Chapter 20
TWENTY
ROME
She wanted me to tell her I hated her, but I couldn’t.
Not in that moment.
I’ve said it a million times in my lifetime.
I hate Julianna Capuleti.
But I couldn’t say it. The words sat at the tip of my tongue, refusing to fall free.
Words my father recited to me my whole life.
Hatred and vitriol for the Capuleti family is practically our family mantra.
Even after Julianna and I separated, it was easy for me to say I hated her, but taking her then over the bathtub, seeing her react to me, our bodies joining… I couldn’t.
Julianna is stubborn and rarely shows her vulnerability. Over the years, she’s curated a life she wants those in her circle to see. The one where she’s bubbly, carefree, and strong.
And while I know she’s strong and resilient, there’s so much more beneath the surface.
I knew if I told her what she wanted me to say, with her completely under my control, it would have hurt her in ways I couldn’t bring even my dark soul to do.
But then I made things awkward again by asking her about birth control.
It needed to be asked, but I should have known it would have caused her to pull back, and it did.
After opening the pantry cabinet for the hundredth time and coming up completely empty on ideas for dinner, I let out a heavy groan and slam the door shut just as Julianna appears at the bottom of the stairs dressed in what I’m assuming is the fanciest set of pajamas to exist. It’s a matching white lace shirt and shorts combo I’m sure cost a week’s worth of her salary.
She must have blow-dried her hair because it cascades down her shoulders in flowing waves.
The afternoon sun pouring through the windows catches the golden undertones of her dark brown strands.
The sight of her makes my dick instantly hard, and I run a hand through my hair before turning my back on her, pretending to search through another cabinet.
“I’m still working on dinner.”
“Are you?” she teases. “And what exactly are you working on?”
I hear her moving throughout the kitchen when I finally bring myself to turn around. “Finding it.”
She tips her head back in laughter, and I can’t help grinning.
Okay, maybe I haven’t completely fucked this up.
My grin fades when she grows closer and opens the cabinet behind me. I move to the side, out of her way. Leaning against the counter, I force myself to focus on what’s in front of me.
But I can’t.
This is so fucking stupid. I’m acting as if I don’t know how to exist around Julianna now that we’ve broken our most recent vow to stay away from one another. I’m tongue tied and captivated by her, just like I was back in high school.
I can’t deny the way my pulse races whenever she’s nearby. Her scent of vanilla and patchouli surrounds me. With a white-knuckled grip, I clench my hand around the edge of the counter, holding myself back from bending her over the kitchen counter and fucking her from behind.
Julianna stands on her toes to peer into the cabinet. My gaze drops to her wrists, still red from the elastic I used to bind her. Then my attention turns to her long legs and exposed midsection as she says, “Oh, here we go.” She closes the cabinet and holds up a bright blue box. “Mac and cheese.”
I scrunch my nose at the picture of yellow goo-covered noodles.
“Come on, Rome.” Julianna turns the box to look at the front. “Mac and cheese is good.”
“That mac and cheese? Looks radioactive. What kind of cheese looks like that?”
She rolls her eyes. “You sound like such a rich snob right now.”
“If I’m such a rich snob, why would I keep mac and cheese in my own house?”
She twists her mouth in thought before she opens it again. “This is Marcus’s, isn’t it?”
“Probably.” I chuckle, conceding. “He has been the one planning dinners and buying all the groceries. I wish the private chef I have in the city could be here.”
“I bet your chef makes fantastic food, but can they make a box of radioactive macaroni and cheese?” Grinning with satisfaction, she turns her attention back to the box.
I pop a brow. “Do you know how to make it?”
“Can’t be that hard,” she mumbles, reading the back. She stabs the box with her finger. “Look, there are instructions right here.”
When she looks back up at me, my heart stops.
Dimples press into her soft cheeks, which are blushing red.
Strands of her thick brown hair frame her face, a contrast to her stunning blue eyes.
The sight of her standing in the kitchen reminds me of how easily I fell in love with her that day at the library.
“What?” she asks, her smile fading.
“Nothing.” I shake my head and push off the counter, shoving the memory back into its cage. “It’s just, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this bad for not knowing how to cook. I’ve always had someone cook for me. Who knew a single box of mac and cheese could make me feel so guilty?”
