ROME
Chapter fifty
Sat on the stool at the kitchen island, I lock every muscle in my right leg to fight the nervous bouncing. Glancing at my phone beside my laptop, I ensure it’s not on silent and then check my messages for probably the eighth time in five minutes.
Me: Where are you?
Me: I don’t want to be a pest like you, but I’m getting anxious now.
8:32PM
Me: Traffic isn’t an excuse I’ll accept. Where are you?
9:30PM
Me: Please answer me.
This is what I’ve become, a crazed lunatic because he’s not replied—though I believe my actions warranted, considering he has someone wanting to kill him.
My leg resumes bouncing as I write the next therapist’s name and number on the notepad. Adjusting Rain’s white cap sat backwards on my head, I stare at his plate covered with clingfilm.
Apparently, that’s something else I do now: cook for him.
I expected him back three hours ago, at the latest, and I thought we could have a roast together.
Much to Blade and Xander’s protests, Rain raided their fridge and pantry to fully stock ours this morning.
Once Rain left, I hung our clothes in the wardrobe, cooked, and began rewatching last night’s game to occupy my mind when he didn’t reply.
I’d even texted Xander, who was also silent.
Lights flash through the window above the sink, and once I’m standing and about to step toward the front door, I stop.
Fuck him.
Taking my seat again, I flip back to my notes page and exit my search, pressing play on the game. Apparently, petty is also a new characteristic I’ve adopted.
When the lock clicks and the door open, the scowl on my face only intensifies.
“Baby!” Rain calls. Staying silent, I track my movements in the first few minutes of the second half. “Ba—” He cuts himself off, his voice nearer. “Jesus Christ, you look hot.” I lock my leg muscles once again. “Rome,” he calls softly.
Every emotion stewing the past few hours floods me. Anxiety, rage, concern, terror. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I shout.
“Uh, baby,” he whispers.
I spin around, and behind Rain stands my sisters and mother.
“Trouble in paradise?” Indie teases, waving her hand around the house. “Literally.”
Something’s gone wrong. I’d clarified I didn’t want my mother or sisters involved any more than they already were. If they’re here, that means they’re no longer protected at home.
Plastering on a smile, I stand and move to Rain, whispering, “What happened?”
“I’ll explain later,” he says softly, extending the large bouquet of white lilies toward me. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t ever ignore me again.” For show, I take the bouquet, head toward our company, and gently cupping Kilah’s still bruised cheek and kissing her forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” she whispers. “The bruising is going yellow now, and it’s disgusting.”
“That’s a good thing, sweetheart. It means they’re healing,” Mum says to Kilah while embracing me. I kiss both her cheeks and place a soft one on Indie’s forehead.
They’re all dressed as though forcefully taken from their beds. Indie wears her pink satin pyjamas and white headband, Kilah in navy blue flannel ones, my mother in her pastel green satin nightgown and robe.
“Rain mentioned Daniel’s bail hearing was tomorrow, and he was concerned that if he were released, he may need to come back to the house. So, he offered for us to stay here until we’re certain he wouldn’t be around the girls again,” Mum says quietly, sorrowfully peering at Kilah.
My mother’s bruises have almost faded, but Kilah’s are still a mixture of colours, and I just know her body is covered in them.
Rain’s lie is believable enough that three stubborn women voluntarily got into a car with him.
He also hacked their phones to block any news about Dad.
My father’s hearing was this afternoon, and he won’t be getting out.
With the damning video evidence Rain presented to Elizabeth and the voicemail Indie left me, Dad plead guilty and accepted five years, so he wouldn’t face a trial that could see him in prison for up to ten.
Which is why Rain waited until after Elizabeth had put Dad back behind bars before confronting Aaron about the role he’s played in sending Blade after me.
Rain divulged little information about what he was planning on saying to his father, but he assured me it would mean I wouldn’t be further sought by Aaron or Blade, which he explained after I woke up to his lips around my dick this morning.
While that information should be comforting, it’s not, because Smith is still seeking to kill him, and the bastard was radio silent for over five hours.
Every worst-case scenario pounded through my head.
Aaron killing him. Blade killing him purely for fun.
Ezra killing him. He met death each time.
“Do you want food? A tea?” I ask while replacing the dying bouquet on the foyer table with the fresh, much larger one.
“Tea would be great, dear. I’ll help you.” Mum smiles.
“I’ll make it. Go upstairs and get settled. All bedrooms are furnished and to the left.”
Indie tucks her silk pillow under her arm and swings her pastel pink bag over her shoulder, taking in the house as she ascends the stairs.
“Help them, would you?” I snap at Rain, refraining from slapping him with the dying flowers as I pass.
He nods, taking Kilah’s and Mum’s bags. They follow up the stairs, and I hear Mum gasp at the top. “What a beautiful feature.”
“That’s the reason I bought this house.” Rain’s voice flows down as I round the kitchen island and flick on the kettle. “Rome loves nature.”
“That he does, dear.”
I need the girls as a temporary buffer while I cool my temper. I’m about to be the one to kill him. I rip the clingfilm off the plate and place it in the microwave with so much force, the carrots roll, threatening to escape off the side.
“Living room,” Rain says, continuing his tour, “and dining room.”
“Can I move in?” Indie teases.
“You want to watch them fuck all over the house?” Kilah asks with a quiet laugh.
“Kilah,” Mum chastises as they all take a cup and settle across the island.
Rain’s woodsy scent envelops me as he leans back against the bench, sipping his tea. “Can we talk now?”
“Once they’re in bed,” I snap quietly. “I made you dinner.”
He smiles against his cup. “You did?”
“I was planning on eating it with you, but you didn’t come home.”
He stares for a beat and my heart dips when I realise I used the word home.
Pulling my gaze from his, I take out the plate, place it beside him, rip open the drawer, and drop utensils beside the meal. “Eat.”
I gave in last night; it had only been a week since we slept in the position that I’ve begun to favour, and while I thought I could go another night without it, I couldn’t.
Tonight I certainly will, because what the actual fuck is wrong with him?