Chapter 32
LENI
Romero shows up a little past eight in the evening.
I didn’t think he would.
I didn’t want him to.
…Liar.
My heart pounds as his car pulls into the driveway, the headlights cutting through the dim living room and hitting me square in the face through the window.
My knees won’t stop bouncing when the car door opens and slams shut.
Then the front door creaks open, followed by his footsteps. Confident. Controlled. Cold.
I force down a hard swallow.
He stops in the doorway, those piercing green eyes doing a slow sweep of the living room. They land on Mom first—passed out on the couch with a stained throw blanket covering her body. Then his gaze finds me, and I inhale so sharply I nearly choke.
God, I’ve missed him. So much. It’s pathetic how desperately I ache for this man who’s been treating me like a stranger for days. My toes dig into my sneakers as I fight the silly urge to get up and run into his arms. Instead, I manage a soft, almost shy, “Hi.”
“You weren’t at the house,” he says flatly. No greeting, no warmth. Just that low, controlled tone that’s so devastatingly sexy it makes my stomach twist with want and frustration in equal measure.
“I had to go to Brownsville.”
“I know. Dean texted.” A muscle jumps in his jaw as his gaze roams over my body.
This is the first time we’re standing face to face, actually talking, since we got back from the honeymoon.
I use the opportunity to take him in as well, because this is most likely the last time I’ll see him in a while.
“Then you know why I wasn’t home.” The word ‘home’ feels strange on my tongue when I’m talking about his house, but somewhere along the way, that’s exactly what it became. My home. The place I belong.
Or used to belong.
“That doesn’t explain why you’re still here.” His stare pins me in place, trapping me in those magnetic depths.
There are a thousand things I want to say.
About how he’s barely looked at me since we got back, like I’m some embarrassing mistake he’s trying to pretend didn’t happen.
How he always seems to have urgent work that conveniently keeps him away from home, away from me.
How he made me feel like a queen for five days and then dropped me back to earth without a parachute.
But I bite the inside of my cheek and force out the words that need to be said. “I think we should call it quits here.”
His brows pinch together. “What?”
I swallow around the boulder lodged in my throat. “I know you’re regretting this whole marriage thing, Romeo.” I throw in his nickname, hoping it’ll make me sound casual and unaffected instead of completely shattered. “So I’m giving you an easy out.”
He scowls at me, his face transforming into something fierce and dangerous. “You’re not talking to me about a divorce right now.”
I blink, thrown off by the fury radiating from him.
He looks genuinely angry—at me. What the hell?
“I–I–You’ve been avoiding me since we got back to the city, Romero, and I get it, okay?
Really, I do. That’s why you got me Lady Heathcliff, right?
So she could keep me company while you… do your thing and pretend this never happened. ”
“You don’t get shit.” The words come out as a growl, and then he’s spinning on his heel, stalking out of the room like I’ve just insulted his entire bloodline.
But he doesn’t drive away. My heart clenches as I watch him pace outside through the window. Then he yanks his phone out of his pocket and makes a call, brows furrowing as he no doubt barks out commands to someone on the other end.
What the hell is he doing?
Nearly thirty minutes later, I have my answer.
Two SUVs pull up to the curb, and out step two women and a man dressed in crisp, professional outfits.
They exchange a few quiet words with Romero, glancing occasionally at the house, and before I can fully process what’s happening, he’s leading them inside.
He introduces them as coordinators from The Meadows and that they’re here for Mom. Everything happens in a whirlwind after that. By nine, Mom is being loaded into one of the SUVs, destination: the most exclusive rehab facility in the city.
She fights them every step of the way, cursing and kicking as soon as she realizes what’s happening. Calls me a terrible daughter, a traitor like my father—whatever that means.
But it doesn't matter.
After meeting Lori, the executive director of The Meadows, she walked me through everything about the rehab center, even showed me pictures of the home. And without thinking twice, I signed the papers, leaving Mom with no choice.
Romero and I stand side by side in front of the house, our differences forgotten for now, as we watch the car drive off.
“She’s not your problem anymore,” he says quietly.
I manage a sad smile. “She’s always going to be my problem.” Whether I like it or not, she’s my mother. And despite everything, I love her.
He turns toward me, and something in his expression softens—just a fraction. But I catch it.
“You didn’t have to come here,” I whisper. “Didn’t have to get her into rehab.” Didn’t have to spend more money on a marriage you no longer want.
He doesn’t say anything at first, just studies me with those intense eyes until I start fidgeting under his scrutiny. Then he tilts his head towards the SUV. “Come.”
“Romero…”
His hand finds my waist, and my whole body sparks to life as warmth spreads from that single point of contact. His palm flexes against me like he feels it too, but he doesn’t say a word as he leads me towards his SUV and opens the back door.
When I climb in, he shuts it and walks over to Dean, who’s been standing patiently by the Maybach. They exchange a few quick words, then Romero circles back and gets into the SUV from the other side.
“Now, let’s make something crystal clear since you don’t seem to get it yet,” he says when he settles into the seat. His eyes bore into mine, and I can’t look away even if I wanted to. “You became mine the moment you came to me for help, Leni. You’re mine. And you’re going to remain mine.”
His voice thickens as he speaks, his eyes growing so intense they send fire racing through me. My chest heaves with my heavy breath, my core clenching.
Mine. He said mine.
“Do you understand?” he asks, and I nod, even though I don’t really get it. “Use your words, Leni.”
“I understand.” It comes out as barely more than a breath, but he hears it and nods, satisfied.
“Good. Don’t ever try to talk to me about a goddamn divorce again.”