Page 36 of From Rome, With Hate

Our secret was best left undiscovered.

We were eighteen and foolish, believing the love we thought we had for one another could erase all the bitterness and hatred we’d always held. But, oh, how easily the castle crumbled under the weight of our differences.

I send a text to Holt, letting him know I won’t be able to make our monthly visit to our mother’s grave this weekend due to a work trip that’s suddenly come up.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, realizing I should have messaged the girls’ chat before my brother.

The message from my sister-in-law Selene comes in faster than humanly possible. Holt must be sitting right next to her. She wastes no time in fishing for more details.

Selene: Who is this major client you’ve landed? Please tell me they live somewhere absolutely gorgeous. Spain? Chile? Ireland?

London: You’re traveling for work? Omg, jealous!

I pause before typing my response.

Me: I can’t say who or where yet. NDA and all.

London: Holy shit. Must be high profile if it’s that top secret.

Me: Yeah, it is. Wish I could tell you, but you know as soon as I can, I’ll give you every detail.

Charleigh: That’s amazing. So proud of you, Jules. I think I speak for all of us when I say that. Let us know when you’re back, and we can do that girls’ night we all need.

Me: Sounds good. I’ll keep you updated. Love you.

I toss my phone aside, feeling fucking sick.

Lies. My entire life is built around secrets and lies.

My best friends don’t even know the real me, and recognizing that truth shatters my heart.

I can’t tell them everything, though. What am I supposed to say? Oh, hey, remember Rome Montgomery? The billionaire who has been torturing me for years? Yep, that one. Well, his dad used to be head of the Italian mafia, and now there are some men in his orbit who want to kill me before they kill him. Oh, and did I forget to mention that he’s my husband of ten years?

Groaning, I fall back on the bed and cover my face with my hands, feeling my dried tears. How has this become my life?

Eventually, I peel my hands from my face and text Rome.

Me: If you’re going to hold me hostage here, I’ll need a few things from my place if you want me to survive.

Rome: Not holding you hostage, Lark. You made your choice outside, remember?

Me: We both know it wasn’t a real choice.

My eyelids grow heavy, and I nearly pass out while watching the three dots appear then disappear before Rome’s response finally comes through.

Rome: What do you need?

I want to tell him I need a time machine to go back to ten years ago when I’d seen him standing there in the library, innocently holding our copy of Romeo and Juliet. I want to tell him I wish I’d had more resolve back then and refused to give into the feelings I’d had for him. The love that blossomed between our messages and every moment after. They came asfast as a barreling train racing toward me. There was no stopping it.

I settle on a more simple, more attainable response instead.

Me: I’ll message my driver and have him gather everything.

Rome: Let me know when it’s ready and I’ll have Marcus run into the city to pick them up.

I hesitate to respond, allowing the words to practically disappear as fresh tears blur my vision. I don’t even have the strength to argue with him.

Me: Okay.