The Procedure (19 page)

We found a perfect rhythm together, and the sounds of our ecstasy were the only sounds in the room.

“I love you so much, Samantha,” he ground out as he came into me.

Kissing him softly, I said the words that I knew he longed to hear. “I love you too.” My words were whispered, but I could tell by the expression of wonder on his face that he’d heard them.

Reaching up, he pushed my hair from my face and I relaxed against him while he was still inside me.

“I’m just not used to this kind of intimacy with another person,” I confessed. I hadn’t wanted to move from atop Roman, so I rested my chin on his chest to look at him.

“And what kind of intimacy is that?” he asked, running his fingers as far down my spine as he could.

“This kind. When we’re together, it’s like you’re a part of me.” He chuckled and playfully lifted his hips, showing that was indeed very much a part of me. “Not like that, Dr. Blake. I meant emotionally. It’s scary because sometimes I feel like you can see right through me.”

His face went serious, and he looked me in the eye while he played with a strand of hair by my cheek.

“That’s because intimacy isn’t purely physical. It’s the act of connecting with someone so deeply, you feel like you can see into their soul.”

His words were beautiful as usual. Roman’s heart was unlike anyone else’s. It was pure, full of compassion and love.

“Are we connected, Roman? Can you see my soul?”

Leaning up, he kissed me, pressing his warm lips to mine and sealing some unspoken promise. When he pulled away, his eyes devoured mine. “I can see everything—all that you are—and I never want to let you go.”

“Good because I’m not going anywhere without you.” I rolled my hips.

He stirred and hardened instantly inside of me. His eyes turned dark with lust, and he moaned when I moved again. I loved getting that reaction from Roman. He made me feel like I was the only woman who could ever cause him to react that way, and it empowered me.

We pulled the night down around us and hours later, we finally slept. Still sprawled across Roman’s chest and him nestled deep inside of me, we slept.

WHEN WE COULD
no longer ignore the growl of our stomach’s or the outside world, we emerged from my bedroom like creatures of the night.

“It burns!” Samantha joked when the sun touched her skin.

Laughing, I pulled her to me, but then the sun met my eyes and her burning joke didn’t sound so funny anymore. I made a mental note to open the blinds the next time Samantha and I decided not to leave the bedroom for three days.

“Are you hungry?” I asked as I took her hand and led her into the kitchen.

The layout of my condo was pretty simple. Bedroom, bathroom, hallway, kitchen that overlooked the living room, and a dining room and front door.

“I’m starved. Some evil man refused to feed me while he ravished my body so perfectly,” she said with a grin before tilting up on her tiptoes and kissing me.

I kissed her back, smiling against her lips as I backed her onto a stool.

She climbed it and leaned onto the counter while I moved around the kitchen.

“I only know how to make scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, sausage, and toast.” I frowned. “But I usually burn the toast.

She laughed. “Only?” She pretended to be aghast. “What, no Belgian waffles? You aren’t going to cook a five-course dinner later?”

I caught on to her teasing and laughed with her. “If that’s what you want, love.”

“Eggs and bacon are fine. Or cereal, if you have any?”

“I actually think I might.” I turned toward the small pantry and pulled out a box of Lucky Charms.

“Will this do?” I held up the box.

Her face lit up. “Perfect. A magically delicious breakfast after a magically delicious night.”

Two full bowls later, I was leaning against the counter across from her, patting my full stomach. I had no idea where she was putting it, but watching her eat was sexy. I fully planned on making her my lunch a little later.

I CLEANED UP
our breakfast mess while Samantha watched from the kitchen counter. I could feel her eyes on my skin, and I knew it was time I explained a few things to her.

If I were in this for the long haul, which I was, I needed to open up to her. I needed her to know that the things Michael had accused me of being were true in a way. Having the darkness I kept locked within put on display in front of room full of people wasn’t how I wanted Samantha to find out. But even still, she deserved to know about my past. It was just unfortunate that she heard it from a man such a Michael instead of me.

She needed clarification, and I was ready to give her that. I could tell there were times when she looked at me that she wanted to ask, but she was respectful of my feelings. I appreciated that about her.

“I was going to tell you, Samantha.” I threw the dish towel across my shoulder and turned to face her.

