“I—” I swallow, feeling tears that are rather defiant for so often being neglected. They should be used to it by now; get back in and forget the hole burrowing deeper in my chest. Before I can stop it, it crawls over the ledge of my eyelid, throwing itself down my cheek defiantly. I attempt to turn away, but Romeo catches it with his thumb.
“Please, don’t—”
“Walk with me back inside?” He smiles and takes my hand before I can object. Stupid. This is stupid. Why have I let him see me this way? And why do I care?
We make our way up the stairs, quiet footsteps, so we don’t get pulled into an essential activity on the rooftop. We head down the hallway to our room, the silence between us more comfortable than my room at the Magdalin, and then we enter his.
This is a routine we have, and I can get through it one last time. One final text to Kias, and I’m sure we’ll have enough information to get to the San Giovanni’s this time. But he doesn’t pull me to the bed when we’re inside. He brings me to the bathroom, starts the tub, and begins to unzip the back of my dress.
None of this is sexual, though the longing within me and the arousal in the heat of me wants it to be. Why is he holding back? He helps me out of my dress, and I’m in my bra and underwear.
He barely glances at me as he closes the drain in the tub and pours some lavender bath salts in. I watch him work diligently, focus in his eyes as he tests the temperature of the water with his hands, and lights some candles around the bathroom. I’m even more perplexed when he only gets one towel, barely glances my way as he mumbles goodnight, and begins towards his door.
Did I do something? Am I no longer desirable to him? I knew he never sleeps with anyone more than once, but I thought we had a deal. I swallow the lump in my throat, grit my teeth to silence my pride, and run after him, grabbing his hand before he can escape.
“Please leave me alone, Lydia.” I hate when he calls me Lydia. It feels like an insult, though I'm aware that’s what he thinks my name is… it’s just another reminder that this isn’t real. Which should be good because this can’t be. Damn it. I shake my head and pull him closer. I need additional information tonight, or I’m screwed.
“Why?” I tug on his arm again, and he evades my eyes, hair swooping down in his. “Look at me,” I command, and I see his brows tense, thick lashes blinking at my persistence before he glances out of the corner of his eye. I take his chin with my other hand and force it towards me. He doesn’t resist my touch, and I kick the door closed.
“Lydia.” He tilts his head, warning me with his words, but I don’t care.
“Open up to me. Why do you keep doing this?”
“Doing what?” His words are short and sharp.
“Putting up a wall.”
He shakes his head.
“Don’t shake your head at me.”
He turns, grabbing my shoulders and pinning them up against the door.
“You don’t want to know me like this!” He insists, desperation in his eyes, warning me that he’s about to erupt.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Fine. Then I will.” He moves me over, grabbing the door handle, and I step back in his way. He grimaces, shaking his head.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Lydia.”
“Romeo.”
“You’re being fucking annoying.”
“Oh! And you think you’re so perfect?” I spit back, and he cocks his head.
“No. That’s why I was trying toleave!” He yells the last word so sharply that I nearly shutter. Instead, I hold my ground. Let him take a few angry breaths before he crumples to the floor in defeat. I’m surprised by this, but I drop to my knees to be by his side.
“You can trust me,” I whisper, meaning it when I say it, but quickly remembering that he can’t and, in fact, shouldn’t trust me. I place my hand on his back, and he lifts his head up from the floor.
“I was with her when she died.” He bites down on his lower lip, tears in his eyes that shock me to silence, almost statuesque.
“Who?”