From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 4

**TITLE: Dreams Folding Into Broken Time Velvet Shadows by Serene L. Arden**

**Chapter 4: Trip To New Hope**

**Two Weeks Later…**

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” Roman remarked, his tone teasing. “When did you decide to ‘borrow’ that one?”

“I didn’t steal it, I merely borrowed it. There’s a distinct difference,” I replied, fastening my seatbelt with a hint of mischief. “And if I happen to perish on this trip, make sure everyone knows I looked adorable and smelled divine.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” he chuckled, settling into the driver’s seat of his sleek, black Aston Martin. “But are you sure you’ve packed everything you need?”

“Anxiety? Check. Emergency snacks? Check. A dress my sister insists is ‘too good for me’? Triple check,” I recounted, holding up my fingers as if ticking off a list.

“That was a low blow, by the way,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe she said something like that over a dress. You alright?”

“I’ll manage. She’s thrown much worse at me before,” I assured him, though the sting of her words lingered in my mind.

“And the most crucial item? Did you remember to bring it?” Roman’s voice was light, but I could see his curiosity as he started the engine, his sunglasses perched stylishly atop his tousled hair.

A sly grin spread across my face. “You bet I did.”

As he pulled away from the curb, laughter bubbled between us. “Remind me never to cross you, Sav.”

“Or to forget your wedding gift,” I shot back playfully.

“Don’t even worry about that. Marriage is not in my future. Ever,” he declared with a firm nod, his expression serious.

I rolled my eyes, exasperated. “Everyone says that at some point. Then suddenly, they’re happily married with a small army of kids and a dozen dogs.”

“Nice fantasy picture, but it’s not for me,” he scoffed, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand.

A frown creased my brow. I had known Roman for five years, and this was the first time he had ever opened up about his aversion to marriage.

“Why not?” I pressed, genuinely curious.

“Some things just aren’t meant for certain people. Sav, look at me. Do I really seem like the type of guy who fits into that picture?” He gestured to the world outside, his hand steady on the wheel.

I took a moment to study him. From his striking green eyes to the way his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly when he spoke, down to his soft, ivory cashmere sweater and sleek black pants. “Sure you do,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light.

He shook his head, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Not a chance. I like my life just the way it is.”

“If you’re so against marriage, then why are you accompanying me to New Hope?” I challenged, raising an eyebrow.

He stole a quick glance at me before refocusing on the road ahead. “Who knows? Maybe it’s the allure of adventure. Maybe it’s for the experience? Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because I’d do anything for you.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. “Why don’t you want to get married? I’ve always thought that one day, when I’m older, I’d like to settle down.” I placed a hand over my heart, feeling the weight of my own desires.

“You’re turning thirty, Savannah,” he chuckled, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I can still say ‘when I’m older.’ There’s no law against thirty-year-olds expressing that sentiment,” I countered, my voice firm. “Besides, you still haven’t explained why you’ve sworn off marriage.”

“Let’s not dig up dead bodies, love,” he replied, a playful glint in his eyes.

I shot him a mock glare. “I’m going to get that story out of you, one way or another.”

“Until then, love,” he said with a smile that made my heart flutter.

An hour into our drive, the GPS chimed in, “Continue on I-95 North for 67 miles.”

I turned my head, a mischievous smile forming. “Okay. It’s time.”

“For what?” Roman asked, curiosity piqued.

I spun dramatically in my seat, pulling out my phone with flair. “The road trip playlist. It’s a sacred ritual. The first song sets the entire tone for our adventure.”

Roman raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched on his face.

“If you play Taylor Swift, I swear I’ll drive us straight into a river,” he warned, half-joking.

I gasped in mock horror. “You take that back!”

The houses morphed into memories, each one a reminder of the past I had tried so hard to forget.

By the time Roman turned into the gravel driveway of my childhood home, my palms were slick with sweat.

Could I really pull this off for an entire week?

“Sav? You okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice as he reached over to place his hand on my thigh, grounding me.

I managed a smile, though it felt shaky. “Of course. Just got lost in the music for a moment.”

We both turned to face the house, my expression clouded with uncertainty, while Roman’s was filled with surprise.

“Sav, are you sure we’re at the right house?” he questioned, his brow furrowing.

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

The Hart family home stood majestically at the end of a winding, tree-lined driveway, a timeless structure of stone, ivy creeping along its edges like whispers of long-forgotten secrets.

Two tall brick chimneys crowned the sharply gabled roof, hinting at roaring fires that warmed the silk-draped drawing rooms within. The tall, amber-lit windows glowed like honey at dusk, spilling golden light across the manicured hedges that flanked the front entrance, creating a soft arch that cradled the wooden double doors. The wraparound porch, adorned with wrought-iron lanterns and polished oak railings, beckoned me with nostalgia.

And to the left, a blooming cherry tree stood proudly, its pink petals contrasting against the stone like a blush that refused to fade, no matter how many winters came and went.

“Your house is much bigger than I ever imagined,” Roman remarked, his eyes wide with surprise.

“I forgot to mention that my dad is a retired federal judge,” I replied, nervously running my sweaty palms over my black joggers.

“You left out the part where you should have warned me that the Harts live in a fortress,” he teased, though there was a hint of awe in his voice.

Still, Roman navigated the gravel driveway with an air of confidence, as if he owned the place.

The welcoming committee was already gathered at the front entrance, waiting for us with expectant smiles.

My mom, my older sister Alyssa, a few aunts, my cousin Lizzie from Florida, and my little niece Chloe, dressed in head-to-toe white.

And worst of all—Dean fucking Archer.