Page 41 of From Rome, With Hate

A lump swells in my throat, wondering how the fuck I’m going to survive living here with him. I’ve never spent longer than a week with him here. Not to mention, he offered me the divorce—something I asked for ten years ago but thought I’d never get. Now the opportunity is here, why do I feel this ache inside me?

I stay in the water until I can no longer stand it. Once I’m out, I feel refreshed. Physically, at least. After blow drying my hair, Iuse the bottle of lip gloss inside my clutch, seeing as it’s the only form of makeup I have at hand, then I head downstairs.

My stomach is no longer vibrating with hunger; it’s screaming at me like a banshee. I’m hoping Rome has more than just a handful of strawberries in the refrigerator. I don’t even know if he’s still in the house. I’m hoping he isn’t. Mostly because I need some more time alone with my thoughts. I’ve gotten used to it over the years, especially recently when all my friends have either moved in with their significant others or gotten married.

I’m bounding down the stairs when I slam directly into the wall of muscle I was hoping to avoid.

“Oh, shit.” My socked foot slips across the wood, and I smack my head on the floor. The shoes I was carrying fly out of my hand.

“Fuck, Lark.” Rome’s deep voice hovers above me, mixing with the hissing sound passing through my gritted teeth.

I reach up, holding my hand to my head. It throbs, but overall, it’s not as bad as it could have been.

“Are you okay?” he asks, bent over me.

He’s still wearing his black collared shirt. The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, revealing both fully tatted arms, including his family’s snake. The top is open at the chest, revealing more of the bird wrapped around his neck and the various art scrawled across his hardened muscles.

“I’m fine.” I narrow my gaze, annoyed already. I groan, adding pressure to the back of my head. Okay, maybe I hit the floor harder than I thought.

“You came flying out of nowhere.” Rome bends over farther, attempting to look behind me. “Let me check your head.”

He’s soon on his knees, hovering inches over me. The weight of him and his body heat immediately blankets me. It feels as if I’ve cozied up to a warm fire. The comfort washing overme catches me off guard. I breathe in an intoxicating scent of cedarwood and what can only be known as Rome’s signature scent. It shoots straight between my thighs. My panties, if I were wearing any, would probably be fucking soaked.

I keep that thought to myself, though, as Rome grows closer. It’s been ages since we’ve been close like this, him leaning over me, close enough to bite my skin.

“I said I was fine.” I push against his chest, shoving him back.

He falls back on his ass, looking up at me in shock as I stand over him. I grit through the throbbing pain behind my head.

Righting myself, I adjust my top before turning around and searching for my shoes. I find them in opposite sides of the room.

“You don’t have to be so stubborn all the time, you know?”

“I’m not.” I huff, dangling my shoes from my fingers. “I didn’t hit my head that hard. I’m just starving.”

I’m lying. It fucking hurts.

When I turn back to him, Rome’s gaze drops as he surveys me. He’s looking at me like he’s seeing me for the very first time.

“What?” I ask him, annoyed, wondering if I got something on my outfit or something. Oh, fuck, what if he can see how wet he made me just from laying on top of me?

“Where did you find those?” He points to my outfit.

I adjust the waist of my leggings and brush my hair from my face. “Found them in the dresser.”

“I didn’t realize you still had clothes here.”

“I neededsomethingto wear, Rome.” I move past him and head straight for the kitchen. “You seriously didn’t expect me to keep wearing the same dress and heels, did you?” I can’t deny my body’s cry for food any longer. I also can’t look at him right now. The more I’m around him, the more I give in to the feelings he reluctantly stirs inside me.

“No, I didn’t.” His voice booms from where I’ve left him near the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes.” I practically sing the moment I find the ingredients to make a sandwich.

Gathering the supplies, I dump them on the counter before grabbing the loaf of bread and a plate. Rome finally appears in the kitchen, standing on the opposite side of the island.

“You probably would have had more options if you’d sent me your list sooner.” Rome argues from the bottom of the stairs.

I stack slices of turkey. “I was exhausted, in case you’re forgetting you stalked me the other night and I’ve felt like shit ever since.”