Page 73 of From Rome, With Hate

With a pinched brow, her expression turns to one of hurt and rejection.

“We need to talk about earlier.” I force myself to get through this. The last thing I want to do is push Julianna away, but the fear and hatred that once crippled me isn’t in the room with me now. I take the opportunity to push her more than I have been these past few days.

“You said you didn’t want to talk.” She tries to pull me in again, her gaze falling to my mouth. “I’m good with that, Rome.”

“But I’m not sure I am.”

I pull my fingers away from her and use my other hand to stroke her cheek. Her blue eyes have softened and whatever structure been dismantling inside me has come undone even more. I hate seeing the pain in Julianna’s gaze.

She sighs, averting her gaze from mine. “What do you want to talk about?”

A sizzling sound comes from the stove, and Julianna looks down at it to her right to see the water in the small saucepot boiling over.

“Shit.”

I step back, allowing her to hop off the counter. She scrambles to turn down the temperature and contain the mess while I rake a frustrated hand through my hair.

There’s nothing I’ve wanted more than to be able to erase the pain Julianna and I have suffered all these years, but we can’t get past it if we never go through it.

With her back to me, she picks up the box of macaroni and pours the noodles into the pot.

“Julianna,” I say quietly, stepping close to her.

She spins around, frustrated. “What is it, Rome?”

“I’m just…” I run a hand down my face, then take another step toward her, close enough to where she can feel my sincerity. “I’m just trying to get a read on you. You’ve always had this wall up, and at one point I was the only one you fully trusted. But now…”

“Now you aren’t,” she states plainly. Her confession is a punch to the gut. I guess I deserve it. If it weren’t for my choices that night our marriage essentially ended, we wouldn’t be here.

“I deserve that.”

My confession clearly shocks her as her pupils dilate and her eyes spread wide.

“What?” I ask.

She blinks rapidly, shaking her head. The noodles are boiling over again, with water sputtering and spilling over the edge of the pot. I sigh and reach around her for the wooden spoon on the counter, then stir the noodles, but Julianna doesn’t break her attention away from mine.

“I don’t understand why you suddenly want to talk,” she finally answers. “I thought this would have been the perfect situation for you.”

“Perfect, in what way?” I drop the spoon and spin around to face her again.

“Fucking me without all the baggage. It’s what you prefer, isn’t it?”

I curl my hands into tight fists at my sides as emotions I’ve refused to acknowledge for years threaten to spill over.

“Tell me.” I lower my voice, trying to remain calm. “Explain to me in what fucking universe you think I would prefer that sort of arrangement with you.”

Pressing her lips together, she huffs through her nose before she finally says, “Macy and all those other women I’ve seen you with over the years.”

It isn’t the pranks or the constant surveillance she’s annoyed by? It’s goddamn fucking Macy?

“I apologized for what happened with Macy. I accepted my role in that. But what other women are you talking about?”

She scoffs, cackling in disbelief. “Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t had women fawning over you for ten years.”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “But if I have, I haven’t noticed.”

“Bullshit.” Her eyebrows rise. “Don’t lie and tell me you haven’t fucked anyone since me.”