My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(125)

Well, she did insist.

I devoured everything within minutes. All gone by the time we rounded two blocks to a park tucked behind a residential neighborhood.

Shortbread killed the engine and turned to me. “You had a panic attack.”

Shame trickled into my system.

In fact, it had never really left.

I stared right ahead, at the slides and swings. I never allowed myself to go over four hours without food. Not for decades.

That was the whole reason I ate low-calorie, nutritious meals. I needed to constantly consume food to keep the anxiety at bay.

“I was just hungry.”

“Bull-crap. You’re the most meticulous creature I’ve ever met. You’ve never lost your temper before. You were triggered by something. What was it?”

Haven’t you had enough of my secrets? Of my flaws? My glaring imperfections? Must you know every single dreadful thing about me?

The questions must’ve been written on my face, because she nodded. “I’m your wife. Your safe haven. I need to know everything. As I said before—I will never betray you.”

Fine. If she wanted a private view into my soul, she’d get it. Though nobody should be unfortunate enough to witness that mess.

At the same time, I was helpless to deny her anything.

My secrets. My thoughts. My heart.

All there, on a silver platter for her to gobble.

The woman had me in such a chokehold, I’d follow her to the pits of hell if she wished to enjoy its warm weather.

Gathering the burger and fry wrappers, I crinkled them in my fist, avoiding eye contact. “As I once mentioned, Morgan wasn’t my father’s first rodeo in Cheatville. Even before her, Senior had the irritating habit of dicking down anything with a hole and the faintest interest in him.”

Her eyes clung to the side of my face, heating my skin.

“He cheated on Monica on and off. Theirs was an arranged marriage by the book. She was born into wealth; he wanted his hands on it. Their families were both Italian. Both Catholic. Both ambitious. It made sense. Unfortunately, Senior took it for what it was—an arrangement with benefits—while Monica fell madly in love with him, demanding his loyalty.”

Love was a terrible thing. It brought the ugly out of people. Though I’d begun to see it brought the beauty out, too.

Shortbread rested her hand on my thigh, squeezing it.

“My parents would go through vicious cycles. Romeo cheated. Monica kicked him out. Then, eventually, he crawled back to her for a second chance. Always wanting to impregnate her again. Rinse and repeat. Except the baby never came. Monica was completely barren, save for lucky old me.”

A bitter smile found my lips. I’d lost count of the times I’d wished I wasn’t born at all.

“When I was six, Monica discovered Romeo cheating. Not just cheating. An actual affair. The woman moved into his downtown penthouse. Brought her shit in. Kid included.”

The same penthouse I’d occupied on and off while Shortbread turned my world upside down. The same penthouse I’d shared with Morgan.

Come to think of it, I couldn’t find a more suitable destiny for said penthouse than to be burned to the ground.

“As a little boy, I grew accustomed to caring for myself while my parents entered crisis mode. I prepared my own showers, clothes, lunch, homework. Monica paid little to no attention to me, dedicating her time to failed seduction plots and impregnation attempts. Never mind that she couldn’t care for her existing child. So, at first, when she kicked Senior out, I managed.”

Releasing a breath, I cupped Shortbread’s hand, still on my thigh.

“Then I started first grade. Soon enough, it became apparent that I had no grown-ups in my life. I arrived to school late—if at all—since Monica’s driver often ran errands for her, leaving no time to take me. I was unkempt. Smelled. Fell behind on homework. By the end of the first semester, CPS knocked on our door.”

Shortbread’s fingers tightened over my leg. I studied the sunroof, refusing to see the pity in her face.

“The natural solution would be to hire nannies, but my parents had been burned before. Past nannies constantly broke their NDAs, blabbing to the press. Zach’s mother offered to take me for a few weeks, months—however long it took.”

By then, Zach and I had become inseparable brothers.

“Ultimately, Senior couldn’t bear the shame it would bring to his doorstep if people knew he handed his only child over to strangers. He was bitter and angry at Monica for failing her only job—to be a mother. So, he found a solution. He sent me to his younger sister in Milan.”

Sabrina Costa was the definition of hot mess. The love child of privilege and stupidity.

The woman spent her time jumping from one toxic relationship to another without taking a breath. She filled her days with parties, shopping, and scoring cocaine without her family’s knowledge.

Her drug habit had taken her across the ocean, to somewhere her parents couldn’t monitor her every move.

Dallas brought my hands to her lap, wiping them of burger grease. “They uprooted you in the middle of a school year?”

I nodded. “Since I didn’t speak Italian, my parents decided I should be homeschooled by Sabrina, who I doubt possesses more knowledge than a Little Einstein music box.”

Perhaps I was being harsh. Surely, the music box knew more colors and animal sounds than my aunt.