I’ll—”
Roman reached for Serena’s hand.
She almost pulled away.
Almost.
His fingers closed around hers.
Not forcefully.
Carefully.
Yet Roman did something he had never done in six years of marriage.
He held her hand where everyone could see.
Serena stared down at their intertwined fingers.
Then up at him.
Roman faced Julian.
“She’s my wife.”
The words carried farther than they should have.
Maybe because the ballroom had become nearly silent.
Serena’s heart slammed against her ribs.
Julian’s expression shifted from amusement to curiosity.
“I’m aware.”
Roman looked back at Serena.
He seemed to realize how ridiculous his declaration sounded.
Then his thumb moved once across her knuckles.
“And I should’ve acted like her husband.”
The orchestra continued playing.
Nobody danced.
For one impossible second, Serena forgot how angry she was.
Roman Duca did not apologize publicly.
He barely apologized privately.
Yet here he stood beneath a chandelier, holding her hand before half the city’s most influential people and admitting he had failed her.
Serena whispered, “What are you doing?”
“Something six years overdue.”
Before she could respond, Roman’s security chief appeared behind him.
“Sir.”
Roman looked over.
The man’s face told him everything.
Serena felt Roman’s hand tighten around hers.
Not jealousy now.
Fear.
She had almost never seen fear on Roman.
“Roman?”
His attention snapped back to her.
“We’re leaving.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The real you.”
His brows drew together.
“You make one dramatic gesture, then immediately start giving orders.”
“This isn’t about the dance.”
“It never is.”
“Serena.”
She pulled her hand free.
The room seemed to inhale.
Serena did not care anymore.
“For six years, I have lived around your rules. Which entrance. Which car. Which table. Which people I can talk to when your security team decides something feels wrong.”
Roman lowered his voice.
“Not here.”
“You’re right. Because apparently nothing about our marriage is allowed to exist here.”
His face went still.
Serena continued before courage abandoned her.
“You told me never to touch you in public.”
Roman glanced toward the windows.
“Because there is a reason.”
“There is always a reason.”
“Yes.”
“And somehow I’m never allowed to know it.”
His security chief spoke quietly.
“Roman, we need to move.”
Serena laughed without humor.
“Of course we do.”
She turned away.
Roman caught her wrist, then immediately released it as though remembering his own rule.
That hurt worse than if he had held on.
“Serena.”
She looked at him.
“If you walk away from me tonight, Roman, understand something.”
His eyes sharpened.
“What?”
“I’m not walking back the same way.”
For once, Roman had no answer.
Serena turned and crossed the ballroom alone.
She heard Julian calling her name.
She ignored him.
She heard Roman ordering security to clear a private elevator.
She ignored that too.
The decision that had begun on the balcony was suddenly clear.
Serena was done begging her husband for pieces of a marriage.
If Roman wanted a wife who stood beside him, smiled beautifully, obeyed instructions, and never asked to be loved where anyone could witness it—
He could find someone else.
By the time Serena reached the elevator, she had decided that when they returned home, she was packing a suitcase.
What she did not know was that across the street, inside a dark office on the thirty-eighth floor of another building, a man lowered a camera with a long-range lens.
On its screen was the photograph he had been waiting six years to capture.
Roman Duca holding Serena’s hand.
The man smiled.
“So,” he murmured.
“That’s where his heart is.”
May you like
And suddenly Serena’s marriage was no longer the only thing in danger.
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