by Dani Rene
“Do they?” I arch a brow as I question her. “Because you could’ve walked away and left Portland.”
“Yes, I could’ve, but then I wouldn’t know what it’s like to feel what I’m feeling at the moment. And also, I’m tired of running. There is only so long you can hide from your past before it catches up to you.”
Her words spear me right through the chest. She’s right, but I can’t bring myself to tell her about my own demons. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I want nothing more than for her to want me, all of me, but the pain of what happened still haunts me to this day. And I know it will always be there.
“I know you have your own ghosts, Rome. And I don’t expect you to tell me what they are. It’s not easy to live with things that have hurt you,” Elisabet says before dropping her feet to the cool tiles. She shifts, so she’s sitting facing me. I’m still on the floor, kneeling between her open thighs. “Perhaps I can be the one to make you forget. Even if it’s only for a short time. I’m not asking for love, for a ring. I’m old enough and stupid enough to know that men like you don’t offer those things. But for now, give me the pleasure that I know you can bestow on me, and we’ll forget this conversation.”
Chapter 20
Elisabet
The sun is already streaming through the windows when I open my eyes. The soft, cotton sheet is draped over my naked body, and I know I’m alone. I can’t feel Rome behind me. I open my eyes, feeling the heaviness of last night’s confession still weighing on my mind.
Sighing, I push the sheet off and roll over. A moment later, Rome saunters into the bedroom wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. The V dipped into the waistband catches my attention, along with the smooth, tanned skin that looks like it’s been chiseled to make women lose their minds. I knew his body was beautiful, but seeing him in the golden light of day makes him seem ethereal.
“Good morning,” Rome says with a smile. I finally drag my hungry gaze away from his toned torso to the mug he’s holding. “I made some coffee.”
“And you got a change of clothes?” I ask, scooting up in bed. My back flush against the headboard, I tug the sheet to cover my breasts.
“Yeah,” he says, lowering his gaze to the carpet as he makes his way toward me. When he reaches my side of the bed, he sets the mug on the nightstand before pressing a kiss to my forehead. “My apartment upstairs still has some things from when I lived here.”
“Why don’t you live here anymore?”
He doesn’t respond, not immediately. I wait, and I’m gifted with his smile. “There are so many things that you don’t know about me, but I think it’s better if I show you.” Rome meets my gaze, and I see the pained expression painted on his handsome face.
“Now?”
“Not just yet. Finish your coffee, and I’m making breakfast, then we can venture into my past.”
“Why are you showing, or telling me? I didn’t ask you to. And I certainly didn’t expect it. Even though I told you mine last night, that was because I was ready to admit it. If I didn’t speak it out loud, I don’t think I could’ve done this.” I gesture between us as I say this. It’s true. Last night I knew I needed to come clean because I can feel the emotions twisting in my gut from the secrets I’m holding onto. Or was.
“I wanted nothing more than to have this no-strings relationship where I enjoy your body, but with each passing day, I find myself wanting more.”
Shaking my head, I tell Rome, “I can’t offer you more. I told you that.”
“Not right now, no. But like I told you, I’m not going anywhere. And I know you want this.” Rome chuckles as he gestures to his body, which makes me laugh. “Come on, Elisabet, admit it.” With a cocky wink, he rises and makes his way to the kitchen as I throw a pillow at his retreating form.
I sip my coffee, listening to Rome work in the kitchen, and for a moment, I try to imagine what it is he’s hiding. What could be so bad in his past that he has to show me?
He wants more. How do I let someone in again?
“Are you coming?” Rome calls from the kitchen, making me laugh as he drags me out of the thoughts that have taken hold of me. He appears in the doorway. Noticing me smile, he asks, “What?”
“Not coming yet,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. I enjoy spending time with him, and for now, that’s all that matters. Maybe this can actually work.
I move to the chair and grab my robe. Once I’ve tied the silky belt around my waist, I make my way toward him. Leaning up on my tiptoes, I brush my lips along his, feeling his warmth as I press my body against him.
