But, as my eyes lifted and I saw Roman fucking Leblanc entering the mouth of the hallway, flanked by two men in suits, I knew it was definitely something.
I hadn’t seen him in the two years since the divorce, but it could have been a thousand years and I wouldn’t have forgotten him.
However, with that said, I didn’t exactly recognize this man, either.
The man I’d fallen in love with didn’t parade around at ten a.m. on a Thursday morning in a suit. Hell, my Roman had argued about wearing one to his own wedding. Regardless of where we had been heading, fast food or a funeral, you wouldn’t have caught him in anything but jeans, a T-shirt, and a tattered ball cap.
This guy, though, was wearing that power suit as if it had been custom-made for him. Which, judging by the way it hugged his every muscular curve, it probably had been.
I narrowed my eyes as he strode down the long hallway. It was definitely him, but not even the posture matched the man I’d vowed my life to. My Roman smiled with his whole body and could charm a popsicle from a toddler with nothing more than a wink. He was approachable, funny, laid-back, and gorgeous beyond all belief.
As I raked my eyes over him, I realized that, much to my dismay, the gorgeous part had remained intact, even if the hard set of his jaw and the resolute square of his shoulders tarnished it.
Power and money swirled in the air around him with every step.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. I knew he was successful now.
I’d seen the magazine covers.
I’d heard our old friends talking.
I’d received his checks.
This was the new Roman, and it was so fucking wrong that my heart went into mourning all over again.
Suddenly, his silver eyes landed on me and, with a whoosh, the air became too thick to breathe. It was okay because my breath was trapped in my lungs, unable to escape around the newly formed lump in my throat.
He blinked for several seconds. Then his shoulders relaxed and the fa?ade dissolved, leaving the man I had fallen in love with beautifully exposed in front of me.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled the same way they had when we’d first met.
Back then, I’d mistaken it for love at first sight.
Now, I took it as a warning.
“Why are you here?” I accused in a low voice.
Cocking his head to the side, he returned, “Why are you here?”
His words hypnotically washed over me. He’d always had that effect on me. No matter how wound up I’d get, Roman could calm me with nothing more than a touch or a whisper.
Until the day he’d abandoned me.
I focused on that memory as I shot back, “I have no clue. But I’m starting to think it’s probably your fault.”
The corner of his lips twitched in the most annoying—and sexy—way possible. He pressed his left hand to his chest and feigned, “My fault?”
My mouth dried as the ache in my chest clawed up my throat.
His ring finger was bare.
It wasn’t as though I’d expected him to be wearing his wedding ring after all this time. It was just that I’d never seen him without it. I’d given Roman that cheap gold band twenty-four hours after we’d met, when we’d gotten married at the courthouse without telling a single friend or family member.
He never took it off.
Never.
He’d still been wearing it as he’d walked out of the courtroom the day our divorce was finalized.
I swallowed hard and dropped my gaze to the floor. I couldn’t do this. Not today. Maybe not ever. There was a reason I’d left him. This shit shouldn’t still hurt.
And yet, it did. Agonizingly so.
“Yes, your fault,” I whispered, but there was no resolve in my voice even to my own ears.
Following my lead, he gentled his voice. “I have no clue why I’m here. And, quite honestly, I’m more confused now that you’re here, Lissy.”
The familiar nickname made my head snap up.
As a woman with the name Elisabeth, I had no less than a dozen nicknames. Beth, Liz, Ellie, Biz, Lizzy, Bee, Elle… I’d had them all over the years. Friends, family, people I’d just met—they all abbreviated my name.
But the difference was that Roman pronounced the S.
“I’ll take that,” Roman said, snatching my driver’s license from my hand after I’d been carded for wine on our first date. “Elisabeth with an S, huh?” He smiled, causing my heart to nearly pound out of my chest.
My cheeks must have flashed a million shades of pink, because his smile grew.
I nodded. “My parents wanted to make absolutely sure I never got one of those personalized pencils at the elementary school book fair. They’re evil people like that.” I shrugged. “Mission accomplished.”
He blinked at me for several seconds, sporting the most breathtaking grin I’d ever experienced. Then, finally, he reached across the table and took my hand. There weren’t sparks the way they flourished in romance novels or movies.
No. What I felt when Roman Leblanc took my hand was more than any poet, author, or screenwriter could describe.