Page 70 of From Rome, With Hate

“Okay.” He presses his lips together. His elbows are resting on the edge of the tub as he works a hand over his jaw. His gaze shifts to whatever is behind me. “I’m sorry. I should have asked earlier. It’s just you told me you were before, years ago, and?—”

“I know,” I cut him off. I won’t go there. I can’t. “But I am, Rome. You’re good.”

He blinks rapidly before he’s nodding. He doesn’t press me.

I slip farther away from him, but Rome’s hand catches my chin, pulling me back. I’m gasping as waves of bath water crash around us. I practically slam into his body when he keeps his fingers to my chin, using his other hand to grip the back of my head.

“I’m sorry.” His heated gaze softens, but it does nothing to quell the uneasiness settling in my stomach. I feel hollow and unsteady—feelings I’ve worked hard to stay away from for ten years.

Rome leans forward, bringing his mouth to mine to give me a soft, grounding kiss. It’s momentary but shoots straight to all the broken parts I’ve kept locked inside.

When he pulls away, he gives me a small, awkward smile. His lips twitch before he’s standing and stepping out of the tub. He grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist before running a hand through his wet hair and pushing it off his forehead. A few strands fall back to rest above his brow.

“I’ll figure out dinner while you finish up.”

“You’re making dinner?” I can’t hide my shock. I’ve yet to see him cook. Ever.

He gives me a wry smile. “I said I would figure it out, not that I was going to make something.”

“Okay.” I chuckle but not wholeheartedly. A piece of me is still unsettled. The entire night is sinking like an anchor headed straight for the ocean floor.

Eventually, Rome leaves me to sit with these new, conjured-up feelings. Only they aren’t new, are they? They’ve always been a part of me. He’s just revealed the weaknesses in my already vulnerable heart.

The one that’s always loved Rome Montgomery.

TWENTY

ROME

She wanted me to tell her I hated her, but I couldn’t.

Not in that moment.

I’ve said it a million times in my lifetime.

I hate Julianna Capuleti.

But I couldn’t say it. The words sat at the tip of my tongue, refusing to fall free. Words my father recited to me my whole life. Hatred and vitriol for the Capuleti family is practically our family mantra. Even after Julianna and I separated, it was easy for me to say I hated her, but taking her then over the bathtub, seeing her react to me, our bodies joining… I couldn’t.

Julianna is stubborn and rarely shows her vulnerability. Over the years, she’s curated a life she wants those in her circle to see. The one where she’s bubbly, carefree, and strong.

And while I know she’s strong and resilient, there’s so much more beneath the surface.

I knew if I told her what she wanted me to say, with her completely under my control, it would have hurt her in ways I couldn’t bring even my dark soul to do. But then I made things awkward again by asking her about birth control. It needed to be asked, but I should have known it would have caused her to pull back, and it did.

After opening the pantry cabinet for the hundredth time and coming up completely empty on ideas for dinner, I let out a heavy groan and slam the door shut just as Julianna appears at the bottom of the stairs dressed in what I’m assuming is the fanciest set of pajamas to exist. It’s a matching white lace shirt and shorts combo I’m sure cost a week’s worth of her salary. She must have blow-dried her hair because it cascades down her shoulders in flowing waves. The afternoon sun pouring through the windows catches the golden undertones of her dark brown strands.

The sight of her makes my dick instantly hard, and I run a hand through my hair before turning my back on her, pretending to search through another cabinet.

“I’m still working on dinner.”

“Are you?” she teases. “And what exactly are you working on?”

I hear her moving throughout the kitchen when I finally bring myself to turn around. “Finding it.”

She tips her head back in laughter, and I can’t help grinning.

Okay, maybe I haven’t completely fucked this up.