61
DALLAS
Neither Romeo’s aloof demeanor nor his thirst for revenge rattled me. It was his ability to distance himself from every living being that proved to be fatal.
Especially when that comprehensive list included me.
Every night, we shared a bed, but as soon as the sun crossed the horizon, we went our separate ways.
Clearly, his survival tactics included convincing himself that his affection for me could be managed.
Though I longed to seek his attention, I refrained. Somehow and somewhere along the way, I’d put his needs before my own. Which was how I learned how deeply I’d fallen.
Grandmomma was right. Love is an illness, and the first symptom is prioritizing their happiness over yours.
At least we had unprotected sex.
At least I’d soon shelter a piece of him—something uniquely Romeo Costa—inside of me.
In my spare time, I accepted invitations to galas, charity events, and even a New Year’s party. Meanwhile, paparazzi captured my husband swirling an attractive lady on the dancefloor at some billionaire’s private party.
“Your husband is hot.” Hettie enlarged the clip on the gossip site. “So is Zach’s mom.”
I watched through a green fog of envy as Romeo’s eyes crinkled with laughter.
When he dipped her, Mrs. Sun beamed with all the adoration and love of a mother. Genuine affection I’d never seen Monica offer him.
In the middle of January, I decided to visit Chapel Falls.
“It is time.” I shoved frocks and heels into the open mouth of my suitcase. “I was supposed to go there for Christmas, anyway. This is long overdue.”
Not a lie, per se, but not the whole truth, either.
I needed to escape.
Recently, I’d noticed the fact that I watched the clock every evening, anticipating my husband’s arrival.
Romeo’s long limbs enveloped the recliner in the corner of our room.
“That is fine. An entire week, however, is a stretch.” He snapped his gum, discarding the Financial Times on his lap. The only man under sixty who still had a subscription to a magazine that didn’t include topless women. “What on earth will you be doing there for so long? There are no theaters, no Michelin-star restaurants, no culture.”
“There’s plenty of culture.” I flapped my suitcase shut, struggling to clasp it. To no one’s surprise, I wasn’t the type to travel light. “Besides, it’s my home. I don’t go there for the entertainment. I go there for the people.”
Romeo stood, zipping it with ease. “You feel more fondness for a Cheetos bag than you do for your father.”
“To be fair, a Cheetos bag will never do me wrong.” I tucked a few hair bands into the front pocket. “It would never hand me over to a complete stranger for marriage. The worst it can do is stain my fingertips orange.”
“I swear, next time I see him, I’m going to punch the daylights out of him for handing you over to me so quick.”
I shook my head, dragging the luggage off the bed and onto the rug. “Do you not see the flaw in your own statement?”
“Three days,” he bargained, blocking my way out the door. “It’s plenty of time to unwrap presents and pretend your sister is a tolerable human. If you still want to return, you can do so after Easter.”
“Why are you so adamant I return quickly? It’s not like we do anything together.”
His forehead creased. “We do plenty. Three times a day, minimum. Five, if you include oral.”
“I’m not just talking about sex.” For a change. Sex was all I seemed to think about whenever he neared. “I’m talking about date nights, watching the same shows, eating dinner together…you know, couple stuff.”
By the way his eyebrows shot up, I almost suspected he wasn’t aware of the concept.
“You’ve had a fiancée before,” I pointed out, slanting my head.
“Yes, but she mainly spent my money and left me to my own devices. I worked most of the time and took her on vacation once a year.”
Oh, my.
His idea of love was giving shelter, food, and a credit card to the woman by his side.
“And were you both happy like that?”
He shot me a what do you think glare.
Oops.
I already knew the ending to that movie.
Placing a hand over his chest, I hopped on my tippy toes to kiss the base of his throat. “Would you like to do more things together when I return?”
He squinted. “Like what?”
For the first time, I wasn’t the inexperienced and awkward one in the relationship.
Happiness bubbled in my chest. “You can take me out on a date. Dinner, then a movie. Then I can read with my head propped on your shoulder while you go through your money paper.”
“Finance news.” He brought my hand from his chest to his lips, kissing it distractedly. “Fine, if you wish. But I still think you should return after three days.”
I skimmed his jawline, my smile tickling his stubble. “Why? Will you miss me?”
He pursed his lips. “Longing is a Jane Austen invention premeditated to sell books.”
Tipping my head back, I laughed so hard, my stomach hurt. “You’ll survive seven days without me, hubs. You’ll see.”