Sloane's POV.
The morning air in the penthouse was cool, but the space between us was thick with the things we hadn't said. I watched Roman at the window. He looked like a statue carved from shadow, his broad shoulders blocking out the New York skyline.
"You used to like tuna," I whispered. My voice was raspy, catching in my dry throat.
Roman didn't flinch. He didn't even turn around. "People change, Sloane. Usually because they’re starving."
"I remember the gym, Roman. I remember how you’d sit behind the bleachers so the seniors wouldn't see you. You always gave me half that sandwich, even when I knew you hadn't eaten since yesterday."
The silence that followed was heavy. I could hear the faint whistle of the wind against the reinforced glass. Finally, Roman turned. He didn't look a
