From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 182

**Chapter 111: Am I Interrupting Something?**

The tantalizing aroma of carne asada mingled with the smokiness of roasted peppers, clinging to the brown paper bag I held tightly in my grasp. Grease seeped through the fibers, a testament to the deliciousness contained within. Mexican food—my absolute favorite. It was more than just a meal; it was comfort wrapped in warmth, a temporary balm to the heaviness that settled in my chest after my visit to the gynecologist. Her words echoed relentlessly in my mind, striking like a gavel: hard to conceive… years on the pill… it might not be easy.

I squeezed the bag tighter, as if the pressure could somehow stifle the ache that threatened to spill over. With each step down the marble-lined corridor toward his office, I balanced the tacos and tamales like an offering, a peace gesture to bridge the chasm of uncertainty I felt. Perhaps if I brought him something warm, I could find warmth within myself, too.

I paused just outside the door, smoothing down my blouse and running my fingers through my hair, attempting to compose myself. I practiced a smile, one that would mask the gloom lurking beneath the surface, before finally pushing the door open.

Roman’s office was a stark contrast of sharp edges and glimmering glass, sunlight cascading over the polished wood surfaces that had recently become all too familiar against my back. There he was, a commanding presence at the center of it all, seated behind his desk with a headset snugly in place. His voice, deep and resonant, filled the air and caused me to halt in my tracks.

He was speaking Arabic.

Not in a stilted or broken manner, but with a fluidity that was mesmerizing. Each syllable flowed effortlessly from his lips, as if he had been born to speak it. My heart raced, and I found myself frozen just inside the threshold, eyes wide with admiration and disbelief. He gestured sharply with his hand, directing the stern-faced men on the screen before him—investors, no doubt, and potentially formidable ones.

His gaze flickered to me for a fleeting moment, a spark of heat that felt electric, before he returned to the meeting. A subtle lift of his hand instructed me to wait. I nodded silently, sinking into the plush leather chair against the wall. The warm takeout felt heavy on my lap, the enticing aroma curling up and filling the air around me.

Nervously, my foot began to tap against the carpet, a rhythm that mirrored my anxious thoughts. The doctor’s voice haunted me: “If you want children, Savannah, you’ll need to stop. Soon.” A sharp pang pierced my chest. Roman had made it clear he didn’t want kids, and I respected his choice. But as I approached thirty, I couldn’t shake the feeling of solitude that enveloped me. Aside from Roman, I felt utterly alone.

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