AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’ll just grab the phone, give it back, and pretend this week never happened. Because nothing really did happen. My imagination running away with me doesn’t mean anything, and I have bigger problems right now than Roman Montague. Problems like what will happen when my parents find out I ran out on Harrison, or how to avoid having to marry him when everyone else around me seems intent on it.
I wish Cat was here, but she has her study group tonight and wasn’t expecting me back this early, anyway. I suppose I should be grateful for that, though, since it makes it far easier to slip into the library with no awkward questions.
The smell of cloves immediately hits me, and the scent alone is enough to make my conviction waiver. Gritting my teeth, I dash across the room and yank open a window. Cold air comes rushing in, tugging at my clothes and hair and raising the exposed skin on my arms. The pages of the books rustle, and I shiver not only from the cold.
I bend down and flick on a table lamp as a creeping feeling crawls up my spine. I’m being stupid, getting creeped out by wind like a child in the dark. Then again, it’s not like I don’t know there are real things that go bump in the night—human and otherwise.
My eyes dart around the room, wondering where Roman might have left his phone. We weren’t in here all that long and we barely moved away from the door. Although, I did leave first…
But then, I spot it on the rug near the door. Like it must have fallen out of his pocket at some point. I can’t even imagine how we were both too distracted not to notice that.
Brow furrowed, I cross the room and pick up the phone. It’s simple and relatively unassuming. Like the heroine of some mid-two thousands detective witch show, I make a list in my head of things I’d deduce from this phone.
It’s an iPhone, maybe one generation back. So, he can afford new tech, but doesn’t care enough to run out and buy every new iteration right away. The case is bright purple, filthy on the edges, and scratched to all hell—in far worse shape than it should be considering how new the phone is. I frown. I’m a shitty detective because that makes no sense.
Curious now, I walk back over to the table lamp, and hold the phone face down under the stream of light to get a better look. The mess on the edges of the case that I first took as dirt is actually more of a light tan color. My stomach sinking, I pull out my own phone and compare them. Sure enough, I have similar smudges on my case. It’s make-up. Foundation to be specific.
My throat goes tight, as I examine what I’m now almost sure is Roman’s phone and his sister’s case.
I shove my own phone back in my pocket and bend to turn the light back off. I leave the window open to air out the library and close the door again before heading back to my room, phone held tight in my fist like it’s some forbidden contraband. Flopping on my bed, I stare at it.
I feel weird looking at anyone’s texts. But then again, he would absolutely do it to me…right? Isn’t he the one who’s always making fun of me for being “too moral”—as if that’s possible.
It probably doesn’t matter, I assume the phone is password protected, anyway.
I hesitate for half a second, then light it up again just to check if there is, in fact, a password. Sure enough, a numbers screen pops up. I let out a sigh of relief.
So, that decision is made for me then. But then, after a minute, the code screen disappears, and up pops the previews of every message and notification from the last few days.Shit.
Roman’s stupid voice rings in my head.“You always were a good girl, Etta.”
I scowl. Alright, I’m not a saint. I can’t be expected not to look at this.
I leap off my bed and race across the room to lock my bedroom door, then dart around the room closing all the shades. I am so aware this is absurd, but I feel like I’m doing something wrong here, and no one can know the clear depth of my obsession while I venture into this gold mine of information.
Once I’m sure I’m completely hidden, I return to my bed and dive in.
There’s days worth of shit here, and the first thing I notice is that Roman doesn’t clear his notifications.At all.
The very top things are fromAmazon, social media,Kindle, podcasts and news—none of which are recent. He has no sports or stock market apps, both of which my father checks religiously. He needs to update his IOS and hasn’t backed up to the cloud in 96 weeks. I cringe. Who does that?
For half a second, I’m shocked by theKindlenotifications, and then I realize that not everyone reads exclusively smut. Kindle can be used for other things…I just haven’t found a reason to indulge in those things. I bet the most recent thing in Roman’s library is a Shirley Jackson book, or maybe Tony Morrison.
Going back to the phone, there’s nearly a dozen missed phone calls. It looks like both Bennet and Pierce called him a few times, probably trying to find the phone. I am guessing it’s Bennet based on context, because the contact actually says “Eggs Benedict” but Pierce’s says “Pierce N. Avon,” which I find funny for some reason.
His parents are listed as “Father” and “Mom.” They both called twice.
Then, the texts.
My eyes grow wide as I scan down all the messages from Maybe: Rosaline Hathaway. I raise my eyebrows. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.
RosalinefreakingHathaway. Roman’s prep school girlfriend and the object of much of my teenage angst. I can’t help feeling a little smug that he didn’t save her number, the phone did. They must not have ended on good terms.
That smugness dies, my stomach plummeting as I scan through their messages.
While I can’t see more than the first few words of each message, it’s enough to understand the gist.
It starts out relatively normal:
