25. Juliette
JULIETTE
“ F ancy meeting you here, Trouble,” I say to Roman as I hike up to the cliffside.
I drink him in, heart stuttering because he looks like him again . There’s a stark difference between the man in a pressed suit on all the news outlets standing next to his father and the mussed-up, tattooed guy standing in front of me now.
Oddly, I’m more comfortable in his presence this way than I would be if he were dressed up like a mini-Marcus.
He’s in dark jeans and a zip-up hoodie, the fabric on his arms pushed up over his elbows so his sleeves of ink are on full display.
He’s got a backward baseball cap on, small tufts of his dark hair peeking out the sides like they can’t be contained.
He grins like seeing me is the best part of his day, and my stomach flips, pathetically hopeful that it is.
It’s the best part of my day, and a little piece of me hates that, but clearly not enough to keep me from coming here.
He’s perched against the trunk of a thick tree, and when I plop down beside him, he nudges my shoulder with his. “We have to stop meeting like this, Little Rose.”
“Well, I was promised a muse.”
A genuine smile breaks across his face, and it lights up a place somewhere deep inside of me to see it. I don’t know when it shifted from me disliking his presence to whatever this is between us, but I can’t say I’m upset at the progression.
Wanting to make someone else feel good is…nice. It’s the rest of the emotions when it comes to him that I wish I could will away.
He chuckles, his fingers tapping against his black book, and my eyes travel over the rim of the pages, desperate to peer into his world and see what his talented hands decide to draw.
“What are you working on?” I ask.
He pulls the book to his chest and clicks his tongue. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
There’s a tone of innuendo in his words, and it sends heat flickering low in my stomach. I shift, clenching my thighs together. “That’s hardly fair.”
He shrugs and taps his temple. “Mutually assured destruction, Little Rose. You want access to my brain? I want access to yours.”
My fingers tighten around my own notebook. The thought of him reading my words and laughing—or worse, thinking it’s awful—makes my skin itch.
He nudges my shoulder with his again, tilting his head until our gazes lock. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll become even more attractive when you realize how incredibly deep I am?”
I lift a brow. “More like, afraid I’ll have to pretend your stick figures are profound.”
He barks out a laugh. “Rich coming from the girl who definitely writes love scenes and pretends they’re not about me.”
Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “You know wishing for it doesn’t make it reality, right?”
He leans back, his gaze flickering to my mouth and back. “I do wish for it. Every night.”
God, he’s impossible.
I pivot. “I saw the Rosebrook Rag article on you.”
“Ah.” All hints of flirtation drop from his face.
Roman leans against the tree, his eyes skimming over the foliage, the picnic table, and then to the cliff, where the sun is starting to hit lower in the sky.
His brows are drawn, and his blue eyes are piercing as he soaks in the view.
He bends his legs, resting his arms on his knees, his thumb absentmindedly spinning the silver ring on his finger.
I squint, leaning forward to get a better look when I realize he has small specks of color on his wrist. Spray paint, if I had to guess.
He casts me a sideways glance. “What?”
“Nothing, you just look…” I gesture to his arms.
He brings his hands up to inspect them before giving me a wolfish grin. “I was painting.”
“Graffiti?”
Nerves twist me into knots. I don’t want him to get in trouble, because what if he does and then something happens to him? What if he leaves?
The back of his head thunks against the tree. “Why do you say it like that?”
My frown deepens. “Like what?”
“ Graffiti ,” he repeats with a snobbish tone. “Like it’s a dirty word.”
“Okay, well, first of all, that’s a terrible impersonation. I sound nothing like that.”
He gives me a look.
“And secondly, I don’t think that. I just… It’s illegal, Roman. This isn’t Cali. Don’t you think you’re playing with fire?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I’m not the only one tagging here.”
“You’re the only one making a statement with your art.”
“Maybe you just haven’t been looking hard enough.”
“That’s not the point,” I argue.
“Then what is?”
“You know people will notice yours above the others,” I say, softening my tone. “Whether you want to admit there’s a difference or not.”
Roman blows out a breath, and palms the back of his neck. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”
My chest warms. “I think you might be the most talented person I’ve ever met, but things aren’t as easy to get away with here, and I don’t want something to happen to you.”
