The slap was loud enough to stop a ballroom orchestra on the other side of the wall.

The drive from the Bellweather Hotel to Roman's estate on Cliff Road took twenty minutes. They sat in the back of the spacious, leather-scented car in complete silence.

Roman held her hand the entire way. He did not ask her questions. He did not tell her I told you so. He simply held her fingers, his thumb stroking her pulse point until the wild rhythm of her heart finally began to slow.

When the car pulled up the long gravel driveway of the coastal house, the lights were on, warm and amber against the dark, stormy sea beyond the rocks. The house was not a palace like the March estate. It was made of dark wood, heavy stone, and massive glass windows that faced the Atlantic. It looked like a fortress built to withstand hurricane winds.

Roman helped her out of the car, shielding her with his coat as they walked up the timber steps. Inside, the air smelled of cedar, old paper, and the sea.

A housekeeper, an older woman with kind gray eyes named Mrs. Gable, met them in the foyer holding a dry towel and a tray with hot tea.

"Mr. Calder, ma'am," Mrs. Gable said softly, taking one look at Norah's pale face and bruised cheek. "I’ve prepared the bedroom upstairs. I brought the salve for her skin."

"Thank you, Martha," Roman said quietly. "We'll be up in a moment."

He led Norah into the main living room, where a wood fire crackled in a stone fireplace. He sat her down on a soft, deep leather sofa and took off her wet shoes.

"Let me see," he whispered, sitting on his heels before her.

Norah let him gently tilt her head toward the light of the fire. His fingers were large, calloused, and surprisingly delicate as he examined the red mark on her cheek.

"She hit you hard," he said, his jaw tightening, a dark shadow passing over his sharp features.

"It looks worse than it feels," Norah said softly. She opened her hand, showing him the gold thimble and the broken chain lying against her palm. "This was all I cared about. If she had crushed it..."

"I would have broken her father's company into pieces before the night was over," Roman said flatly. He took the chain and thimble from her hand, holding them up to the firelight. "The chain is thin. It can be mended tomorrow. Gavin knows a jeweler in town who restores antiques."

Norah watched his face. "Roman... did you really tell Gavin to buy the hotel?"

Roman looked back at her, his dark eyes steady. "Yes."

"Why? You know I don't want you spending millions of dollars just because someone was cruel to me."

"It isn't about the money, Norah," Roman said gently, resting his hands on her knees. "It's about boundary lines. Selene March thinks the world is her living room because no one has ever shown her where the walls are. She needed to learn that you belong to someone who does not permit trespass."

Norah looked down at her hands, her thumbs tracing the fabric of her black hotel trousers. "I don't belong to anyone, Roman. I told you that when we signed the paper at the courthouse."

"You know what I mean," Roman said softly, his voice dropping into that deep, quiet pitch that made her throat tighten. "You are my wife, Norah. You carry my child. You don't have to fight every battle alone with a mother's thimble squeezed in your hand. You can let me stand in front of you."

"I spent four years letting Julian stand in front of me," Norah whispered, tears finally welling up in her eyes, hot and fast. "And while he stood there, he signed away my home, he spent my mother's small inheritance on his campaign funds, and he left me with nothing when he decided I wasn't impressive enough for his friends. I can't... I can't just hand my life over to another powerful man, Roman. I don't know how to do that without losing myself."

Roman listened without interrupting. He reached out and caught a tear as it ran down her bruised cheek.