Chapter 3
THREE
ROME
Flashback
I cradle the copy of Romeo and Juliet between clenched fingers, clinging to it like it’s a goddamn life raft.
Pathetic.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous. My skin is sticky, covered in a thin sheet of sweat. My heart is pounding right out of my chest, and my stomach is doing this weird thing where it somersaults, making me want to vomit and laugh at the same time.
Why are they blasting out heat like we live in the fucking Arctic? I know it’s December in New York but, shit, do they need to make it this goddamn hot in here?
Loosening the tie wrapped around my neck, I undo the top button of my white collared uniform shirt and blow out a heavy breath.
I wish our school wasn’t so fucking formal.
But if I wasn’t wearing this, what would I have worn instead?
I’m not sure I would have been able to decide if I were given a choice.
So, here I am. White collared shirt tucked into black slacks.
A navy-blue tie, with our school emblem stitched into the bottom.
I guess what I’m wearing is no different than when I’ve met any other girl I’ve been interested in.
I’ve never had to try hard when it came to girls at this sad excuse of a prep school.
We’re all a bunch of rich assholes stealing our parents’ liquor and snorting their cocaine, pretending like money doesn’t mean shit when it means everything.
But this girl isn’t like the others.
This time is different; I feel it in my bones.
She’s ‘J’. Whatever that stands for. Jennifer? Jade? Jessica?
I guess I’m about to find out. But even after she tells me her real name, I may just continue calling her Lark, anyway.
Flicking my wrist, I read the time on my Cartier watch. Like an imbecile, I arrived thirty minutes early.
The librarian eyed me suspiciously, as she always does, when I made my way down this aisle, and she’s passed by more than a dozen times since, even stopping to ask if I was skipping class.
I told her no, flashing her a fake permission slip I’d made junior year.
Technically, I’m not skipping class. I just slipped out of my history class thirty minutes before dismissal.
I couldn’t concentrate for shit, anyway.
A sharp breath hits the back of my throat as the bell rings shrilly above. I clear my throat as the anticipation builds inside me. Standing impatiently at the end of the aisle, I wait for her to appear at the opposite end.
I don’t know what she looks like, but I’ll know it’s her when I see her.
A few classmates enter the library and wander down the aisles surrounding me.
As the minutes pass, I start to worry I’ve missed her.
The library grows impossibly quieter. With defeat growing inside me, I feel unsteady on my feet.
Weeks of writing back and forth, sharing details about myself I’ve never shared with anyone else, all for nothing.
How the hell did a meaningless assignment turn into me suffering from the biggest crush I’ve ever had? Fuck, J isn’t just a crush. She’s more than that.
Lightheaded, I reach out and rest my free hand on the bookshelf, hanging my head. I stare at the floor, wondering what the fuck to do now. Leave a note inside the book again? Send her an email?
“Psst.”
I frantically look around, searching where the voice is coming from.
“Psst.”
It’s coming from the other side of the shelf.
Above the row of faded and tattered copies of Shakespeare’s other works, I crouch down, finding a pair of bright blue eyes staring directly at mine, only inches away.
They take my breath away. Her face is hidden behind the books.
I resist the urge to reach out and remove them.
My heart is hammering in my chest, and I need to steady my nerves before I gather the strength to speak.
“Lark?” Saying her name out loud, even on a whisper, tastes so fucking sweet.
Her gaze lowers below her gorgeous brown brows before she raises them. “Hi,” she whispers back.
“Hi.” I grin so wide my cheeks hurt. Holy shit. “Why are you over there?”
“I’m nervous.”
I pause, trying to place her. She’s whispering, making it hard to know for sure, but I swear I’ve heard her voice before.
“Same here,” I admit.
Holding my breath, I wait for her to speak again, but she doesn’t, so I simply stare at her eyes resting just above the line of books.
My nerves pick up when she starts to move to her left, toward the end of the bookshelf. I glance over my left shoulder, ensuring we’re alone. No one is here. We’re in a world of our own down here. Us and Shakespeare.
We continue at the same pace down our respective aisles, only tearing our eyes away from one another’s to see where we’re walking.
I smooth my hand along the edge of the metal bookshelf to keep me steady.
It’s slow and torturous, but we take our time.
Once we’ve reached the end, neither of us hesitate to step out and reveal ourselves to one another.
And when we do, my heart completely stops.
In fact, the entire world comes to a screeching, earth-shattering halt.
I’m staring at Lark’s blue eyes, but they belong to someone else. Someone I swore an oath to hate.
Julianna Capuleti.
Shit. Holy fucking shit.
Julianna’s face pales, the blood and life clearly draining from her cheeks.
Soft, red painted lips part, her jaw dropping as her gaze moves from my feet to my head, taking me in.
Her skirt feathers across the tops of her thighs as she takes a step back in shock.
Glittery black mesh fabric peeks out from the bottom of her blue plaid uniform skirt, her unconventional look complete with blue-glittered combat boots.
Julianna Capuleti has always broken the rules. In the past, it only aggravated me. But now, I’m not so sure. What is this feeling?
“No.” She gasps, clamping her hand firmly over her mouth, most likely to mute the blood-curdling shriek making its way up her throat.
“Julianna.” I manage to choke out her name.
“No. You don’t get to say my name.” She holds up her hand, tears lining her eyes. But her hurt at the reveal of my identity quickly transforms to the usual hatred I see in them. She points a shaky finger in my direction. “Get away from me. I can’t be seen talking to you like this.”
She spins on her heel, but I snatch up her hand before she has the chance to walk away. I wrap my fingers around her wrist and feel her pulse pounding against my index finger.