He leans toward me, his eyes blazing. It’s uncomfortable being so naked beneath his gaze, but he’s pinned me in place, and I don’t think I could move even if I tried.
Slowly, he reaches out, his large hand cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip ever so slightly.
I suck in a breath, anticipation rolling through me like soft waves, and I press myself into the warmth of his touch.
“You gonna turn me in, Little Rose?” he asks.
I shake my head. “You know I’ll keep your secrets.”
“Good.” Another brush of his thumb, only this time he lets it linger, applying the barest amount of pressure to my lip. “Thank you for caring, though.”
I laugh, but it comes out breathy. “Yeah, well, despite you being an insufferable flirt and one of the most annoying friends I’ve ever had, I kind of like you.”
“I kind of like you, too.” His body leans toward mine until his mouth is so close, I can feel his breath on my lips. “You’re my favorite secret, Juliette.”
His gaze is like liquid fire, searing me from the inside out.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re just…” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then he licks his lips and drops his hand.
“Just what ?”
He blinks, his knee bouncing like he’s shaking off whatever just had him suspended in place. “Nothing.”
Disappointment hits me like a wrecking ball.
“You know, if we had a secret handshake, that would have been the perfect time to use it,” he says, turning his voice into something light and teasing.
A smile crosses my face unbidden as he shifts the energy to something we both can handle. “You’re never going to give that up, are you?”
“I just think it’s bullshit. We’re practically a best friends’ club, meeting in the woods and trading confessions, but we don’t have a handshake? Even the Boy Scouts have one.”
I giggle. “They do not.”
“What, so you’re a Boy Scout expert now?”
His smile grows when I laugh.
“Come on,” he says, standing up and brushing the dirt from his jeans. “I want to show you something before it gets too dark.”
I scramble to my feet and follow him as he moves toward the edge of the cliff, the sun spraying the sky with deep purples and pinks as it sets. “Cutting it kind of close, aren’t you?”
He smirks, his dimples creasing his cheeks as he looks at me from his periphery. “Can you blame me? A pretty girl showed up and distracted me.”
I bite my lip. “Now you’re just flirting again.”
He turns toward me, slips his hands in his pockets, and leans in until his breath ghosts across my ear. “Flirting with you is the best part of my day.”
My heart flutters.
“What am I looking at?” I ask, trying to ignore how close he is and how I want him even closer .
His arm lifts, breezing by my shoulder as it does, and his body curls around mine from the motion like he’s wrapping me up. He points in the direction of the old railroad, where a train that hasn’t been in use in years sits on the unused tracks.
As soon as my attention goes there, I see it. The setting sun creates an almost halo-like effect around the artwork, and it’s stunning, even if the sight of it causes fear to flood my veins. Fear for him .
The piece itself is a silhouette of a man on his knees, shackles around his arms, the word Freedom creating the chains that lock his limbs. Behind him is a road sign that says, Welcome to Rosebrook Falls .
The image is visceral, and tears spring to my eyes.
“You did all this today?” I ask.
I spin to face him and lose my balance from how quickly I move. His hands shoot out to grasp my hips, and my palms fly to his chest to regain my footing. The air pulls taut when we touch, and his fingers flex against me like he wants to grab me tighter but is resisting the urge.
I look up at him, heat flaring through my veins like embers catching flame.
“It’s so strange,” I admit.
“What is?”
“Seeing your art and feeling like you’re painting pieces of my soul.”
Our gazes lock, his fingers digging into my hips.
His jaw tics once. Twice. Three times.
But then he lets me go.
I shake off the feeling of rejection, my teeth sinking into my lower lip as he moves to the edge of the boulder and leans against it.
“What made you paint it?” I ask.
He watches me, his finger absentmindedly grazing the bottom of his chin, back and forth. “It was either that or Eat the Rich , but that felt a little too cannibal-adjacent, and considering you are rich, I didn’t want to take any chances.”
I huff out a small laugh. “You know you’re technically rich now, too.”
“The point remains.”
There are a million different words on my tongue, prodding against the seam of my mouth, but I swallow them back down.
“Have you ever felt suffocated?” I ask instead.
“You’ll need to be more specific.”
It’s hard to give the emotions life when I’ve spent so long ignoring they exist in the first place, but for some reason, being around Roman makes me want to experience everything that living has to offer. Even the painful parts.
