I lay wide awake next to Roman, staring up at the ceiling. I normally find the sound of his deep, even breathing soothing, but my mind is restless and refuses to turn off. Which is odd, because I always sleep better when I’m in his arms.
Maybe it’s the continuous sound of trains rolling by the apartment building.
Or the strange bed I’m sleeping in.
Or the fact that I don’t know the man I’ve been sharing my body with.
Maybe it’s all of those reasons combined.
Unable to take another moment, I throw the covers off my naked body. I creep out of the room to use the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind me.
When I’m finished, I pause, unsure what to do. Tomorrow is Monday, and I need to be up bright and early for work. Plus, I’ll need to stop at my place to change my clothes and fix my hair. If I were smart, I’d head back to the bedroom and get a few hours of sleep.
But I can tell this fidgety feeling isn’t going to dissipate. If I were at home, I’d make a cup of tea, grab a book off the shelf, and read for a bit, distracting myself with a good story. But there are no distractions here.
And I’m not about to rifle through Roman’s cupboards looking for tea.
Instead of moving toward the bedroom, I gravitate to the unadorned window overlooking the street. I watch traffic zip and whizz past for a few minutes. It may be one in the morning, but the streets teem with energy and movement.
I turn away and glance around the apartment with more scrutiny. Moonlight filters in, illuminating the living room and adjoining kitchen. I can’t put my finger on it, but the blankness of this place bothers me.
Every surface is sparkling and fingerprint-free. The typical pile of mail most people have laying around is nowhere to be found. No personal items, such as a pair of shoes or a single photograph are strewn about.
The niggle of unease in my belly quadruples in size and grows into a painful gnaw as I look for something, anything that proves Roman really lives here.
I’ve been in hotel rooms with more personality.
That thought reverberates through me as my eyes land on the desk in the corner. Without thinking, I move in its direction.
Because I need answers.
Answers Roman refuses to give me.
The top of the desk is, like everything else in the apartment, free of debris except for a computer resting on it. Even in the shadowy darkness of the room, I can tell it’s an older model. It isn’t as sleek as the ones that are now being sold in stores.
Are the drawers inside the desk as barren as everything else?
I suck my lower lip into my mouth and bite down. There’s no doubt that I would be livid if someone invaded my privacy by going through my belongings. That alone should be enough to make me back away and retreat to the bedroom.
What I’m considering is wrong, and I damn well know it.
And yet I don’t move a muscle.
In the back of my mind, I know there are pieces of Roman’s life that don’t add up. I’ve tried everything I can think of to coax him into talking, but he refuses. He hasn’t left me a choice in the matter.
I expel a long, slow breath.
No. That’s not right. There are always choices to make. And I’m choosing this one of my own free will. With butterflies winging to life in my belly, I glance toward the closed bedroom door and release a shaky breath.
If I’m going to do this, it needs to happen now.
My fingers tremble as I grip the handle on the middle drawer and slide it open. If Roman finds me rummaging through his desk, this fledgling relationship will die as quickly as it flared to life.
But a voice in my head insists that something is amiss. And if the last couple of weeks have taught me anything, it’s that I need to pay attention to my instincts. I ignored the warning bells that rang right after Victor Dmitriyev sauntered into my office. That had been a mistake.
When I’m with Roman, I don’t feel as though I’m in danger. But my instincts are still trying to warn me that something isn’t right and this time, I refuse to push them aside. With nothing more than moonlight, I look down at pens, pencils, paperclips and a blank notepad.
My heart thumps as a mixture of disappointment and relief rushes through my veins. As much as I want to uncover evidence that justifies what I’m doing, I don’t want to discover that Roman has been deceiving me. That knowledge would crush me.
Part of me wants to shove the drawer closed and hightail it back to bed. I had a peek inside the desk and found nothing of interest. I should leave it alone. Let it go. Unfortunately, my mind demands I finish this in order to be completely satisfied. I shift to the left side of the desk and open the first drawer. Finding a thin stack of papers, I pick them up and leaf through them.
Utility bills.
The name on them reads Roman Santori with this address. I move to the next drawer. My brows slide together in confusion as I stare down at emptiness. I have a desk at home, and it’s jam-packed with paper because I don’t have a filing cabinet. Roman doesn’t have one either.
I go to the right side and tug open the top drawer. Other than a handful of receipts, there isn’t anything worthwhile inside. Certainly nothing that validates my snooping. I haven’t come across a single thing to rationalize my continued search through his belongings. I should stop this madness. Instead, I finger the handle of the bottom drawer and jerk it open since I’ve looked through all the others.
At this point, I don’t expect to find anything incriminating.
My gaze settles on another sheaf of paper. A cursory glance reveals nothing of importance. But I’ve combed through the rest of the desk. If I come up empty-handed, I can just accept that Roman is a minimalist who doesn’t care about aesthetics.
I have no idea how much time he spends here.
Maybe none at all.
Maybe this apartment is just a place to crash at night and nothing more.
I pick up the papers and thumb through them. As with the previous drawers, there’s nothing noteworthy. Nothing to prove that Roman isn’t exactly who he claims to be.
How exactly did I get to this point?
Where did the paranoia come from?
Sitting back on my heels, I rub my temples and sigh. I allowed Roman’s silence to snowball into something it’s not, which makes me feel like a jackass. Did I ever consider that he told me there was no future for us because he didn’t want to be tied down in a long-term relationship?
The more I think about it, the more that possibility makes sense. He said one little thing and I spun it out of control, thinking there was an actual reason for him not wanting to get involved with me.
God, I’m an idiot.
As I’m about to return the papers to the drawer, I notice a small white square on the bottom of the flat wooden surface. I tug it free. One of the corners sticks and the edge rips off. Flipping it over, I see that it’s a photograph. The first one I’ve seen in this apartment. In the darkness, I make out the faint image of a person. Maybe two. I walk over to the window and tilt the picture until light hits it.
It’s a graduation photo.
I squint, realizing with a start that it’s a picture of Roman. Only younger. He’s shaking a man’s hand who is dressed in a uniform. The American flag is prominently displayed in the background.
I frown as a fresh wave of shock crashes over me. What I’m seeing doesn’t make sense.
Why—
The light snaps on, and my head jerks up.