“Wait.” I glance over my shoulder, ensuring we’re still alone. “Please.”
“Seriously?” she hisses, keeping her voice to a whisper. She tears her hand from my grip. “Get away from me, or I swear, Rome, I will scream at the top of my fucking lungs.”
“Can’t we at least talk about this?” What the hell am I saying? Why does the thought of Julianna walking away from me right now sound like something that would utterly ruin me?
“Talk about what?” She firms her jaw, balling her hands into fists at her sides.
“We’ve hated each other our entire lives, Rome.
When we were ten, you threw bubblegum in my hair and had everyone call me Bubblehead for the rest of fifth grade.
I was forced to chop it all off, and it took an entire year for it to grow back.
When we were fourteen, you swapped my vanilla pudding cup at lunch for mayonnaise when I wasn’t looking.
Last year, you told the entire lacrosse team you found my journal—a journal that didn’t exist, I might add—where I’d written all their names repeatedly surrounded by hearts.
As if I had a crush on every single one of them.
You’ve made my entire life miserable since we drew our first breaths. This is no different.”
She starts to leave again, but I stop her. Again.
“Lark, wait.”
“Don’t call me that.” She clenches her teeth.
“Come on,” I say lowly, my gaze dropping to her red lips before rising back to her eyes. “This time is different.”
I can’t explain it but I’m seeing her in a different light. It’s taken us almost eighteen years, but here I am, wishing she didn’t hate me. It’s fucking crazy.
“Nothing has changed.” She narrows her pretty eyes.
I resist the urge to reach up and swipe my thumb across her cheekbone. “Everything has changed,” I argue, sounding pathetic and desperate, but I don’t care. “The emails. The letters.”
“Emails and letters don’t change the fact we’re enemies, Rome.” Her chin wobbles. “You are a Montgomery. I’m a Capuleti.”
“I’ve never told anyone the things I told you in these letters.” I hold the copy of Romeo and Juliet between us.
She eyes it momentarily with sadness.
“Yeah,” she scoffs, her anger returning. “Only because you didn’t know you were talking to me. A Capuleti. If you’d known, you wouldn’t have said all those things.”
My mouth pops open to protest, but I can’t. She’s right. I wouldn’t have said those things if I’d known it was her. But I confided in her, told her I hate the person I’ve been raised to become. I think back to the email where she said she didn’t want to be known for only her name.
“You said you didn’t want to be known for your name,” I remind her. “I feel the same way, Julianna.”
“Stop. Even if I didn’t already hate you”—she shakes her head, her words cutting me—“I wouldn’t pursue this. Your father hates mine. You can’t be trusted.”
“Lark…”
The eyeliner drawn in the corner of her eyes is as sharp as her furious stare.
She crosses her arms over her chest and steps close to me.
Her scent surrounds me. Vanilla and something herbal, maybe?
Raising her chin, she stares up at me. “Were you or weren’t you seen with Macy Thompson at Kiernan’s party two weeks ago? ”
“What?” I ask, confused. Then I remember, sighing. “You don’t understand.”
“Oh?” her eyebrows arch perfectly across her forehead. “So, you think I’m misunderstanding how Macy was shoving her tongue down your throat and straddling your lap in front of everyone, including me?”
Shit, I didn’t even know Julianna was at the same party.
“Julianna.” I press my mouth into a thin line. “I was drunk and high. My dad—”
“I don’t want to hear about some bullshit with your dad or how inebriated you were.” She holds her hands up. “Doesn’t matter anyway, because this can’t happen.”
“Macy and I broke up weeks ago. Just after we started writing our letters.”
“Then, she must have misread your message when you let her ride your dick on that chair in front of our entire senior class.” She pauses, her lip curling in disgust. “You and me? It will never happen.”
“Okay.” I scoff. “You’re one to talk. Like I haven’t seen you flirting and dating nearly half the boys in our class.”
“Fuck you, Montgomery.”
She starts to back away again, and the thought of her leaving like this, after all the emails and letters, with me hurting her the same way as before, creates a gaping hole in my chest.
“Lark. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” I move to stand in front of her, spinning her around until her back lands against the bookshelf. “Don’t leave.”
Her eyes line with tears as she looks up at me. One slips past her lashes. I want to lick it away, taste her salty tears on my tongue, wishing I could take back all the pain and hurt I’ve caused her over the years.
“I know I’m an asshole,” I admit. “I know our families hate one another. I’ve hated you.
I’m supposed to hate you. And I know you’ve hated me our entire lives.
But I can’t go back. Because as much as you don’t want to admit it, things are different now.
I’m not looking at you through the same lens as before.
You removed my blinders the second you guilt tripped me in that email.
Tell me you don’t feel the same. Tell me you aren’t falling in love with me. too.”
I’m left panting, hanging onto every silent second passing, waiting for her response.
I stare into her eyes. I’ve never been this close to them before. I want to bury myself inside them. Drown in them, happily dying there if she’ll let me.
“There’s a fine line between love and hate, Rome.
” Her eyes search mine, her voice trembling.
“I don’t know where we exist on either side of it anymore.
But the truth is, none of it matters, anyway.
It doesn’t matter what I feel, or what you feel.
You’re still you, and I’m still me. A fact we can never change, whether we want to or not. ”
She pushes against my chest, her small, delicate hands pressing against my defeated heart. I don’t stop her this time as she leaves me standing alone with nothing but my Shakespeare life raft. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up, because I meant it when I said there’s no going back.
No chance in hell.