Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
JULIANNA
When I open my eyes hours later, my hangover is officially gone. I wish I could say the nightmare of being forced to stay in Rome’s cabin was over too, but reality soon reminds me it isn’t.
I feel awful as I toss the covers aside.
My stomach grumbles as I make my way out of bed and across the room.
I pass by my reflection in the mirror, and my jaw drops in horror.
My hair looks like a goddamn rat’s nest, dried mascara streaks down my cheeks, and my red lipstick is practically a stain at this point.
“Shit.” I sigh, brushing my fingers through my hair and wiping my hands down the front of my face, deciding where to start.
My stomach is screaming at me for food, but there’s no way in hell I’m going downstairs looking like I’ve just crawled out from the bottom of the pond outside. It would only fuel Rome’s insults.
I spin on my heel and reach for my phone.
It’s early afternoon. Fuck, I never sent Rome my list of items for him to pick up from the city.
The only clothes I have are the ones I’m wearing.
I curl my lip in disgust before swinging my gaze to the large dresser on the other side of the bedroom.
I slowly pad my way over and stare at the rich wooden drawers, lifting my thumb to my mouth.
I bite down on my nail, nerves bundling inside me.
There’s no telling what’s inside. If there are still clothes, they’re probably all Rome’s.
Aside from the décor and furniture being the exact same as they were ten years ago, that doesn’t mean the contents of Rome’s dressers are the same, too.
He’s obviously been coming here periodically, though, at least enough to keep fresh fruit in the refrigerator.
“It’s whatever,” I say out loud, shaking off the nerves and yanking the drawer open.
I’m left gasping when I learn how wrong I am. The contents of the drawer aren’t rotated as often as a bowl of fucking strawberries.
Refusing to let the ghosts of my past haunt me, I reach inside and dig out my old pair of black leggings and my off-the-shoulder, scallop-trimmed matching tank.
It’s been ten years since I’ve worn these clothes.
I never kept too many here and I’m shocked the few items I did bring to the cabin are still where I left them.
Refusing to let a stupid outfit send me into a tailspin, I fist the two items and slam the drawer shut. Until I send Rome my list for Marcus to pick up, these are my only options. I refuse to wear any of Rome’s clothes.
Popping my head into the only closet in the cabin, I see Rome’s clothes hanging neatly, as they always were back then. I grab a pair of his neatly folded black socks. But what about shoes?
I sigh with relief when I spot my old favorite pair of designer running shoes exactly where I left them, sitting on the shoe rack.
I drop the only two clothing items on the foot of the bed and strip out of my dress on the way to the connected bathroom.
As it was the last time I was here, the only bathroom in the cabin is the same size as the bedroom.
Decked out in thick wood walls and slate stone touches, it’s still just as stunning as it was ten years ago.
Set in the center of the room is a clawfoot bathtub, complete with gold faucets and a detachable sprayer.
While running the bath, I wait for it to fill and use the time waiting to send Rome my list of essentials: clothes, toiletries, laptop computer.
I still have no clue how long he intends on holding me here and, if possible, I’d still like to be able to work.
I can only hold off my co-workers and friends for so long before their suspicions creep in.
By the time I finish sending Rome my list, the bathtub is full. I’m bubbling with anticipation when I slowly dip my toe into the scorching hot water.
“Fuck, that feels good.” I moan, sinking completely in and taking my time washing myself, using the bit of peace I have to regather my thoughts and feelings.
I’ve spent the past ten years avoiding the past. I’ve never allowed myself to feel, refusing to acknowledge the devastation that came with loving Rome and marrying him. All at the age of eighteen.
I tuck my legs against my chest, wrap my arms around them and rest my forehead on my knees.
The steam from the water wafts up and into my face.
I close my eyes, but all I see is Rome. Rome at eighteen, marrying me.
Rome at fourteen, laughing and pointing as I threw up into the cafeteria trash after he’d replaced my pudding with mayonnaise.
Then I see him, feel him against me, his kiss on my lips, his head between my thighs, those dark blue eyes watching me react to his assaulting tongue.
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, I use 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 over me 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 needed something to 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.”
“You’re just now catching onto me stalking you?” He laughs. “Come on, Lark. You’ve known I’ve stalked you for years.”
I drop the turkey and place my hands flat on the counter, hanging my head between my shoulders to force out a calming breath.
Of course, I’ve always known Rome has kept an eye on me.
It’s in the Montgomery DNA. It’s why he continues to pop up out of nowhere.
It’s how he was able to track me down at the club.