Chapter 11
ELEVEN
JULIANNA
I make a beeline for the bedroom, refusing to stop.
My feet ache, my back hurts, and the tears spilling from my lashes don’t help my aching eyes. I don’t even know what I look like at this point.
I head straight for Rome’s bedroom and slam the door behind me. Spinning around, I rest my forehead against the door and move to lock it but sigh, remembering it doesn’t have a lock. This house was never meant to be shared with anyone, hence the single bedroom.
A tight knot weaves in my chest as the past twenty-four hours slams into me all at once. I squeeze my eyes shut, reciting the same mantra I’ve told myself since I was the little eight-year-old girl, witnessing her mother being murdered before her very eyes.
I’m strong, I’m independent, I can handle my shit when life gets hard.
I press my hand to the smooth slate door and push myself off it.
Sauntering over to the foot of the bed, I sit and slip out of my shoes.
The room is the same as I remember it, with rich green and beige toned fabric complementing the wooden floors and walls.
The cabin is the perfect blend of rustic and modern touches.
I turn and look out the floor to ceiling window overlooking the pond and endless forest beyond.
This house is truly existing in its own bubble.
Far from the city. Far from civilization.
I’m overwhelmed with it all, the memory of being here with Rome, especially in this bedroom, haunting me by the second. I almost let it swallow me up, but I don’t.
I reach for my phone.
It’s eight in the morning—the exact time I should be walking through the lobby of my design firm.
I shoot a text to my secretary, telling her I forgot I scheduled a meeting with a client first thing in the morning, and that I’d be out for the rest of the day.
I buy myself a lie until I can come up with a better one.
Fresh tears threaten to spill at the thought of how long I’ll be staying here.
Looking around the room, I bite down on my bottom lip.
The last time I was here, I’d asked Rome for a divorce after only a few months of being secretly married.
But in those few months, my entire life had been ripped apart.
I’d felt hollow and alone, and ever since, I’ve been determined to fill in the gaps with the life I’ve built since leaving this place.
Rome said filing for divorce would have brought too much speculation and attention on our families.
I believed him. At the time, my father was mayor, and his was head of the Italian mafia.
The last thing we wanted was to pour salt in the wounds of our families’ generations-old vendetta against the other.
Learning of our marriage then eventual divorce would have caused an outright war between our families.
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 as fast 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.
With my face pressed against the blanket, I stare out the window.
Once I’ve gathered the strength to stand and cross the room, I take in the expansive grounds surrounding the cabin.
It’s as if I’ve been plucked from reality and dropped directly into a fairy tale, only this time, I’m the princess locked inside the castle by a beast. But he isn’t just a beast. He’s my husband.
My gaze reluctantly shifts toward the small wooden bridge stretching across the sparkling pond.
I close my eyes and remember how it felt to stand there with Rome as he slipped a simple leafed, rose gold band over my left ring finger.
The way he recited his vows with conviction, using his full chest, only to break them months later.
I guess you could say I broke him, too, though.
When I open my eyes, the empty feeling I’ve been living with these past ten years returns. I shut the curtains with force before crawling into the bed and under the safety of the blankets.
Dammit. Even they smell like Rome. I can’t escape him.
But exhaustion wins out, pulling me further into the darkness.
I’m hoping when I wake up, this will all have been some terrible nightmare.
Who am I kidding?
My wishes never come true.