Ruthless Vows (Letters of Enchantment, #2)(73)

The waiter delivered a tea tray but Roman didn’t touch it. Fragrant steam danced from the pot, reminding him of those sulfur pools in the world below.

The bell chimed above the door. A young woman wearing a trench coat and a hat stepped into the café. Roman held his breath but it wasn’t Iris.

He was fairly certain Val was trailing him. Roman hadn’t caught sight of him on the brisk walk downtown, but he had felt a cold sensation creep down his neck. A prickle of warning that someone was observing him, keeping a tally of where he went and what he said.

Don’t let your guard down, he told himself for the tenth time that morning. Not even when you see her.

Two more minutes passed before he finally caught sight of Iris through the café windows.

Roman froze like he was ensorcelled. He couldn’t breathe as he watched her cross the street. Her trench coat was unbuttoned and flapping in the breeze, revealing a glimpse of her snug sweater and pleated skirt. He saw the flash of her pale knees as she hurried over the cobblestones, her hair tangling across her face as she glanced to the side, waiting for a vehicle to pass.

Make it feel like the Gazette days, Roman thought as Iris reached the door and pulled it open with an adorable scrunch of her nose. She stepped into the café, a gust billowing around her as if the very wind had brought her here, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. She paused by the counter and chewed her lip as she studied the crowd. As she looked for him.

Roman felt his pulse in his ears. Within those two beats, he tamed his longings and put a guard in place. His expression was cool, aloof. He could play this role well. It felt as familiar as an old, well-worn shirt. And yet when their gazes met over the bustle and noise, the entire world faded away.

It was only him and her.

It was only the ten steps between them, distance that felt both heady and crushing. It felt too far and dangerously close, and Roman stood, bumping the table. The cups rattled in their saucers; one of the scones toppled from the plate.

Iris smiled and began to weave her way to him.

Don’t. Roman nearly panicked, feeling his blood pound hot and fast. Don’t smile at me like that.

It made him want to collide with her, his lips on her neck, the curve of her ribs. Tasting her mouth. It made him want to draw out all those words he loved from her, but most of all the way she said his name.

By the time she reached their table, she sensed it. His cold exterior, the ice in his gaze. That cloud of reservation and politeness, building like a thunderhead.

Her smile faded but she didn’t seem defeated. No, he only saw determination flare in her eyes, and Roman felt relieved. His shoulders relaxed a fraction.

“Hello, Kitt,” Iris said in a careful tone.

“Winnow,” he replied, clearing his throat. “Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.”

She removed her trench coat and sat. Roman lowered himself back down to his chair and reached for the pot. There was a slight tremor in his hands, as if he had drunk too much coffee on an empty stomach.

“When was the last time I saw you?” Iris said as he poured their tea.

Yes, perfect. Establish a timeline. He dared to glance up, meeting her stare as he handed her a cup.

“I believe it was your last day of work at the Gazette,” he replied. “When I won the columnist position.”

“Ah, so it was.” She sounded like the old Iris. The one who got under his skin with her perfect articles.

But he noticed how she rubbed the palm of her hand. How she studied the tea tray, a wrinkle in her brow, like she suddenly didn’t know where to look. The blush was fading from her face as if she were speaking with a ghost.

“I must say you look well,” he said. And then, because he was an utter fool for her, he bumped her foot beneath the table.

That brought her gaze back to him. Keen and full of light, warm as embers. “Are you implying that I looked ill before?”

He almost smiled, and he was pleased to see the color return to her skin. It could have been a bloom of indignation, or desire. They had played this game well at the Gazette, although if Roman could go back …

No. He shut the thought down. He wouldn’t change a thing. Because if he could, would the two of them still be here, bound together by vow and trial and love that had crept up on him like ivy on stone?

“You look just as I remember you,” he said.

Iris must have understood the hidden meaning. Her expression softened, just a fraction.

He wasn’t acting this way—like they had stepped back in time—because his memories had faltered again. All those pieces were still there, aligned and restitched back together. He was acting reserved for another reason entirely, one he hoped to explain to her later, when it was safe.

“You said you have a message for me?” Iris reached for the pitcher of milk just as he reached for the honey dish.

Their knuckles brushed.

Roman almost froze again, his heart beating like wings against his ribs.

“Ah, I forgot,” Iris continued seamlessly with a wave of her hand. “You only take honey in your tea, like all the poets did. The office was always running low because of you.”

Roman was thankful for the lighthearted distraction. “And you like a little tea with your milk.”

“Oh, come now,” Iris said as she, indeed, poured far too much milk into her cup. “It makes it more substantial.”