Page 85 of From Rome, With Hate

Everything shifts. All of the anguish. The façade I’ve put up. All of it disappears in the way Rome is looking at me, touching me, kissing me.

“Say it again,” he begs, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please, say it again. I need to hear it.”

“I don’t hate you,” I repeat, sliding my hand along his abs and to his chest. He opens his eyes on a sigh. “I’ve been angry for so long over what happened, losing our daughter, our families’ vendettas being used against us… you sleeping with Macy that night. I’ve been shutting you out, not telling you the truth. I guess I was using it to cope with my reality. I told you I feltlike drowning when I look at you because you remind me of everything that’s ever truly mattered to me. Everything I’ve lost. Outside earlier, at shooting practice, when you asked me the second reason why I host those fundraising events…” I bite back the sob threatening to take over. “The events are a distraction. A distraction from the life I could have had, wassupposedto have with you. A distraction fromherbeing on my mindallthe time. This is why I’ve been living the way I have. I’ve curated this life so different from the one I pictured I’d have with you. One where I’m not married to a man I both love and hate. And one where we didn’t lose our child.” I’m breaking. “She had your eyes, Rome.”

The pain in his eyes is unmissable.

“I know, Lark.” He gulps. “And she had your nose.”

He stares at me with his heartbreak on display, and I fight to keep myself together. Every thought I’ve kept to myself, all the times I’ve pushed him away, refusing to tell him how I’ve felt is laid out on the table.

“I’m sorry I haven’t let you in. I’m sorry I’ve been pushing you away,” I tell him.

Tears line Rome’s eyes, and I wrap my hand around his face, the stubble lining his jaw prickling my palm. I relish in his warmth as he leans into my hand, using me as an anchor. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, a tear falls.

There’s only been one time I’ve seen Rome Montgomery cry. The day we lost our daughter.

“I’ve been pushing you away, too.” He presses his other hand to the small of my back, pulling me closer. “I guess we figured it was easier to live with the hate rather than the love, huh?”

He feathers his lips to mine, and it feels as if he’s draped a warm blanket over me. I hitch my leg over his hip, bringing our bodies closer.

“I have one more confession to make,” I tell him.

He brushes his nose against mine, and I can tell it’s taking everything in him not to kiss me right now.

“I’m tired of hating my husband when all I’ve ever done is love him.”

I’ve barely lifted my focus from his mouth to his eyes when he steals my mouth. His lips melt against mine, and he’s literally breathing life into me. Again, my body lights up at his touch. He’s dragging me out of the graveyard, only this time I’m going with him willingly.

“I love you,” he says against my mouth, and I honestly can’t think of the last time my life felt this whole.

I would say it was the last time we were together, before we lost everything, but I’d be wrong. Even then, we weren’t completely free and happy. Family hatred hung over us like a dark cloud, dictating every move we made.

But this is different. We’ve changed yet, somehow, we still found our way back to each other.

His hand wraps around my thigh as he rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him. I straddle his waist, his thick, hardened cock pressing against me. Sitting back, I tuck my hair behind my ear and stare down at him. Rain pelts the window, the swaying branch still scraping against the glass, but I’m no longer afraid. As long as I have Rome, there’s no fear.

I’m tired of running.

Sliding my hands along his rock-hard stomach, I slip his shirt up. He follows my lead, sitting up high enough to remove it. He tosses it aside and lays back on the pillow.

Spreading my hands over his body, I take in each tattoo before tracing the rose inked into his ribs. Then I lean down, sliding my hands over his neck.

He tilts his chin, gazing at me with insatiable hunger. I trace the lark’s wings as Rome whispers, “Do you know why I got the lark tattoo on my neck?”

I stare into his eyes. “No.”

He reaches down, grabs the hem of my white lace top, and lifts it over my head as he smooths his hands over my bare back, keeping me close. “Because without you, I can’t breathe. You’re my reason for breathing, Julianna Capuleti.”

My skin is humming and despite the darkness of the bedroom, all I see is color.

“Montgomery.” I tilt my mouth, bringing it close to his. “My name is Julianna Montgomery.”

It feels right saying it out loud, as though it’s what it was meant to be all along.

His lips curl in satisfaction. He threads his fingers through my hair, tightening his grip when he reaches the back of my head. His other hand dips between us, his fingers finding my clit through my shorts.

I moan, rocking my hips into his hand. He releases a low growl before he tears his hand away and spins me around until my back lands against the bed.