“I’ve lived here my entire life, and I never realized just how many parameters were set for me until I stepped outside of them. And now that I’m back, it’s just…”
His full attention is on me, his eyes searing through me like he can’t see anything else. It’s a heady sensation, and one that I remind myself I shouldn’t like feeling.
“All of the time,” he replies.
Sadness flashes across his face, and I ache to wipe away the look. I don’t like it when he looks so lost.
“Felicity’s been telling me for years to just grow a pair and break the rules.” I smile thinking about her. I haven’t talked to her much since I’ve been back, and I definitely haven’t told her about Roman, but I know she’d approve of me coming up here to see a guy I wouldn’t be allowed to see.
She’d probably throw me a party if she found out.
“Felicity’s your friend?”
I grin. “Best friend.”
He scoffs. “Do you guys have a handshake?”
“Maybe we do.”
“You’re not gonna tell me?”
Amusement wraps around me, and talking to him like this lifts all the weight of expectation off my shoulders. Where I expected him to feel dark and heavy and dangerous, he feels light and funny and…free.
“If I told you then that would negate the secret part,” I say.
He sits against the edge of Upside Down Rock and crosses his arms.
“If it makes you feel any better,” I add, “I’ve never had any scandalous rendezvous with her up in the hills.”
He gives me a soft smile and then smacks his hands on his thighs. “That’s it. I’m tired of pretending like I’m not desperate for you to write about me.”
I quirk a brow. “Yeah, you’ve been really subtle about it up until now.”
“It’s a gift.”
“What’s so story-worthy about us?”
He blinks. “You’re incredibly hurtful today. You’re lucky I have thick skin.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “I’ve told you. I don’t really write love stories.”
Lie. I’ve written about us for years.
A slow smile blooms across his face, his eyes sparkling. “Who said anything about a love story?”
Heat floods my skin, but I don’t drop his gaze. My heart thrums wildly in my chest, and my stomach is tight, but when he walks toward me with a slow and measured gait, I don’t move from my spot.
“So, what do you write?” he asks.
I shift on my feet. “The world and all the people in it.”
Another step, and he’s close enough now that I can smell the citrus and sandalwood of his cologne. “And how would you write me ?”
Like he’s a light in the darkness, a northern star to my night.
“I think I’d write you as the sky,” I say. “Big and vast and full of empty air.”
He shakes his head like he’s disappointed. “Your prose could use some work.”
I bite my lip to keep from grinning.
Leaning in, he runs the back of his hand up my cheek, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. A shiver runs along the length of my spine.
“And what about me?” I reply.
He watches me, his jaw muscle tensing and his eyes burning. “I think I’d paint you into everything.”
Suddenly, the air feels too thin. Like his words have sucked the oxygen from the atmosphere, and I’m left reeling.
“Oh yeah?” I somehow manage. “So that sketchbook of yours…that’s all me?”
He lifts his hand, lets his palm trace a path from the side of my neck down to my collarbone, more of a suggestion than a touch.
“That sketchbook’s the east,” he whispers. “And you, Juliette, are the sun.”
My breath whooshes from my lungs.
He dips his head down until I can count every single lash, and God , I need him to just kiss me.
His phone rings, the sound jarring against my eardrums and grating against my nerves.
Snapping upright, he drops his hand and takes three large strides back, running his fingers through his hair like he’s trying to hold himself together. He tugs his phone from his pocket and frowns at it, tapping it against his palm like he can’t decide if he wants to answer or stay here with me.
“Do you need to take that?” I ask, giving him the out if he wants it.
His brows furrow as he turns to me. “It’s my mom.”
My chest pulls thinking that he’d miss a call from her because of me. “I should go anyway.”
His mouth parts like he wants to protest, but instead he just nods. “Okay.”
I stand still, because my legs feel a little shaky from whatever that just was, and he doesn’t move, either.
He just stares at me like if he does it long enough, one of us will disappear. Or maybe he’s hoping our situations will change. That he’ll be someone else, or I will, and this thing that exists between us won’t feel so damn impossible.
Clearing my throat, I wrap my hand around the back of my neck.
He gives a small smile, and something hot and panicked starts to brew in my chest, so I turn and walk away.
The way it seems I’m always doing with him.