Page 12 of From Rome, With Hate

We continue at the same pace down our respective aisles, only tearing our eyes away from one another’s to see where we’re walking. I smooth my hand along the edge of the metal bookshelf to keep me steady. It’s slow and torturous, but we take our time. Once we’ve reached the end, neither of us hesitate to step out and reveal ourselves to one another.

And when we do, my heart completely stops.

In fact, the entire world comes to a screeching, earth-shattering halt.

I’m staring at Lark’s blue eyes, but they belong to someone else. Someone I swore an oath to hate.

Julianna Capuleti.

Shit. Holy fucking shit.

Julianna’s face pales, the blood and life clearly draining from her cheeks. Soft, red painted lips part, her jaw dropping as her gaze moves from my feet to my head, taking me in. Her skirt feathers across the tops of her thighs as she takes a step back in shock. Glittery black mesh fabric peeks out from the bottom of her blue plaid uniform skirt, her unconventional look complete with blue-glittered combat boots.

Julianna Capuleti has always broken the rules. In the past, it only aggravated me. But now, I’m not so sure. What is this feeling?

“No.” She gasps, clamping her hand firmly over her mouth, most likely to mute the blood-curdling shriek making its way up her throat.

“Julianna.” I manage to choke out her name.

“No. You don’t get to say my name.” She holds up her hand, tears lining her eyes. But her hurt at the reveal of my identity quickly transforms to the usual hatred I see in them. She points a shaky finger in my direction. “Get away from me. I can’t be seen talking to you like this.”

She spins on her heel, but I snatch up her hand before she has the chance to walk away. I wrap my fingers around her wrist and feel her pulse pounding against my index finger.

“Wait.” I glance over my shoulder, ensuring we’re still alone. “Please.”

“Seriously?” she hisses, keeping her voice to a whisper. She tears her hand from my grip. “Get away from me, or I swear, Rome, I will scream at the top of my fucking lungs.”

“Can’t we at least talk about this?” What the hell am I saying? Why does the thought of Julianna walking away from me right now sound like something that would utterly ruin me?

“Talk about what?” She firms her jaw, balling her hands into fists at her sides. “We’ve hated each other our entire lives, Rome. When we were ten, you threw bubblegum in my hair and had everyone call me Bubblehead for the rest of fifth grade. I was forced to chop it all off, and it took an entire year for it to grow back. When we were fourteen, you swapped my vanilla pudding cup at lunch for mayonnaise when I wasn’t looking. Last year, you told the entire lacrosse team you found my journal—a journal that didn’t exist, I might add—where I’d written all their names repeatedly surrounded by hearts. As if I had a crush on every single one of them. You’ve made my entire life miserable since we drew our first breaths. This is no different.”

She starts to leave again, but I stop her.Again.

“Lark, wait.”

“Don’t call me that.” She clenches her teeth.

“Come on,” I say lowly, my gaze dropping to her red lips before rising back to her eyes. “This timeisdifferent.”

I can’t explain it but I’m seeing her in a different light. It’s taken us almost eighteen years, but here I am, wishing she didn’t hate me. It’s fucking crazy.

“Nothing has changed.” She narrows her pretty eyes.

I resist the urge to reach up and swipe my thumb across her cheekbone. “Everything has changed,” I argue, sounding pathetic and desperate, but I don’t care. “The emails. The letters.”

“Emails and letters don’t change the fact we’re enemies, Rome.” Her chin wobbles. “You are a Montgomery. I’m a Capuleti.”

“I’ve never told anyone the things I told you in these letters.” I hold the copy of Romeo and Juliet between us.

She eyes it momentarily with sadness.

“Yeah,” she scoffs, her anger returning. “Only because you didn’t know you were talking to me. A Capuleti. If you’d known, you wouldn’t have said all those things.”

My mouth pops open to protest, but I can’t. She’s right. I wouldn’t have said those things if I’d known it was her. But I confided in her, told her I hate the person I’ve been raised to become. I think back to the email where she said she didn’t want to be known for only her name.

“You said you didn’t want to be known for your name,” I remind her. “I feel the same way, Julianna.”

“Stop. Even if I didn’t already hate you”—she shakes her head, her words cutting me—“I wouldn’t pursue this. Your father hates mine. You can’t be trusted.”