“Once you’ve had breakfast, and you’re ready, I’ll ensure you come, at least five times before lunch,” he tells me in a husky whisper. It’s a promise, one that makes me shiver.
“You’re crazy,” I tell him before stepping past him. I feel him behind me, hot on my heels, and I can’t stop the need that races down my spine. I don’t know what it is about him, but Rome makes me happy. It’s not just the sex, though. He makes me feel like I can be honest with him.
Like I’m not just a ticket out of some business deal, but a woman. Granted, Marco knew the worry I’d been through, and thankfully, he wasn’t interested in my father’s bartering of me, but I know if his hand is forced, he will come for me.
What I told Rome last night is true, Marco wouldn’t hurt me, but I know the life I was born into doesn’t afford many choices. The rules aren’t broken. The law is set on another level from the one the rest of the world follows.
Settling at the breakfast bar, I can’t help smiling when I see the avocado toast along with some scrambled eggs Rome made.
“I didn’t think you were a breakfast kind of guy,” I remark as he sits beside me, setting my plate on the counter along with his. A freshly brewed coffee is also wafting in the air, and for the first time in a long while, I feel at peace.
“Of course I am. It’s the most important meal of the day.”
“Oh?” This has me turning to regard him. He’s clearly in good shape, and I’m sure he eats well, besides the gym that so clearly keeps him toned, but for some reason, I pictured him as the run-out-of-the-house-at-five-in-the-morning-with-a-coffee type of guy.
“Yes, well,” he says, shrugging. “That’s besides me devouring your pretty pussy as well.” His comment has me blushing. Last night, I asked him to make me forget. I also spread my legs for him, and he made me come on his tongue twice. But in the light of day, it feels different, more explicit.
“And you’re not too bad at that,” I tease him, picking up a slice of toast to take a bite. I can feel the fire in his gaze as he regards me, but he merely shakes his head instead of retorting back. I have a feeling he may show and not tell in this instance.
When I’m finished with my breakfast, Rome leans in, but he doesn’t kiss me like I expect him to. His lips whisper along the shell of my ear, and a shiver of desire races down my spine.
“Not too bad?” he rasps. “I’ll show you how not too bad I am, sweetheart.” He moves quickly. He’s off the chair and behind me, his hands on my hips as he spins me on the stool, and soon enough, I’m spread open for him. His eyes lock on my bare pussy, and his fingers taunt my inner thighs.
He looks up at me from his crouching position, and he gently blows on my entrance. The warmth that hits me between my legs causes my hips to roll in an attempt to squirm, but Rome’s got a hold of my thighs, and I’m not going anywhere.
He does it again, and again until I’m shaking. My hands clawing at his hair, trying to pull him closer, but he doesn’t give in. Merely grins wolfishly before he presses his lips to my smooth, inner thigh.
“Are you needy for me, sweetheart?” His dark brow arches, his eyes burning with need. I’m tempted to say no, to tell him that I don’t want him, but I can’t. It would be a lie, so I nod. “Good,” he says with a satisfied grin. “You’ll stay that way until tonight when you come.”
“What happened to you making me come fiv
e times before lunch?”
He chuckles, rising to full height as he looms over me. “That was before you were sassy with me. Now you’ll just have to wait until I’m ready.” His gaze sparks with mischief, and I have a feeling I’m in deep shit.
Chapter 21
Rome
When the key unlocks the door, my anxiety spikes. I have never told anyone about this place except for Dom. My best friend knows about what happened, and even though I’ve brought women here afterward, I’ve never allowed them to peek into the darkness that kept me here for so long.
To prove to myself I wasn’t a bad man, I hid away behind the walls of a pristine penthouse. I ensured everyone saw the shiny parts, but not the dingy, broken pieces that left me heartbroken.
