Page 26 of From Rome, With Hate

“Your scent is intoxicating,” I say against the curve of her neck. She grips my shirt in response. “What is it?”

“Vanilla and patchouli,” she mewls. “My favorite perfume.”

“Patchouli.” I smile against her skin. “That’s a funny word.”

She giggles, her body vibrating against mine as she wraps both hands around my face, forcing me to look up. I’m heartbroken she’s stopping me. I could explore her forever.

She stares directly into my eyes. “This is crazy.”

“I know.” I kiss her again.

“What is happening?” she asks.

“I don’t know. But I feel it too.” I rest my forehead against hers.

“I really, really need to go, Rome.” She keeps her hands pressed to my face.

I sigh with defeat, knowing she’s right. If I don’t let her go now, I’ll risk our reputations. The ones where everyone is under the impression we’re enemies.

“Okay.” I close my eyes, catching my breath, then give her one final kiss before taking a step back.

“Okay.” She inhales a deep breath, tugging on the bottom of her top, straightening herself. “I’ll go first. Wait a few seconds before you step out.”

I nod.

A hint of sadness fills her gaze when she moves around me, but I don’t stop her.

Before she opens the door, she looks over her shoulder. “We stay at my parents’…” She stops herself, glancing up. “Well, itwasmy parents’. I guess it’s just my dad’s now.” She frowns, then blinks, flipping her hand in the air. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, it’s a second home outside the city, and we stay there every weekend.” Her smile returns. “My bedroom has a balcony.”

I grin like a lovesick puppy. Shit, what is happening to me?

“I don’t know where that is.”

“Here.” She holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

I do as she says and pull it from the front pocket of my jeans to unlock it with my fingerprint, then pass it to her. She types her number into my contact list, then hands it back.

I read the name she placed at the top.

Lark.

I chuckle and look up, wanting to kiss her again, but I hold myself back, anchoring my feet where they are.

“I’ll text you the address.” She reaches for the handle again.

“Oh, and Lark?”

She pauses and half turns.

“Happy Birthday.”

Her smile stays on her pretty pink, swollen lips until she’s opening the door. She peeks out, making sure the coast is clear, then she’s gone. I fall back against the sink and rake a hand through my hair. I’m living inside a dream.

I hope I never wake up.

EIGHT

JULIANNA