by Sienna Blake
All the way. I was prepared to die for him. If I had to shoot my own father to get us out of here, I would. We’d have to go on the run. But at least we’d be together.
I turned my eyes back to my father, trying to calculate my next move. He started forward and I flinched, making him pause.
“I won’t let you take him,” I cried. “If you try to arrest him, I’ll—”
“I won’t.”
“You…won’t?”
My father’s gaze settled on Roman standing at my side. “You look at her the way…” he cleared his voice, “the way that I used to look at my wife. You really love her, don’t you?”
Roman’s hand slid around my waist and he pulled me close. “With everything that I am.”
My father turned his gaze to me. “You really love him too, don’t you?”
I nodded, my throat too closed with emotion to speak.
My father deflated, his shoulders falling. “I have been…an old fool. A short-sighted old fool.” He looked at me. “Can you ever forgive me?”
I flung myself into his arms and he hugged me back. “I already have,” I said to him. “I love you.”
“Oh, Julu,” he muttered into my hair, “you’re alive.”
“I’m alive,” I repeated as I laughed, my body filling with warmth.
My father pulled back and faced Roman. “I’m… I’m sorry for forcing you to lie to her. I’m sorry for trying to keep you two apart.”
Roman nodded. “You were just trying to protect her.” He shot me a look. “I understand the impulse.”
“But how did this happen?” my father asked, staring at me. “How are you not…?”
“Dead?”
“I’m afraid I am responsible,” Father Laurence stepped in from the doorway, joining us.
“The Father knew Roman was really alive,” I said quickly, in case my father turned on Father Laurence with anger.
Roman nodded. “He had to help fake my funeral.”
“So, when I begged him for something to end my life…”
“You what?” Both Roman and my father snapped their heads towards me, a mirrored image of shock and horror on their faces.
“I gave her Atropa Belladonna instead,” injected Father Laurence, “otherwise known as Sleeping Nightshade, an herb when prepared properly, mimics death.”
Roman grabbed my shoulders. “You were going to die for me?”
“You came here to die with me,” I reminded him.
His grip loosened. He lowered his forehead to touch mine. “Don’t ever die for me again,” he whispered.
I broke into a smile. “We will live for each other instead. I’ll come with you, we’ll leave Verona and go back to where you were sent under witness protection.”
“Julu,” my father exclaimed, “you don’t have to go with him.”
“Where he goes, I go,” I said firmly.
“But your job—”
“You’ve suspended me,” I said. “Besides, I quit.”
“You can’t just throw away everything.”
“I’m not throwing away everything.” I turned to look at Roman. Once again, he left me breathless with his dark, intense stare and the midnight hair that curled over his collar. “I’m grabbing on to what’s important with both hands.”
My father sighed. “I’ve never been any good at telling you what to do, have I?” My father shot Roman a stern look. “You better take care of her.”
Roman straightened up. “I will, sir.”
“It is best that you stay ‘dead’, at least until the trials. The extradition request for your brother from Colombia is underway. The Tyrell empire will soon be dismantled piece by piece. I will try to expedite the court process, see if we can’t get you both back here any quicker, but it’ll take time.
“How much time?” I asked.
“A year. Maybe more.”
“A year?” We’d have to stay hidden for an entire year. We couldn’t come back to Verona for a whole year.
“A year is fine,” Roman said.
I snapped my head toward him. Was he crazy?
Roman smiled at me, a glint in his eyes. “I know just where we can go…”
34
____________
Roman
Julianna and I sat in the car parked on the side of the road in a leafy part of Verona, a familiar cottage with a faded blue door to my right.
We’d just stopped at Nora’s apartment and surprised the hell out of her. She screamed so loud that I was sure the entire population of Verona knew we were still alive. Hell, my ears were still ringing from her ruckus.
Jules and I agreed we would let Nonna know as well. It wasn’t fair to her if we didn’t. I could see the soft, cuddly frame of the woman who’d stepped in as a mother figure to me. The same woman whose grandson I’d sent to his grave. I couldn’t make myself get out of that car.
“We should go,” I said. “It’s getting late.” I reached to turn the car key but Julianna’s hand slid over mine.
“Roman,” she said. “It would only be ‘too late’ if you drove away without telling her you’re alive. Don’t leave her in pain because she thinks you are dead.”
I know. I was being a coward. I was more nervous now facing up to Nonna after what happened to Mercutio than facing my father. Be brave. I forced myself out of the car. Jules followed me.
Every trudge up her front path felt like I was sinking in concrete, my feet getting heavier and heavier as I approached the blue door.
“Don’t you usually go in the back way?” Jules asked.
The back door was for family. I had destroyed hers. “Usually,” I mumbled. I lifted my hand and knocked.
“It’s open,” I heard Nonna calling through the door. Trust Nonna to still keep her doors unlocked, no matter how much I told her to lock them. She was too trusting.
I opened the front door and stepped into her living room. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla warmed the place, making my stomach twinge. Nonna baked when she was happy. She baked when she was sad. Jules stood close to my side, her presence giving me strength.