“This place is incredible.” Elisabet gasps as she heads straight for the balcony. My brain tells me to stop her, the urge burns through my veins, but I don’t. Shutting my eyes, I breathe, focusing on the way my lungs expand and contract. Then I pray. I motherfucking pray. “Are you okay?”
My eyes snap open when she speaks, and I realize she turned around. She’s looking at me instead of the breathtaking view. I should say no, but I nod quickly. Her eyes narrow, and I know she doesn’t believe my lie. I’m usually the mouthy one. I love to say what’s on my mind, but right now, I can’t.
“Rome,” she says, coming toward me, and I find it easier to pull in air again. Elisabet’s hand lands on my shoulder, and immediately, a calm comes over me. I don’t know how this woman does it, but she changes everything about me.
“It was a long time ago. I was young, stupid, and cocky,” I start, not looking at her. I can’t meet those beautiful eyes when I’m admitting to one of my biggest mistakes. “My father was still alive, I’d just hit my first million, and I was lost in the parties and drinking. I was high on coke every night, and enjoyed far too many . . .” I allow my words to filter into nothing because I don’t want to tell her about the sex.
“We were all young once, Rome. That’s how life works.”
“But I lost it. I thought money would flow and bring me the luck I needed to have a life without regret.” I shake my head, knowing that the words I’m about to utter will have her looking at me differently. And I wouldn’t blame her. Hell, I wouldn’t blame her if she walked out the door and never returned. “When I turned twenty-four, I got engaged.” My voice is husky, emotion drenching every word. “I thought I was in love, but at the time, it wasn’t her I wanted, it was the lifestyle. We had come back here after a night out clubbing, and I distinctly recall Marisol telling me she needed space. I thought she meant fresh air, or maybe even a swim on the rooftop. I was too high not to really see her.”
My chest tightens. Memories assault me with vigor. The violence in every image turns my stomach, and I feel like I’m about to pass out, but Elisabet cups my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her.
“Whatever you need to say, you can tell me,” Elisabet says, her voice calm as if she’s placating someone who’s about to leap over the edge. That’s what it feels like, as if I’m about to cliff dive without a safety net.
“By the time I finished the joint I’d lit and headed to the bedroom, she had already found her space. She had found it in the bathroom in this very fucking apartment. The empty pill bottle was lying on the floor, her body slumped against the bathtub, and I couldn’t save her.”
I look at Elisabet, and the realization dawns on her. Her face is a picture painted by the most graphic of artists. Every emotion flits across her beautiful features—pain, fear, sadness—and the last one hits me right in the gut like a fucking sucker punch—pity.
“Don’t pity me,” I bite out in frustration, shoving by her. I lift my hand and watch the tremble that takes over. My eyes burn as the view becomes blurry. I think back on that night.
“Mary! Where are you?” The words are slurred. My vision is distorted and twisted as I make my way down the hallway to our bedroom. The party was epic, and I know we’ll be in the newspapers again, but who the fuck cares? I’m a legend.
Chuckling as I make my way into the bedroom, I find it empty. My heart thuds against my ribs, and my ears zing from the loud music we were listening to at the club. I’m still buzzing, and life is fucking amazing.
“Mary?” I call to my fiancée as I pad over to the walk-in closet to find it filled with expensive clothes, jewelry, and shoes, but no woman. “Mary,” I sing-song her voice once more, hoping she’ll come out of hiding.
Turning the corner, I shove open the bathroom door, needing a piss. I halt in my tracks. My mind swirls once more as I blink a few times trying to make sense of the scene before me.
The floor is white marble, and yet there’s a blinding change from where there would normally be a throw rug.
In its place is Marisol.
In its place is a pill bottle.
And in the place of my heart is a drumbeat that’s far too fast for me to fathom.
My lungs struggle to pull in air. My hands shake, but it’s not from the drugs and alcohol I ingested. It’s not even from the high of the music and party. It’s because my fiancée is lying on our bathroom floor unconscious.
I race to her body, tugging and shaking her, but she doesn’t respond. Her eyes are watering, but her lashes merely flutter. It’s as if she’s dreaming and can’t be woken.
