From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 242

**TITLE: Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**by Serene L. Ard**
**Chapter 242**

He shook his head, a gesture filled with a mix of determination and weariness. “I’ll go brush,” he declared, his voice steady yet soft.

I nodded in response, my heart a little lighter. “Okay.”

With a gentle push, he stood up, momentarily steadying himself against the table, as if gathering strength from its solid surface before making his way to the bathroom. The sound of running water soon filled the stillness of the house, a soothing backdrop to my swirling thoughts. I busied myself with the dishes, stacking them methodically in the sink, even wiping the counter, which was already immaculate, as if the act itself could scrub away the remnants of our earlier conflict.

When he returned, his hair was damp, glistening slightly under the soft light, and though the tiredness lingered in the lines of his face, there was a gentler softness there now. He didn’t utter a single word; instead, he took my hand in his and led me down the dimly lit hallway, our fingers intertwining as if to reconnect what had frayed between us.

As we stepped into the bedroom, I felt a shift in the atmosphere. It was warmer, almost as if the room itself remembered the embrace of tranquility. The bed was made with care, appearing almost untouched since our last argument, a stark reminder of the distance we had traveled. I hesitated at the edge, but Roman, sensing my uncertainty, tugged me gently toward him. We slipped beneath the covers, facing each other, the world outside fading away.

Then, without any words, he pulled me close. His head nestled against my chest, and his arm wrapped around my waist, fingers curling possessively against my hip. I could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat against my ribs—steady yet faint, a reminder of the fragility of the moment. My hand found its way to his hair, tracing slow, soothing patterns through the dark strands, as if trying to weave a tapestry of comfort between us.

For a while, we existed in silence, our breaths mingling in a gentle, rhythmic dance. Then, breaking the stillness, he spoke softly, his voice almost a whisper. “I wish you’d met my mother.”

I looked down, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in his words. “You’ve never really talked about her before,” I replied, curiosity piquing within me.

A faint smile graced his lips, his eyes drifting into a distant memory. “She was kind. Very beautiful. When she was alive, I used to tell everyone that she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She had this way of making you feel like home existed in people, not just places. You would have liked her.”

The thought warmed my heart, a tender smile spreading across my face. “And she would have liked me?”

He lifted his head slightly, enough to meet my gaze, and I could see the affection in his eyes. “She would’ve loved you.”

A gentle ache unfurled in my chest, bittersweet yet comforting. “That’s sweet,” I murmured, feeling a connection to a woman I had never met but could sense the impact she had left on his life.

Roman’s gaze softened further, a hint of sadness creeping into his expression. “She deserved to meet you.”

I brushed my hand over his temple, my thumb tracing the faint lines of exhaustion etched there. “Did Dahlia ever meet her?” I asked quietly, my curiosity bubbling to the surface.

I wanted to know if his late wife had been his childhood sweetheart, or if they had grown up together in some idyllic setting. The thought of their past intrigued me, and I found myself pondering how Cassandra fit into this intricate puzzle of his life. Most likely, he had dated Cassandra before marrying Dahlia, right?

He hesitated for a moment, the silence stretching between us. “No.”

“Why not?” I pressed gently, sensing there was more to the story.

He exhaled slowly, laying his head back down against my chest. “Because by the time I met Dahlia, my mother was already gone.”

Oh. That revelation hung in the air, heavy with sadness. It was tragic—losing one significant person only to fall in love, only to be betrayed, and then to face loss all over again.

“But my father… he met her.”

That caught me off guard. “Your father?” I echoed, suddenly remembering that he had indeed known her.

He nodded slightly, his eyes closed, as if the memories were too painful to fully revisit. “He approved of her. Said she was perfect for the family.”

A small twist of instinctive unease settled in my stomach. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why that statement felt off, but it did.

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