“I’ll be there in just a—” Nonna cut off as soon as she stepped from the kitchen, her eyes locked on me. She froze, her cheeks paling.
“Surprise, Nonna,” I said. “I’m—”
“You’re alive,” she said, her voice warbling as if she was unsure of whether to be shocked, angry, sad, or to shriek with excitement. She stared at me as if I were a stranger. Perhaps to her, I was.
I gave her an uneasy smile to test the waters. “I’m alive.”
She slowly wiped her hands, dusty with flour, on her apron. “Well,” she said, a slightly defensive tone to her voice, “I’ve already packed up all your things that you left here and given them away. Clothes and shoes and video games. Although I suppose you don’t fit into those clothes anymore.” She placed her hands on her hips.
She’d kept my things for eight years? I didn’t go into Mercutio’s old room the last time I was here. I bet it was still the same, twin beds covered in comforters decorated with Marvel comic superheroes, large boxes in the corner stuffed with our toys and games.
Jules slipped her hand into mine and squeezed. Go on.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You should be. You should have told me.” She glared at me. “I don’t have any dinner ready for you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Tears filled her eyes. She ran over to grab me, pulling me into her fleshy warm arms. Jules stepped back so Nonna and I could have a moment. She broke into an undignified sob on my shoulder. “Oh, Roman. I’m so happy you’re alive.”
I leaned a chin on her graying hair that always smelled like her lavender shampoo, feeling like I was finally home again. “I’m so sorry I let you think I was dead,” I whispered. “I’m sorry for…everything.”
Nonna pulled back, wiping her eyes with the edge of her apron, and composed herself with dignified sniffle. “Why didn’t you come to me earl
ier?”
“I thought you might not want to speak to me after…Mercutio.” My voice broke on his name.
Nonna’s eyes teared up at his name. “My poor Mercutio. Why are you blaming yourself for him?”
“He died saving my life.”
Nonna sniffed. She shook her head, but there was an edge of wistfulness on her lips. “That boy would have followed you to the edges of the Earth. He was loyal to a fault. That’s not your doing, Roman.”
“It was my fault,” I squeezed out. “I’m so sorry.”
“Did you pull the trigger?” she asked, her voice eerily calm.
“Well, no, but—”
“Then you didn’t kill him. You hear me?” she asked, her tone firm and commanding. She grabbed my arm and repeated, “You. Didn’t. Kill him.”
I stared into Nonna’s face, stern and yet warm. I saw sorrow still fresh in the creases of her face. But not a thread of blame. I pulled her into another hug, taking in her comforting “Nonna smell” of baked goods and the hint of lemon cleaner, and let her begin to mend another broken piece of my soul.
35
____________
Julianna
Three months later…
Paris was everything I dreamed it would be.
We were free here. Just two strangers holding hands among the lively fashionable rush, strolling down the cobbled streets lined with chic boutiques and cute cafes, green shutters flung open to the sun or walls draped with ivy. All my senses were pulled left and right; the earthy smell of coffee and sweet, warm pastries, the sharp music of market sellers calling out their wares, flowerboxes spilling with pink and purple geraniums.
I sat close to Roman on the sidewalk of a café in Montmartre, a tree-lined part of the city built on a hill with winding cobblestone streets. Our cozy rented apartment was above the cafe, in the attic. We came down here every morning for a cafe au lait and a croissant and watched the people stroll by or glide past on bicycles.
Roman held a small tablet out in front of him.
“How the hell does this thing work?” Nonna said with a growl from the depths of a black screen.
I giggled behind my hand. Nonna still hadn’t gotten used to internet video calls.
“It’s on, Nonna,” Nora’s voice came through. “See? You just have to turn the video on.” Both their faces came on the laptop screen. The four of us let out a cheer.
The last day that Roman and I spent in Verona, my father, Nora and Nonna came to our hotel room to say goodbye. They met each other properly for the first time then. Since then, Nora and Nonna had been inseparable. They often ambushed my father at his place to make sure he was eating properly and that the house hadn’t turned to mold around him. It made me happy that they were looking after him and each other.
Nonna’s face broke out into a huge smile. “How is Paris?”
My eyes met Roman’s. It was a dream. Waking up every day next to him, getting to walk without fear or shame down the streets, holding his hand, and kissing him, oh, the public kisses. I think we’ve even made a sport of public kissing.
We filled Nonna and Nora in on Paris and the apartment we’d rented here.
“We miss you,” Nonna said. “Our lives are so dull without you two.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Nora.
Nonna snorted. “Did you hear that this floozy here has a new boyfriend?”
“When does she ever not have a new boyfriend,” I said.
“I’m not dead, so I don’t have to act like it,” Nora said in a haughty tone.
Sounded like everything back home was as we left it. Roman squeezed my hand under the table.
We spoke for another few minutes before we signed off with promises to call again next month.
I leaned back in my chair, sipping the remainder of my coffee. “I love that Nonna and Nora are friends.”
“I love you.” Roman stared at me, a small smile on his face.
“I love that we’re here in Paris.”
“I love you.”
“You know, you’re getting very good at saying that.” I remembered when he couldn’t bring himself to say those words to me.