“Mary! Mary!” My voice sounds foreign to me, laced with fear and guilt. I pull out my cell phone and find Dom’s number. I know he went home with someone, and I know I’ll be interrupting his night, but I can’t not call him.
“What?” His voice comes through the line, the slur is obvious.
“I need you. It’s Mary,” is all I can manage.
“I’m on my way,” Dominic responds quickly. He doesn’t ask why; he doesn’t even make mention of the time. His tone is sober when he asks, “Where are you?”
“At the penthouse,” I croak, holding Mary’s limp body in my arms. She’s getting colder by the second.
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s not breathing, not moving, I don’t know.” The frustration is evident in my voice, the pain stealing every breath.
“Call the ambulance,” he tells me before hanging up, leaving me staring at the blacked-out screen. Forcing my fingers to work, I dial the number and tell them where I am. I explain what happened while the operator tells me that help is on the way.
And in all this time, I don’t fucking cry.
“Rome.” My name is a plea, but there’s no pity; there’s just raw emotion. Pain so fierce strikes me over and over again, like lightning coming down from the heavens to punish the earth. So the heartbreak of what I did attacks me.
“I lost her because of my stupidity. I blamed myself for so long, and at times, I still feel responsible.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t force the pills down her throat.” Perhaps not, but I should’ve seen the signs. I could’ve helped her. I shake my head. “Listen to me, I’ve seen people get killed. I’ve heard about what the men I grew up around have done. They’ve taken lives, but that wasn’t you. Yes, there are signs that you could’ve seen, but you never made her do it.”
“She was pregnant,” I blurt out suddenly. The pain in my chest worsens. As if it could bleed from me if I were to allow it. I want nothing more than to breathe it out, to exhale all the agony and inhale the smiles that Elisabet and I found over the time we’ve known each other. “I don’t expect you to stay, to be here with me after this, but you needed to know.”
I wait for the slap, for the cursing, for the words of anger toward me. I’m a monster. I killed my own unborn child. But none of that comes. There isn’t an utterance of negativity from Elisabet. Instead, she wraps her arms around my middle and presses her face against my chest.
Confusion settles in my mind. My brows furrow, and I glance down. My hands are hanging limply at my sides. I can’t feel anything but the warmth from the woman who’s captured my attention and hasn’t let go.
Her perfume invades my senses. A calming fragrance that makes me breathe deeply for the first time since I walked in and confessed. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t look at me, and I’m thankful for that. I don’t want to see her beautiful eyes shimmer with pain.
Closing my own eyes, I focus on the here and now. I try not to recall the past, I try not to allow the memories in, but I can’t stop them. Now that I’ve said the words out loud, it’s even more tragic when I replay it.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t pity you, and I don’t blame you. There’s nothing to say in a situation like that because with youth comes the idea that you’re too young to die. It’s nobody’s fault. And she could’ve and most probably would’ve done it if she was with someone else. People live with depression every day,” Elisabet says. “Some aren’t able to fight it, and some manage to live a meager existence with the drugs prescribed to them. And yes, there are some who overcome it and go on day by day, but you cannot blame yourself for what she did.”
“I should’ve seen. I should’ve known.”
Elisabet nods slowly. “Maybe. And you could’ve gotten her help, and then she could’ve been okay. Or there’s another possibility where she could’ve gotten the drugs that may have helped for a short time but returned at a later time. We can’t know the future; all we can do is live day by day. And the past may haunt us at times, but that doesn’t mean we need to delay our present for those.”
“Or perhaps just live for one night only?” I ask her, recalling her words back to her. The night I wanted from her became so much more. She’s brought out parts of me that I never thought would exist again.
Elisabet offers a small smile. “One night, one day, it’s all we can take it as. Keep going until we’re old and gray.”
I cup her face in my hands and lean in. I don’t kiss her. I stop inches from her mouth. “How did you become so wise?”