Chapter 12
Claire
“Miracles do happen, but very rarely should they be relied on.”
On my knees, I sit there in utter shock, unable to move. If this is another dream where he is alive, I won’t make it. Blinking slowly, I try to figure out if I have finally gone crazy. I cannot wake up and relive the grief of losing him over and over again.
“If you move, I will shoot you where you stand,” Eva’s voice snaps me out of it. She steps in front of me. I’m not the only one who sees him this time. This can’t be reality. He died. There is no way he would do this to me.
“Daffodil,” he mutters in disbelief, and I break. It feels like every atom of my body comes apart, and I am sitting here in it. I feel the world start to go black around me.
“Flower?” Eva’s voice breaks through the fog as I try to understand this version of reality. I blink slowly, but Rome is still standing in the entryway.
“I am going to take a step inside and shut the door behind me. We don’t need to catch the attention of any nosy neighbors,” he says matter-of-factly without breaking eye contact with me. Eva has a gun on him, and he couldn’t care less about it. He won’t even look away from me.
“Move slowly, or I will put more holes in you than Swiss cheese,” she threatens coldly as she watches any of his moves for malicious intent.
“Eva?” I ask for her directly and watch him flinch as the door shuts behind him. His eyes have always told me more than he has until that letter. The fucking letter with the ashes that clearly aren’t his.
“Yes, beautiful?” she responds without looking away from him. She steps closer to touch me, understanding that I need something to ground me. The warmth of her leg touching me calms something in my soul that hasn’t been cared for in years. I don’t understand my draw to her, but I need answers.
“Do you see what I see?” I ask, unsure how to question if he is really alive or if my mind has finally broken. Terrified of the answer and how much it will hurt.
“I’m the last person on earth that will hurt her. This conversation might be easier if you weren’t pointing a gun at me,” he chimes in nonchalantly. Hearing those words ring through my ears from him sets me on fire. The rage I feel in my chest could burn the world twice over.
“Romeo, aren’t you supposed to be dead?” she asks him, unwilling to put down the gun but allowing him to move to the dining room to take a seat.
“Romeo De Luca! What the actual fuck!” I exclaim, unsure how to put into words how I feel. A wild mixture of relief and anger fights for dominance in my chest.
“Please don’t hate me,” he says softly as he places his chin on his folded hands. My heart wants to hear him out, but the anger at what he put me through overwhelms the softer emotion.
“You lying sack of fuck!” I spew the fire spinning, rage taking full control as I try to sort through the emotions on rapid fire.
“Flower, I know he fucked up. I am not defending him, but if you keep yelling like that, the neighbors will call someone, and I don’t think that we need the cops showing up here,” she coaxes the information and offers me her extra hand to help me to my feet.
I take her up on the offer and stand, overwhelmed by reality.
“Can you come sit at the table so we can talk about this?” he asks, and for a moment, I consider telling him that he can shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. Instead, I walk to my room, finding the copy of Romeo and Juliet and the ashes. Turning around quickly, I walk to the dining room.
“Are you just going to let her walk out of here after she tried to kill herself?” he asks in an irritated tone. She scoffs in response.
“Yes, the only weapons in the house are in my hand and the knives in the kitchen,” she responds to him in an equally annoyed tone.
“What if she gets hurt and we are both out here?” he asks, a tinge of fear leaching into his voice. Eva scoffs at him.
“Then maybe for a moment, you can feel a fraction of what you have put her through,” she hits him back verbally, and he goes silent.
Taking one final deep breath, I step back into the dining room, set down the ashes and the book in front of him, and take a seat.
There are a million words that I can use to fill the space between us at this moment, but instead, I let the silence take over.
“Claire?” Eva calls my attention from Rome. I look up and find her beautiful blue eyes.
“Yes,” I respond, unsure of what she wants but always willing to hear her out, even if I disagree.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asks me softly, her eyes showing me the softer side to all of her jagged edges.
“Yes, but I have no idea what I want or what has been stocked here,” I admit, knowing that having something to drink will make this easier.
She stands from the table, gives him a warning look, and then walks over to the kitchen.
He takes the book in his shaking hand, removing the envelope from between the pages, and holds it up.
“This is yours,” he utters, trying to hand the envelope back to me. An empty laugh leaves my throat.
“No, it was mine if you are dead. Upon consideration that you are sitting at my kitchen table, you no longer merit the definition of dead,” I rebut, frustrated. The corner of his mouth twitches, and I see a glimpse of the jesting.
“Come check my pulse for yourself,” he taunts and holds out his wrist, ready for me to check his heartbeat.
“You don’t get to manipulate her into touching you.
I don’t care about your history. If you touch her without her expressed consent, I will cut your fingers off and turn them into a crown for her.
” Eva’s voice broke the spell between us and warmed my heart.
In her hand is a stemless wineglass filled with a deep red liquid.
She walks over and sets the glass in front of me, cupping my chin with her hand and smiling at me.
I take the glass and bring the liquid to my lips, prepared for the harsh, bitter red wine that my brother likes, and instead find a flavorful, Port dessert wine.