Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
“You got it.”
I hugged Hettie goodbye. As soon as she darted out, I shut the door and locked it for good measure. Romeo pounded on the wood from the other end. Someone was fast approaching the end of his patience.
“You have exactly five seconds to open this door before I tear it down. Fair warning: I will not be reinstalling it, and your privacy will go up in flames, right along with your sexy clothes.”
It didn’t surprise me in the least that he’d follow through with burning my revealing frocks. Just because he’d said something he shouldn’t didn’t mean he thought he was wrong.
Leaning my forehead against the wood, I closed my eyes, drawing in a breath. “I have conditions.”
“Your only condition is insufferable.” But the bite had fled his voice, replaced with something different, almost coaxing.
I ignored his words. “You need to apologize for calling me a slut today. And promise me to never, ever say that again. Not about me. Not about anyone. It’s a degrading word, designed to make women feel shameful for having the same needs and urges as men.”
Utter quiet wedged between us. For a few seconds, I thought he might’ve taken off somewhere else. Maybe to find an agreeable wife.
“Fine. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry I did. I don’t think you’re a slut, and I share the notion women shouldn’t be shamed for their sexual urges.”
Though it never occurred to me to consider it before, his words incited a wave of relief. After all, we did get together after I snuck behind Madison’s back with him.
“It’ll never happen again,” he promised, somber. “Even if you decide to walk around naked. Which, regrettably, I am unable to rule out at this point, knowing you.”
A smile touched my lips. I spun, eyes landing on the white rose. The rose that still survived. Kind of like our unlikely relationship.
“What’s the other condition?” A soft thud told me he’d leaned on the other side.
I pressed my palm against the wood, where I imagined he rested. “You need to tell me about Morgan and your father.” I swallowed. “Everything.”
The words soared past my lips before I could chicken out. Part of me wanted to take them back. To turn back the wheel and spare him the heartache. But what about my anguish? As long as he punished me for someone else’s sin, I’d never find true happiness.
Silence seeped through the crack, lacing around my ankles, rooting me in place. This time, I knew he was still there. Heard his labored breaths. Could almost feel his heartbeat thumping through the wood.
Finally, he broke it. “Why?”
“So, I can help you heal. Because you want to destroy whatever little is left of your father’s life more than you want to enjoy your own. And since my destiny will forever be chained to yours, I deserve to know where it all went wrong. When you decided that hate was more worthy than love.”
“Hate is a more powerful drive than love.”
“Nonsense.” My fingertips ran over the wood like it was his face, like I could caress him. Touch him. Take away his pain. “Love always wins. After every war, there’s a baby boom. After every storm, spring sweeps in and everything blooms. It’s always darkest before the dawn. Love is an effortlessly potent fuel. It is easier to maintain than hate. It doesn’t consume—it fuels. You’re running on the wrong energy, dear husband.”
Another pause. Another breath. Then his footsteps carried him away from my room. My heart sank. He left. I squeezed my eyes shut, thumping my forehead against the door.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
What did you do that for? Why did you force him to open up when he clearly wasn’t ready?
The steady thud of his footsteps reemerged after a few minutes, nearing my bedroom. “Open the door.”
I swiveled, turning the key ever so slowly, knowing what awaited on the other side wouldn’t be pretty. He stood before me, eyes bloodshot, hair tangled in an unkempt, devastatingly sensual mess. His tie hung past the lapels of his work suit, the buttons of his dress shirt half undone. The sharp contours of his pecs peeked past. He held two tumblers of whisky.
We stared at each other, and I knew nothing would be the same between us after this talk.
He offered me a glass. “What I’m going to tell you won’t leave these walls.”
I stepped aside, head bowed. “I’m not Morgan, Romeo. I’ll never let you down.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Dallas
“I met Morgan at Monica’s summer party in our Hamptons house.”
Romeo reclined on the other end of my rug, rotating the simple wedding band on his finger. He never took it off. Not once since we’d exchanged vows. I always assumed he sought the perks of his good-boy reputation. Not what was right in front of me—Romeo Costa was loyal to a fault.