51
DALLAS
“And what’s he doing now?”
I flipped on my back, setting my book on my mattress, feet dangling in the air.
Hettie leaned beside my doorframe. I wasn’t sure at what point, exactly, I’d lured her into my camp, but I no longer worried about whose side she was on.
Sometimes, it felt like we were roommates in a dorm. Or maybe teenagers stuck in a long summer camp abroad.
We shared the kinship of two young women forced to face an arduous man, who somehow stood their ground.
Hettie squinted into the sliver of space between the hinges. “He’s still pacing from side to side, mumbling to himself that he knows you’re here.”
Snorting, I shook my head and reopened my book.
After a few pages, I asked, “And now?”
Hettie leaned forward and squinted, brows furrowed, hands pressed against the wooden panel. “I think he’s trying to call you again.”
I didn’t bother checking my phone, which vibrated on my nightstand. Last time I did, it had racked up sixteen unanswered calls.
That was two hours ago.
The clock flashed ten at night, and Romeo still showed no signs of determent by my reluctance to see him.
“I can see you, Hettie.” His words seeped through the door. “If you don’t open up, I will fire you.”
Hettie cupped her mouth, suppressing a giggle.
“You’ll do no such thing,” I yelled, flipping a page. “And if you try, I’ll rehire her and pay her to be my friend full-time.”
“With whose money, pray tell?”
“Mine. Oh, I forgot to mention. I sold a couple of your designer watches to ensure I’m not low on cash. You don’t mind, do you?”
The silence on the other side of the door told me he was using every available drop of patience to make up for his cutting words to me earlier.
“Open the door, Shortbread.”
“Give me one good reason,” I challenged, enjoying the exchange between us.
“So you can explain to me how you managed to defy the laws of gravity—and in my eleven-million-dollar house, no less. My bathroom ceiling is splattered in green.”
Thiswas what he cared about right now? My little skincare-routine accident?
I sure hoped liquid chlorophyll was as effective for my face as the magazines claimed, because it was absolutely effective on Romeo’s precious crown molding.
“You should thank me. Your house needed some color. Everything is cream and beige here.”
“Open the door.”
Boy, he sounded like a broken record.
“Apologize first,” I cooed.
“For what? Tarnishing my house with a vile green color or ruining a drill with a prototype that cost over eight hundred thousand dollars?”
“My Lord, so expensive, and it doesn’t even have a sunroof.”
Though I wanted to drag out our beef into the next century (and maybe the one following it), I knew things weren’t black and white.
His father did hit on me today. Blatantly and in front of people, disrespecting his honest, loyal, and hardworking son.
If my suspicion was true, Romeo had been subjected to a terrible betrayal by Morgan and Senior. I was rabidly curious.
“Okay if I go?” Hettie faced me. “I mean, clearly, he’ll sleep in front of your door if you don’t open up.”
I nodded, closing my book, rising to my feet. “Just make sure he doesn’t come in when you slip outside.”
“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.”