As though she weighed no more than a feather, I picked her up, walking to her balcony table, watching her swallow nervously as I laid her down and untied her robe. I hadn’t bothered getting dressed since we’d made love, and smoothing a hand up her soft thigh, I held it around my waist and pushed into her without a word.

I never broke from her gaze as I braced myself above her, thrusting into her slowly. I laid kisses all over her face and her neck, smoothing her damp hair from her face, along with the light tears she shed the closer we got to release. Her eyes widened and I could feel she was close, so, pressing my forehead to hers with a final thrust, she broke apart, holding my face in her hands, taking me with her.

I kissed her slowly as I came and, breathless, met her gaze, running my finger down her cheek. “Thank you for showing me the letter, baby. Thank you for trusting me with knowing your past.”

She released a breath, almost as if she’d been holding it all this time, and smiled in relief. “Take me to bed, Romeo.”

I did as she asked, where she immediately fell asleep, leaving me reliving our night over and over in disbelief until I too drifted off.

20

I knocked on my daddy’s office door, body tense and bracing for yet another fight. I hadn’t responded to any of his texts, emails, or voicemails over the last few weeks, hadn’t dared to. I wanted to keep Molly safe.

As predicted, my momma hadn’t been in touch since our showdown at her guerrilla-style lunch at Lorenzo’s. Hell, the only damn reason I was here today at this f**king house of horrors was because my daddy had practically begged me… Well, that and morbid curiosity had won out. He’d never spoken to me in such a way before—so kind, so sincere—and I needed to know why he’d had a change in attitude. I prayed it was due to finally seeing reason over this marriage crap. Hell, I’d walk to the end of the earth to see that shit buried.

“Come in!” Joseph Prince shouted from within his seat of power.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door to see my daddy sitting behind his large mahogany desk, looking all kinds of strange as he tried to crack a smile my way. I actually checked around me to see if someone stood behind me, but the coast was clear—that painful-looking smile was directed at me.

“Rome, please, sit.” My daddy gestured to the seat at his desk. For a while—it was seconds but felt like minutes—I just stared at him, unsure of his intentions. He was calm, collected; this was the face the rest of the world saw, not the extreme disciplinarian I’d always known him to be.

“Rome, sit. I think we need to talk.” Moving slowly, in almost in a dreamlike state, I walked forward and sat down.

Fidgeting in my seat, I looked around the room, just trying to find some sense of reason for why the hell I was here. My father shifted and I focused all my attention back on him, seeing him regard me warily and grasp his hands together.

Rubbing my head, I asked quietly, “Daddy, what’s all this about?”

“I…” He took a breath and went on. “I…” Sighing in frustration, he laid his palms flat on the tabletop. “Your momma told me what happened a couple of weeks ago, and it really made me think about things.”

My heart began to pound in my chest. His tone, his entire demeanor, was off and making me nervous.

“I’m getting older, and your silence toward me of late has given me time to put things in perspective, about how I’ve been toward you and how it’s understandable you’d feel railroaded into continuing the family business.”

Gripping the arms of the chair, the heat of anger beginning to spread into my muscles, I said, “This is a joke, right? Another f**ked-up ploy to get me to do your bidding?”

My daddy sat back, seeming affronted. I couldn’t tell if his reaction was genuine or fake. “No, Rome, it was meant to be an olive branch.”

Olive branch? I felt like overturning the desk and screaming, Olive branch? You’ve belittled me all of my life, beaten me. Momma ignored me, never truly accepted me. Why now? Why change now when all you’ve done for the last few months is hound me to marry Shelly? But I didn’t. I just stared at him, completely shocked, unable to move.

That was until he said, “Your momma told me about your girlfriend, the British girl you’ve been seeing.” And the overwhelming need to protect Molly took root, my muscles remembering how to function.

Abruptly leaning forward, I warned, “You leave her the hell out of anything going on between us. She doesn’t need to be involved in our shit.”

Graying brown eyebrows rose, and he put his hands up in surrender. “Relax, it’s not want you think.”