“I’m not afraid to say it. Anymore.”
“Well, I love…” I said slowly, tapping my lip with my finger, “…the Eiffel Tower.”
“You love that I’m as big as the Eiffel Tower.”
I snorted.
Roman grinned. “You want to climb the Eiffel tower?”
We stumbled up the skinny staircase and poured into our apartment, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths. He barely got the door shut behind us before I was slammed up against it. Fuck, I loved doors. Doors were amazing. It was my favorite thing to be crushed between them and him. I had only to look at a door now to get wet.
He kissed me like he was drinking me in. He peeled off my clothes, taking a moment as each article was thrown aside to brush his gaze across my skin and made a small, pained growl of approval. He made me feel so beautiful with the way his eyes devoured me.
Then we were naked, skin on skin, our limbs twisted around each other, the air sweet with our heavy breaths. When he slid inside me, we lost ourselves in each other, then we found ourselves. Right where we were meant to be.
36
____________
Roman
Three months later…
I shifted myself into a more comfortable position on the pillow and tucked Julianna into the crook of my neck, sweaty and deliciously tired. She had that exhausted, satisfied smile on her face, one I loved putting there.
She was so beautiful. And she was mine. How did I get so damn lucky?
Julianna’s burner phone rang, vibrating on the white painted wooden bedside table. She went to roll over but I crushed her to me, keeping her there.
“It’s probably my father,” she said. “I have to take it.”
“Let it go to voicemail,” I whispered in her ear as I rubbed my hips against her.
She pushed at my chest, laughing. “You’re so greedy. Afterwards.”
I let out an annoyed sigh but I let her go.
She rolled to sitting, showing off her smooth violin-shaped back, and answered the phone. “Hi, Dad.” There was a pause. She twisted to look at me, a frown on her face.
“What?” I mouthed to her.
“It’s…it’s for you.” She held out her phone.
Me? Her father wanted to speak to me? He was cordial enough to me at our small farewell in Verona. He often asked Jules to pass on his hellos. But he’d never asked to speak to me.
I took the phone from her and held it to my ear, my stomach doing a flip. “Sir?”
“Roman,” the chief’s gruff voice sounded so strained. “I have some bad news for you.”
Bad news. My skin prickled.
“Your brother’s extradition request was denied by the Colombian government. I think he has bought himself his freedom. Unfortunately, that means we can’t allow you to take back your old life as we planned. If he found out you were still alive, that you took a deal with us, there’s no doubt in my mind he’d take revenge.”
The blood drained from my fingers as my life, my and Julianna’s life, dissolved in front of me. My happiness, it seemed, was just a castle made of sand. I should have known it was too good to be true. “I see.”
“I’m sorry, son.”
“Me too.”
He hung up. My heart was heavy with the weight of the world on it. Jules was staring at me with wide eyes. She knew something was wrong. I was going to break her heart when I explained. This made me more sad than anything.
I told her, my heart cracking as tears welled in her eyes. “I used to hate being Roman Tyrell,” I said. “Now I can’t wait to be him again.”
Julianna curled into my side, her hair falling over my chest.
“There’s nothing stopping you from returning to Verona, Jules,” I said. “You must miss—”
“No.” Her head snapped up.
“You don’t
—”
“I miss Verona. I’m saying ‘no’ to going back without you.”
“There’s no point in us both being exiled.”
“I’m staying with you.”
“But—”
“End of discussion. What we need to be figuring out is what do we do next.” Her voice was firm. She was so full of strength. It was one of the reasons I loved her. She glanced up at me with a hopeful look in her eyes. “Any ideas?”
I shook my head. I had no answers.
* * *
The next morning I sat at our small dining table, scanning the Colombian news on the tablet for any word on my brother’s activity. Jules was curled on the couch reading a book. We were both quiet today after yesterday’s revelation.
My phone rang at my elbow. I frowned. It was a private number. Maybe Nonna was phoning using Skype?
It was too early back in Verona, they were six hours behind us and it was only eleven a.m. here.
I hesitated before I answered.
The voice that spoke was one I’d never heard before, deep yet smooth, a mild accent I couldn’t place and slightly formal. “Do not act like anything is wrong, Mr. Montague.” He used the name of my new identity. “We wouldn’t want to scare the lovely Julianna, would we now?”
Julianna? She was going by the name of Juliet Caraway.
My skin prickled. My fingers went a deadly cold. I glanced over to Jules, her hair falling over her eyes as she curled around her book. “No, we wouldn’t.”
“Very good, Mr. Montague...or should I call you Mr. Roman Tyrell.”
I stood and walked into the bathroom, ignoring Julianna’s questioning glance. I locked the door and leaned against it.
“Who is this?” I hissed. “How did you get my number?”
“Do not fear, Roman. I am not here to hurt you. I am here to help.”
“Help me with what?”
“I hear you have a problem regarding your older brother…Marco.”
“How do you…?” I trailed off. That was a wasted question. If this man, whoever he was, was able to find out my real name and my phone number, it wasn’t a stretch that he’d found out about Marco’s extradition denial. I moved on to the next best question. “What do you want?”