Romeo’s penis could cure depression.
Unfortunately, it could not cure hatred.
I still had that in spades.
I flung my period-stained underwear into the trash, reaching for a tampon. The disappointment that flooded me wasn’t because I’d expected to be pregnant so fast.
I just didn’t want a temporary pit stop in my quest to breaking some sort of Guinness orgasm record.
The jet jostled me like a snow globe. I perched beside the sink, waiting out the turbulence.
My sex was already sore, stretched to the max, and ready for retirement after just a week of employment. Each time my nipples brushed against my bra, the numbness axled into pain.
When the plane recovered, I returned to the main cabin in time to watch Romeo flip the page of his newspaper. My butt still tingled every time I caught a glimpse of his strong hands.
We’d spent our time in France either arguing or climaxing. There was a good chance I’d compromised not only my virginity, but that of my future spawn.
I plopped onto the plush couch, expecting Romeo to ignore me.
And he did.
In fact, the second we’d stepped onto the jet, he’d shown more interest in his emails than me.
Fine. Whatever.
I FaceTimed Frankie, Momma, and Sav, popping seaweed rice crackers onto my tongue, ignoring the cruel, overbearing ass.
When we returned home, I realized I’d forgotten to ask Hettie or Vernon to water the white rose on my nightstand.
Oops.
I bolted upstairs as soon as I remembered, leaving Romeo in the foyer with our suitcases, confused and—as always—displeased.
“You’re welcome for the 1.4-million-dollar honeymoon, Shortbread.” I ignored him, taking the stairs two at a time as he muttered to himself, “Anytime.”
I barged into my room, panting. Though my thumb veered black instead of green, I hated when flowers died.
They symbolized hope and strength. For after each winter, came the spring, bringing blossom with it.
A tended flower grew to its full potential. I liked to think about people in the same manner.
Could I, too, grow under my current circumstances?
To my amazement, the white rose appeared perfectly in bloom in its makeshift jar. Not one petal out of place.
Phew.
Had Vernon watered it?
I fell to my knees before it, noticing the greenish hue of the water it swam in. Nope. It looked like the rose had survived all by itself.
Well, what do you know? Maybe Vernon was right, and he’d created a rose sub-species that could survive as long as it took to fall in love.
“At least one of us is low-maintenance.” I fingered the thorny stem. “Thank you for surviving. You’re the real MVP, Rose.”
Did I just name my pet rose Rose?
Why, yes. Yes, I did.
“I see conversing with plants is another quirk I should add to your never-ending list of oddities.” Romeo leaned against my doorframe, looking like an ice statue.
I scowled at him. Now that the novelty of Paris’s romantic filter wore off and I could no longer shove his face between my legs, I remembered how much I disliked him.
Precise quantity: a ton.
“Aunt Flow’s in town, in case you’re here for your…er, snack.”
“Kindly refrain from reminding me you have any relatives. I have intense PTSD from every Townsend I’ve met so far.” He pushed off the doorframe, strolling into my room without an invitation. “As it happens, I’m not here to pleasure you, Shortbread. Believe it or not, my interests run a little deeper than your bed.”
“Don’t worry. I know your story arc is ruining your father’s empire. You’re like a badly written Marvel villain, but with a better haircut.”
He stared at me, unmoved, towering above me now. “I’m moving out.”
My knees remained glued to the hardwood. The scene was gut-wrenchingly degrading, so I shot to my feet, dusting my dress off.
He reached into his metal case, popping two cubes of gums into his mouth. “Work is hectic, with a major agreement with the DOD on the line.”
I’d read about it all over the local news. Also filed it under the Don’t Care folder in my brain. Just another pissing contest between the Lichts and Costas, to the soprano tune of six-hundred-or-so million dollars.
I rolled my eyes. “Your work’s always busy. At least be honest and admit you want to stay away from me.”
He observed me with less interest than a traffic report. “You are a distraction, and I do not entertain those.”
“I am your wife.”
“Now you’re just repeating what I said.” Then, with a sigh, he swept his eyes away from me. “I’ll probably visit once over the weekend to check in on the house. You may invite your family members and friends as you wish, two at a time, so long as no men walk through these gates. In men, I also include Madison, though he does not necessarily fit into the category.”
“Wait, you can’t really leave.” I jumped past him, blocking the doorway.
I didn’t know why I found the concept so hard to digest.
He sidestepped, walking around me. “I am, and you’re in my way.”
I dove in front of him, bracing an arm on either side of the doorframe. “Guess the only way out is through.”
“Very well.” He cracked his neck. “Through it is, Mrs. Costa.”
Romeo advanced toward me, shoulder-tackled me, and tossed me over his shoulder, strolling through the hallway as if he wasn’t carrying an entire person.
I slapped his back, growling. “Let me down, you stuffy…coldhearted…asinine…”
“I’m not asinine.” He shifted me onto his other shoulder, and I suspected it had less to do with my weight and more to do with the discomfort it gave me. “The other adjectives fit, though.”
My head bobbed, colliding with his back with each stride. He carried me with light breaths and even lighter steps.
On the bright side, I obviously had more room to eat, since it seemed I weighed next to nothing.
Romeo descended the stairs. I spotted my suitcase alone in the foyer and noticed he’d never wheeled his back into the house.
He wasn’t lying.
He’d never planned on staying.
Romeo rounded the curved stairway and disposed of me in the kitchen, in front of a confused Hettie. “Effective immediately, Mrs. Costa is among your responsibilities, Ms. Holmberg. You are to oversee her behavior, including potential indiscretions and mishaps. You will ensure she stays out of trouble, as the latter seems to have her on speed dial.”
Hettie frowned. “What’s in it for me?”
“A 150K pay raise and the pleasure of maintaining your job.”
“Okie dokie.” She whistled, saluting him with two fingers to her forehead. “You got yourself a deal, boss.”
I groaned. “Traitor.”
“Blue-collar,” she corrected.
A few seconds later, Romeo left the house—and my life—as if Paris had never happened.
I turned to Hettie, fuming. “Wow. All it took was 150K for you to turn on me.”
Hettie appeared unaffected by my rage. “One-fifty large is a shit ton of money for the average folk, Dal.”
I knew she was right. But now that Romeo wasn’t here, I had to take my anger out on someone.
“Plus.” Hettie shrugged. “I never claimed to be a good governess. My job is to cook his oatmeal. If I suck at my side gig, no one can blame me.” She winked.
I grinned. “Thanks.”
“Sure. Just don’t take advantage of it and throw massive orgies and burn the place down, all right?”
“I’ll try my best,” I said, inwardly adding that I would do anything and everything short of the list she gave me.
I dragged myself up the stairs and back to my room, where I spent the rest of my day reading and moping. My mind had wandered a thousand miles from the faraway kingdom my book took place in.
Before I hopped into bed, I noticed one petal had fallen off the rose. Just the one.
See, Vernon? The rose is wilting and my hatred toward my husband isn’t.
Shaking my head, I crawled into bed.
I’d get back at Romeo Costa.
Even if it was the last thing I did.
