Roman’s eyes were deep and unfathomable as he approached Rose.
“Breathe, little butterfly,” he let out, as he brought forward a paper bag to her face, which she took gladly. “Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.”
Rose did as she was told, desperately attempting to calm down. And with his help, his ever soothing presence, and his branding touch on her back, she somehow managed to stop hyperventilating.
“That’s it. Good girl.”
His praise had the knack to make her feel somewhat cherished. Usually, her father was the only one who helped her through her panic attacks. Her mother never bothered, eying her with something akin to disdain. And heavens knew that she only developed such severe anxiety because of her. As a teenager, she had once found her passed out on the couch, her nose bleeding with
