Page 112 of From Rome, With Hate

“We’re over then?” she asks, her gaze tearing me apart from the inside out. “We’ll bury our marriage and pretend it never happened.”

“Yes.” I shove down the urge to vomit. I just need Julianna to agree and leave. Then she can start healing.

With shaky fingers, she slides her wedding ring off and sets it on the oval coffee table.

“Right.” She clamps her mouth shut, then turns her head to stare out the window. A single tear slips from her glassy eye before she’s quick to wipe it away. I watch her transform in ten seconds. Her once sad, relaxed shoulders pull back, her spinestraightening. Grinding her teeth, she turns back to me. “I’ll never be free from you, will I?”

Her question feels like a fucking knife to the chest. Is this what dying feels like? It must be.

“La—" I open my mouth, her nickname almost falling free, but I catch myself in the nick of time. “Julianna.”

“Don’t.” She abruptly stands, her arms pinned tightly to her sides. “You’re right. This was a mistake. Falling in love with you, marrying you. We were foolish to believe we were stronger than a generations-long hatred between our families. We’ve already lost too much, so this is the best way to move on. All I have left is my name, and I don’t need you. I don’t need you, Rome. I don’t need anyone but myself.”

I open my mouth to object, but I don’t. This is what I want, for her to agree to separate. Right?

If this is how it’s meant to be, then why does it hurt so fucking much?

Moving around the sofa, she grabs her pink and white striped duffle bag—the one she started packing when we agreed to meet here—and clutches onto the handle. Her knuckles are white as she inhales a deep breath.

“Marcus can give you a ride back to the city,” I tell her, trying my best to stay where I am, rooted to this chair. If I move, I’ll do everything in my power to make her stay. I’ll take back everything. I’ll carry her up to her our bedroom and kiss and fuck every bit of sadness and pain from her body.

“Fine.” She purses her lips. “But that’s the last thing I will ever need from you, Rome.”

I nod, digesting the anger and hatred she’s throwing my way.

She heads toward the front door but stops with her hand on the knob.

“This is for the best, Julianna.”

Half turning, the last thing I catch a glimpse of is her profile. Mascara-stained pink cheeks, her brown hair pulled into a high messy bun. She refuses to look me in the eye. At first, I wish she would. But I realize I’d rather remember the way she used to look at me with nothing but love in her eyes. I know if she were to turn completely around, all I would see is the hatred she now holds for me.

“Goodbye, Rome,” she whispers.

Then she’s gone.

Once the door is shut, my hand flies to my neck, tracing the wings of the lark wrapped around my throat, knowing I’ll spend the rest of my life never breathing the same.

Julianna said she’ll never be free from me. But there’s one thing she never considered.

How I’ll never be free from her, either.

THIRTY-THREE

ROME

When I crack my eyes open, I’m staring at the old wooden bridge. A family of ducks wade across the surface of the pond, leaving ripples in their wake.

My head pounds as I squeeze my eyes shut, but then the pain aims straight for my left side. I hiss, pressing my hand to my side.

“Hey,” Julianna’s soft voice says from my right side. “Oh, thank God you’re awake.”

I roll my head to face her.

Fuck, she’s so beautiful.

“You take my breath away, Lark.”

Her eyebrows weave as she chuckles and presses a hand to my cheek. “That would be the first thing you say after being out for three days.”