Her eyes found mine, and confusion clouded them for a brief second before she realized what I was talking about. Looking away, she tucked her hair behind her ear and she cleared her throat. Her eyes moved over to mine again as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Understanding moved into her expression, and she gave me a sweet smile. “I know.”

My heart fluttered for her, and the love inside me grew.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I had a baby sister,” I started.

The ache I usually felt when I mentioned Rachel filled my chest and threatened to choke me.

“Her name was Rachel,” I rasped. The words felt stuck to my tongue.

“Was?” Her brows pulled in.

“She committed suicide when she was seventeen.” I forced the words out.

Samantha’s eyes grew wild with grief. “I’m so sorry, Roman.”

I nodded. “It was many years ago, but it still hurts as if it were yesterday.”

“Naturally,” she said.

Standing from the stool, she moved across the room to me, pressing a comforting hand to my bare chest.

“Her face was burned pretty badly when she was younger, and children are cruel. She was teased unmercifully at school. So badly in fact that my mother refused to let her go back at first.” I swallowed the memories. I could remember wanting to go to her school and strangle the kids that were hurtful to Rachel.

“She was homeschooled until she was twelve. By then, she felt she was old enough to handle the kids at school. She begged our mother to let her go back—begged to be a normal kid, but my mother wouldn’t relent. She was completely against the idea, but my father was adamant that being social with kids her own age was important for Rachel.”

I could still hear his words. They were angry and careless.
She needs to accept her scars and learn to see herself as what she is.

What she is… not who.

I hated the way he’d said that. As if she were an abomination. As if she weren’t completely normal simply because of her scars. The truth was that Rachel was amazing. She was beautiful and strong, and while I agreed that she should return to school, I agreed because it was what she wanted, not for any other reason.

“Her first day back was a nightmare, but she insisted on going back. I was so proud of her, Samantha.” I looked down into her big, brown pools of understanding. “She was a fighter at first. Her spirt was undeterred no matter what the kids said. She made it her mission to get all the kids to like her.

Only kids were harsh. Even at such a young age, they were able to tear someone down and destroy their soul. They were doing it to Rachel. I could see the changes in her every day when she came home. She was losing her sparkle—her eyes became dead over time—and I knew she was crumbling under their words.”

I put my head down, feeling the tears rush to my eyes. Samantha ran her thumb across my cheek and I kissed it, reminding myself that I was here and now, not back in London watching my sister go away from herself.

“She was a shell of the girl she used to be,” I continued. “And after surviving four months of public school, she begged our parents to let her go back to being homeschooled. My father refused, putting Rachel and my mother in tears. I remember hating him so much,” I said with guilt as I looked down at Samantha, who would give anything to have her father back.

I felt terrible for saying it out loud, knowing how she felt about her own father, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she continued to comfort me with a touch here or there and a tiny kiss from her sweet lips.

“When my sister turned thirteen, her only wish was to have plastic surgery. She wanted to look normal and have a normal life. But my father refused. He said she didn’t need it. He said she was fine just the way she was, and she didn’t need it.”

Fine. Not beautiful, which she was—she was gorgeous inside and out. I could see it. My mother could see it. Yet, he’d said she was
fine
.

She didn’t feel
fine
. It was obvious by the way she moped around the house, her eyes bland and her color turning pale.

“It got to a point that she wouldn’t even leave the house anymore. She would scream when my father would make her, and I would stand to the side and cry inside, wishing I could help her. She became depressed and withdrawn and no matter how much I tried to pull her out of it, she was lost.

“She began cutting herself—starving herself—and deteriorating in front of our eyes. My mother begged and threatened my father to do something for her. She said she understood why he didn’t want her to have the surgery, but Rachel was declining and the time for life lessons was over.

“And then one day, she didn’t come downstairs for breakfast. My mother told me to go upstairs and get her. I took the stairs two at a time, knowing something was wrong. I could feel it in my chest.”

A tear fell down my cheek, and Samantha wiped it away.

“And there she was. Sprawled on the floor and white. Everything in the room became white as I freaked out, except for the deep red blood that was pooled around her. Her wrists had been cut. She had taken her own life.”

Darkness moved on Samantha’s face, and I hated myself for putting it there—for drawing her into my dark place, but I knew it needed to be done. I wanted her to know me and everything about me.

