Last Violent Call (Secret Shanghai, #3.5)(4)

Juliette got out of her chair and walked toward him now. Put her arms around his neck without saying anything, letting him draw her closer until they were pressed flush.

“I’m sorry,” Roma murmured. “If I had known he was going to spring that on us, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“No, I’m happy you wanted to see if we could help,” Juliette replied. She searched his gaze, trying to communicate how deeply she meant it. The very fact that he could afford to be kind, that they could try to be ordinary people extending a hand wherever possible, was a beautiful thing. It was only unfortunate that the boy had such high expectations, and Roma and Juliette could hardly meet them without exposing too much of themselves.

It had taken a tremendous amount of coordination to make use of every old contact they had in Shanghai without giving away their identities. Some contacts required blackmailing before they were willing to cooperate; others required a very roundabout series of white lies to convince them that they had been plugged into this trading ring all along. Either way, the information that Roma and Juliette clutched individually was worth its weight in gold when put together, and there was no denying the power of their pasts each time they reached out to reinforce a connection. While a few seemed to suspect some leak in the former innermost gang circles, no one would guess it was Roma and Juliette resurrected from the dead. So long as the ones who got close enough to see their faces didn’t start spreading rumors, it was a fine setup. Preservation of their identities was always going to be the highest priority. They hadn’t worked so hard for this new life only for it to shatter.

Juliette did feel bad about it, though. About lying to the boy. About lying to those she had abandoned in Shanghai. She knew it haunted Roma, too, leaving his sister in the city. It was too dangerous to risk Alisa coming in and out if she knew that they were located here, and they had been waiting and waiting for the political upheaval in the city to lessen before making contact. Juliette wouldn’t even have told Celia if her cousin hadn’t been the one to smuggle them out here.

The years were wearing on. They were children growing into adult faces, waiting for a moment of contentment that might never come. She lived every day aware that Celia might get caught as a Communist agent while traveling into Zhouzhuang, that she would be hauled in by the current government and accused of protecting criminals who should have been reformed in Juliette’s case and executed in Roma’s. She was glad that her hand had been forced, achingly glad that she saw her cousin almost once a month, whenever Celia had time to visit, but Juliette would have accepted the burden of playing dead if it meant safety for those she loved most. She and Roma were the same that way. It was their greatest flaw and their greatest strength at once, and she doubted that would ever change.

Maybe if Yulun called again, though, Juliette would slide a handgun his way. Free of charge, and when Roma was looking in the other direction.

As if he could hear her frantic internal squall, Roma brushed his lips against her temple, quieting every thought.

“Well,” he said, “I’m always happy to make you happy.”

Juliette beamed. She couldn’t help it. As much as she thought of herself as hardened steel, Roma turned her lovesick at a speed that verged on embarrassing. They had been together for four years now—together properly, not counting their terrible on-off phases, or else they would soon be approaching nine—and loving him was still so easy, despite being removed from everything they once knew. All it took was her heart on her sleeve and his pulled open too, and she was constantly tickled pink by her favorite person.

“Also…”

Just as Juliette was about to pull away, returning her arms to her sides, Roma grabbed her jaw, stopping her from further movement. Though the move was made with the pretense of being daunting, Roma and Juliette had actually tried to kill each other a few times in those off phases—some of the instances coming quite close—so the feigned rough handling only made Juliette grin.

“?‘I didn’t realize you had such big feet’?” Roma mimicked. “Dorogaya, I’m shocked and disappointed.”

“At my terrible housekeeping?”

“No, that you have such poor observation skills.” He grabbed her by the waist suddenly and threw her over his shoulder. All of Juliette’s loose hair fell into her eyes as she turned upside down with a squeal, clutching onto the hem of Roma’s shirt for some semblance of balance while he walked them into the bedroom. “I guess I’ll just have to show you again so you are certain next time.”





2


Roma was a late riser by nature. He hadn’t realized this tidbit about himself for the first nineteen years of his life, when he would jump out of bed at the hint of dawn, frantically sorting through the day’s problems before they could arise. Time had never belonged to him back when he was the heir to the White Flowers; time belonged to whatever the city’s next task was, spurring him to run to the loudest call.

These days, he either let Juliette wake him—she was an early riser by nature—or he stirred back into the world once he felt well rested enough, stretching his arms upon the sheets, half of him buried in the mass of pillows that took up most of their bed.

Roma lifted his head blearily, trying to listen for Juliette in the house. It was quiet. When he turned over and rubbed his eyes, the metal of his wedding ring cool against his cheek, there was a note atop the small table at his side, written in tiny English letters that he needed to squint to read.