“Same here,” Julianna says, searching another cabinet for a pot. “It’s why doing charity fundraisers grounds me.”
“Right.” I clear my throat, thinking back to our conversation at target practice earlier. She told me one of the reasons she’s consumed herself with her charity work, but I know there is another reason. One she refuses to acknowledge.
She was angry when I pressed her about it, but I needed to hear her say it. I needed to know I wasn’t alone in the way I felt.
Julianna is tough, quick to throw up her walls, and she refused. Anything to avoid talking about the pain. She was clearly affected just by me asking her about birth control.
I can’t say I blame her. I’ve been doing the same, avoiding and reinventing myself.
But now, here we are, slipping back into a domestic routine as if it’s been us all along.
We’ve fallen back into our usual pattern.
Hate each other until one of us breaks. Let the other in, only to turn around and do something to destroy the other.
But being with her these past few days has made me want to change that pattern once and for all.
Julianna begins filling a small pot with water, when my phone buzzes on the counter. It steals both our attention. I cross the room and pick it up. I’m hoping it’s Marcus with news, but my heart drops when I read the notification. It’s just a work email.
“Do you think this is enough water?” She asks, tearing my attention away from my phone. Clearing my throat, I put it back, face down on the counter, and cross the kitchen to join her again.
Planting a hand on the counter beside the stove, we both stare blankly at the pot of water on the stovetop.
“Looks good to me.” I shrug a shoulder.
“Okay.” She turns on the burner, then rocks back onto her heels. “It says on the box to add the noodles once the water is boiling.”
“Uh-huh,” I agree, unable to stop looking at her.
“I can’t remember. What did we do for food when we used to stay here?” she asks, oblivious to my obsession.
Her.
I twist my mouth in thought, then grin. “I don’t remember eating anything other than you.”
Her blue eyes pop open, and her mouth drops into a perfect ‘O’.
“Rome Sebastian!” Her hand lands against my chest in a playful shove.
Fuck, what is this feeling? It’s familiar. I don’t want it to end.
“I’m kidding, Lark.” Laughter erupts from my chest, and my cheeks grow sore. I don’t let her push me too far, making sure I stay close. “We used to steal whatever prepared food our chef’s had in our refrigerators back home, remember?”
“Oh. Right. My dad used to get so angry when I’d steal his lunches. I felt guilty because he never caught on it was me. He always blamed his staff.”
The memory is evident on her face. I’m standing inches away, resisting the urge to kiss her again, but I don’t know where we stand after everything.
We still haven’t talked about what happened at shooting practice, or after.
Instead, we’re rambling on about fucking macaroni and cheese and what we used to eat ten years ago.
I used to open up to Julianna easily. I used to tell her all about my family struggles and how I felt tied to them in ways I never thought I’d break free from, and she did the same.
At some point our bond began to deteriorate.
Our trust in one another was tested, and it didn’t take long for our love to crash and burn.
We’ve spent the last ten years wandering aimlessly through the destruction left in its wake.
Julianna’s shoulders stiffen as she stares blankly at the simmering water, but I can’t look away from her.
“Lark.” Her nickname falls softly from my mouth.
She looks up at me through her long, dark lashes. I commit this sight of her to memory, like every other one I’ve collected throughout the years.
Tipping her chin higher, her pretty mouth comes into view. I lift my hand and slowly drag my thumb across her pink lip. She shivers, inhaling a shaky breath as her eyes search my face.
“Kiss me,” she states, her hypnotized gaze dropping to my mouth.
I slide my hand along the curve of her jaw, sinking my fingers into her hair behind her ear.
She mewls, and I melt. So much beauty mixed with so much pain.
I want to take it away, even though I know I’m the cause of it.
I grip the back of her head and crash my mouth to hers.
The sweet taste if her hits my tongue the second I pry her lips open and she sinks into me, turning her body away from the stove.
She curls her fingertips into my stomach, digging her nails into my abs.
My cock hardens as I grip her waist, pulling her to me.
Keeping my hold on her, I force her backward and lift her up before setting her down on the counter beside the stove.