“Life as we knew it was never the same. My mother could never forgive my father for what she thought he did to Rachel and neither could I. My mother died a few years later, but she was never the same.

“I went to school to become a doctor. My father wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but I had other plans. I wanted to help people, people like Rachel. So I became a surgeon, a plastic surgeon. My father was disgusted by my decision. He said it was a waste of my knowledge to become a doctor for frivolous things.”

I shook my head remembering the last thing I’d ever said to him.

“We got into a huge argument the day I graduated from university. I said things I wish I could take back. I told him it was his fault Rachel killed herself, and maybe in some way it was, but after having Michael call me a murderer the other night, I understood how badly my words had to burn him.”

Samantha put her hand over mine, and tears filled her eyes. “But you’re not a murderer, Roman.”

I sighed. “No. I’m not, and neither was my father, but I was stubborn and thought I knew it all. I couldn’t stay in that house with my father any longer, so I left and came to the states to stay with my grandmother.”

Another dark memory moved over me, and I swallowed the bile that threatened me.

“It was my first year in my new practice as a plastic surgeon, and I felt like I could change the world. I was a couple of months in when I met Mary Sinclair. She’d been in a horrible car accident that left her face badly scarred. She wanted me to fix her, to make her beautiful again, and because she reminded me of Rachel so much, I agreed to the surgery.”

Her face flashed before my eyes, and I smiled at how beautiful she was after the surgery.

“When I was finished with her, she was like a brand-new woman, and she was so happy. It made me happy to know she wouldn’t end up like Rachel and that I had given that to her. But then, it didn’t seem to be enough for her.

“She kept coming back for more surgeries, things I didn’t exactly think she needed, but Dr. Stein argued it wasn’t my place to decide that for the patients. So I continued to do surgery after surgery until she was no longer flesh and bone.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, remembering how terrible her skin had looked. She was pulled so tightly that her skin looked ready to pop. I hated myself for doing that to her. I hated everything about my job when it came to her.

“After a while, I started to refuse her calls, I stopped booking appointments with her, and eventually, she got the point. She was addicted to it, and I guess I thought if I wouldn’t do the surgeries anymore, she would stop having them done. Two weeks later, I received a call from another plastic surgeon who was requesting her files.

“I told him all about her, her addiction, and how I felt she was suffering from depression and who knew what else. He assured me he had it handled and that neither of us were a psychiatrist. Neither of us were in the position to post a diagnoses of depression on her head. He hung up, and I let it go.

“A month later, I saw her on the news. I remembered the journalist going on and on about the dangers of plastic surgery. The title of the news spot was
Plastic Surgery Gone Wrong.

“They posted pictures of how terrible she looked after each surgery I’d done, and I hated myself for letting it go as far as it did.

“She died a month later,” I said as hurt crushed my chest. “I’d killed her. Not technically, but it was on my file. I’d made her what she was. I was her dealer for so long.”

It angered me. I was angry with her, with the other surgeon, but mostly with myself, for not doing more for Mary or Rachel. It was then that I realized what my father had been doing all those years ago with my sister, and if I had realized it sooner, I could have saved Mary, maybe even Rachel.

They didn’t need surgery to make them beautiful—they need self-esteem. They needed someone to show them how beautiful they were, not just tell them. They needed everything society didn’t give them.

“I vowed never to do unnecessary surgery on a person again. I switched to reconstructive surgery and worked hard on shaping the people I deal with every day to love themselves and see past what’s on the outside. In the end, the people who matter will remember them by how big their heart is and not how they looked.”

I felt like I’d been talking for an eternity when I finally looked up at Samantha. She was watching me closely with understanding eyes. She wasn’t judging me for all my flaws. She understood.

“That’s why you wouldn’t do the surgery for me,” she whispered.

I nodded. “I wasn’t going to make the same mistake with you. You were so fragile the first time I met you and yes, I was angry with you, but deep down, I was angry at the reason that made you even feel the need to be there.”

I cupped her soft cheeks in my palms, my fingers getting lost in her hair.

“When I saw you that night at the party, you looked like the weight of the world was on your shoulders, and it killed me. And if I’m confessing all my truths right now, it’s important that you know you changed me too, Samantha. I don’t know how I lived without knowing you.”