From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 133

**Chapter 85: Your Brother’s Wife**

I swallowed the small pill, chasing it down with a gulp of water, as if I could drown the tempest of emotions that clawed at my chest. Hours had slipped by since Roman walked out, leaving me in a state of paralysis, lost in a whirlpool of thoughts that made me feel equally pathetic and utterly ridiculous.

Why was I even allowing myself to spiral like this? Why would I want him to accept the idea of me getting pregnant under such chaotic, unplanned circumstances? It wasn’t like we had ever sat down and crafted a vision of our future together—complete with kids, a home, and matching pajamas. Roman had made it abundantly clear that he was staunchly against marriage and children.

And yet, the mere thought of it ignited a fire within me that felt as if it could consume me whole.

It was already outrageous enough that he had come inside me multiple times, all thanks to my ridiculous allergy—an allergy I had allowed him to exploit the very first time. But to let that reckless desire blossom into a whole new life? That was a completely different level of madness altogether.

I attempted to rationalize the situation. I should be grateful to him for exercising caution. For being sensible. For being the voice of reason. For protecting me from my own foolish, sentimental urges. Yet, the more I replayed our earlier conversation in my mind, the more hollow it sounded, echoing like a ghost in an empty room. My chest throbbed with a dull ache, like pressing on a bruise that refused to heal.

Just when I thought I might drown in my own thoughts, salvation—or perhaps just a distraction—came crashing in the form of music.

Specifically, it was “Beat It.” The familiar rock anthem blasted through the house, nearly shaking the very foundations. The walls vibrated with the bass, rattling metal picture frames and disrupting the suffocating silence that had enveloped me. Roman had always detested loud music; he loathed it with an intensity that bordered on passion. He once told me that it was just “noise with a bad attitude.” Clearly, he wasn’t behind this cacophony. That left only one culprit.

Reese.

The mere thought of him sent a jolt of irritation through me, making my temples throb in time with the music. I could feel Roman’s disdain for him seeping into my own perceptions as well.

Yet, curiosity tugged at me, pulling me from the sanctuary of Roman’s bedroom. I hastily gathered my hair into a messy bun that could hardly be called a ponytail and jogged down the stairs, eager to uncover the source of this raucous noise.

With every step, the volume grew louder, wrapping around me like a thick fog until I stood at the kitchen doorway. And there he was, as if summoned by my thoughts.

Reese was at the stove, his blond hair pulled back into a perfect ponytail that made my own look like a sad joke. He stood barefoot, clad in a pair of black sweatpants that I instantly recognized as Roman’s. He looked maddeningly at ease, as if he owned the place rather than merely being a guest in his brother’s home.

And there he was, flipping pancakes. Flipping pancakes to “Beat It.”

I hesitated at the threshold, my body rebelling against the usual etiquette of walking in and demanding he turn the volume down. Instead, I lingered there, caught between annoyance and disorientation.

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