My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(135)

“Fine. Deal.”

I recline in the passenger seat, satisfied that he offered the solution Frankie rooted for in the first place. Romeo did say he wanted to destroy the place.

I can’t think of a better harbinger of destruction than Franklin Townsend.

“It’s only for a few months.” I pull a snack out of the glove compartment. “Until Daddy cools down and her college un-suspends her.” Shep is back to being Daddy. For now.

“How could she flood an entire dorm building?” Romeo turns right, exiting to the freeway from the private airport. “How is that even possible?”

Since I once spilled chlorophyll on our ceiling, I’m in no place to judge. In fact, the green specks are still there. Scattered between the lighting like a Rorschach painting.

As for Daddy, he blew a gasket when the school sent a twenty-three-million-dollar bill for the damages. Took it right out of Frankie’s inheritance to teach her a lesson, which will most definitely go unlearned.

“Does it matter?” I kick my legs up on the dash, munching on Pocky sticks. “I share some blame in this.”

“You’re not the one who flooded an entire college dorm building in the middle of finals week.”

“Sure, but I am the reason Daddy gives Frankie so much freedom.”

Daddy’s version of an apology to me.

Sometime this year, he gifted Frankie all the freedom he never gave me to prove he changed. While I’m happy for her, I’m also dreading the consequences.

Already, there was the Home Depot debacle, the Swiss ski-trip fiasco, and the near international incident in Dubai.

Romeo stops at the light, turning to face me. “Or your father can man up and apologize to you with words. Then we can all move on to the next chapter of our lives. One where Frankie is not kicked out of her home to learn responsibility the hard way.”

I wave his words away. “Speaking of moving on, when are you gonna hire a driver?”

Six months since Jared’s arrest, he still hasn’t finished running thorough background checks on new applicants. To be fair, his old driver did try to kill him.

Can’t blame a poisoned man for being thorough.

“Cara emailed me the background checks this morning.”

Ah. Cara. The only remnant of Costa Industries in Romeo’s life. When he left (okay, was fired), she left, too. He rewarded her loyalty with a massive raise.

Turns out, my husband is better at selling stocks than, well, stocks.

Romeo rolls through our iron gates, up the quarter-mile driveway, and past a forklift.

“Why is there a forklift on our property?” I swivel my head to stare at the obnoxious thing as we whizz past. “Is there construction going on at the house? I didn’t break anything before we left. Not this time.”

He frowns. “They were supposed to be gone by last night. I paid them an extra mil to get it done by the time we arrived.”

“How much work are we talking here? It’s only been three months since we left on our food tour.”

Three months of bliss. Hopping from country to country, eating everything we could, from street food to high-brow Michelin-starred restaurants.

Not only did he remember every country on my To Eat list from our Chapel Falls date, he also set up a food itinerary for each.

It helps that Romeo is currently unemployed. Okay, fine. Trading stocks. (He swears it’s a job. I’ll take his word on it.) “I hired a team to redo the home.”

My jaw practically unhinges. “The entire thing?”

Without consulting me?

Romeo kills the engine in front of the door, handing the keys to a waiting Vernon.

Hettie swings my door open, giggling when I launch into her arms. “I can’t wait for you to see it. It’s amazing.”

I send an accusing glare to Romeo. “Did everyone know about the renovations but me?”

Hettie loops an arm through mine, leading me to the entrance. “You’re gonna melt into a puddle of chocolate. It’s everything you ever wan—” At Romeo’s expression, her words die.

“Out.” He pries her arm from mine and nods in the direction of the staff’s quarters behind the main house. “Before you ruin the surprise.”

“Fine, fine.”

It’s too late.

I’m already racing toward the double doors, thrusting them open.

I know what lies inside, because I know my husband. The man is hell-bent on making me happy.

Just as I expected, he turned our home into a library. Every inch of wall space is covered in floor-to-ceiling shelves.

The living room. The halls. The theater room.

Even his study.

My legs carry me from room to room at the speed of light. Though I hurry about it, my eyes don’t miss a thing.

How he catalogued everything by genre, by spines, exactly the way I envisioned it. Horror and mystery in the study. Travel and cooking in the kitchen. Romance and erotica in the bedroom.

I spin to Romeo, who has finally caught up to me, and fling myself onto him, showering kisses all over his face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“I’m already regretting it,” he informs me as he carries me up the stairs and into our bedroom. “The books in the shower will probably mold.”

“I’ll waterproof them.”

“The ones in the kitchen may catch on fire.”