My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(51)

Since I couldn’t possibly embarrass my new beau by purchasing one of the more affordable (read: less obnoxiously expensive) Birkins, I had no choice but to swing for the respectable limited-edition ones.

120K a pop multiplied by three.

An actual bargain.

No wonder I returned to purchase one for Momma and two for Frankie.

From Hermès, I moved to Dior, then Chanel, before making my last stop at Balmain.

But it would be inhumane to leave without supporting the local designers, so I ended up dropping some serious cash on one-of-a-kind boutique finds, too.

The exhausting ordeal lasted ten hours, during which my phone remained off and the Black Card worked out like Tracy Anderson.

I’d ironed close to seven-hundred-thousand dollars before hailing a taxi around nine at night.

Paris still buzzed with activity. Dazzling lights glittered like fireflies in the dark.

Loved-up couples swarmed the sidewalks. They held hands. Laughed. Fell deeper in love. Did things I’d never do. Things as unattainable as kissing the sun.

Jealousy impaled my heart. All the money in the world couldn’t buy me what they had.

Genuine, content love.

The taxi stopped at the hotel entrance. I tipped five hundred euros and slid out, wrestling dozens of bags.

A bellboy rushed to my rescue. He unburdened my arms and transferred my purchases into a golden luggage cart, trailing me.

The easy, measured clicks of my heels as they slapped the marble lobby didn’t fool me. I knew what awaited me in the suite.

A furious husband.

I envisioned Romeo cracking his knuckles and licking his lips, waiting to punish me.

Once I scurried into the elevator, I switched my phone on. Just as I’d suspected, three missed calls flashed across my screen, along with numerous texts.

Romeo Costa



I’m done with my meetings.





Where are you?





Very typical of you to give me the silent treatment the only time I do not wish for you to shut up.





Answer your phone.





200K? Shopping?





Have you no concept of what money means?





$700,000 IS A WHOLE FUCKING HOUSE.





Oh, boy.

He’d used profanity.

He never used profanity.

Somebody wasn’t looking at the glass half-full. That card had a 1.5% cash back reward on it. I’d earned him $10,500—and Daddy once complained that I’d flunked algebra.

The elevator pinged open. I stumbled into the hall on wobbly legs.

Now that it was time to face the music, I was reminded of how tone-deaf it was to spend enough money to buy an impressive mansion in most states, just to spite my rude husband.

The bellboy wheeled my shopping bags behind me, unaware of the storm brewing. It took four tries to slide my keycard into its slot.

As expected, when I flung the door open, Romeo sat in the common area, legs folded at the ankles over a table, chewing gum and enjoying whisky with his suit half undone.

His glacial expression didn’t change at the sight of me breezing in with half the contents of a Chanel store behind me.

Resting his Macallan on a recent Bloomberg issue, he fished change from his front pocket and stood, stuffing a fistful of bills into the bellboy’s hand.

With a parting thanks, the kid went his merry way, shutting the door with a deadly click.

It was just me and Romeo now.

Standing in front of one another like two enemies before a duel.

Romeo’s languid body language jacked up my vigilance.

He cracked one of his rare yet vicious smiles. “Have a good day, sweetheart?”

Would I ever look him in the eye without feeling like I sat on a roller coaster, just about to tip over the edge?

“Fine.” I scuttered to the mini bar, collecting an Evian. “Yours?”

“Good. Been anywhere interesting?”

I shrugged, my back to him. Weren’t my shopping bags a telltale sign?

After draining half, I set the water beside Romeo’s whisky when his palm curled around my throat. He applied gentle pressure, sloping my face up so our gazes clashed.

His stony grays penetrated my skull. “I’ll ask again, and this time you’ll give me a full, satisfying answer. Where have you been, Dallas Costa?”

“Shopping. Where else?”

“Somewhere discreet, where you can spread those nice legs for someone else.” His lips hovered a breath away from mine. “Someone like Madison.”

Unease slithered down my spine. “Madison?” Romeo’s jaw locked. He tore himself from me, stalking to the bedroom. I hated that I trailed him. That my curiosity got the best of me. “What are you talking about?”

“I do hope, for his sake, you fake orgasms better than you do innocence. Don’t pretend not to know Madison is occupying the suite two doors down.”

He faced me. For the first time, a distant cousin of angst swept past his eyes. He was still the same aloof Romeo. But something else lurked beneath the surface, too.

A glimpse of boyishness.

Uncertainty you’d find on a child’s face when dropped off at a new school for the first time.

“I didn’t know Madison is in Paris.” It was the truth. “How do you know he’s here?”