My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(54)

I studied him, unsure. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“There’s always a catch with you.”

“Take my offer or leave it, Shortbread. But if you leave it, don’t expect it to be on the table five minutes from now.” His jaw flexed. “It’s bad business to have bad blood with a person who possesses easy access to your belongings and happens to be tight with a man who wants to take you down.” A beat of silence trickled past. “Plus, sampling you wouldn’t be the worst thing I could do with my spare time.”

“Stop it, I’m getting starry-eyed.”

“Sadly, I’ve yet to reach the height of ardor like Madison Licht, who spent the length of his engagement to you shoving his genitals into every possible hole it could fit into.”

“He’s really here?” I frowned, remembering how our fight had started.

Romeo nodded. “Did you buy anything interesting?”

I shook my head, relieved he let the subject go. “Just a bunch of designer stuff. Oh, and the entire Henry Plotkin series in French. I collect them in all languages. That was the highlight of my shopping spree.”

“Interesting.”

“No, it’s not. Not for you, anyway.” I toyed with the limitless card inside my pocket. “You know, if I really overspent, you could’ve canceled the card. I’m surprised you didn’t.”

“It was the only proof of life I had.”

“You mean you’re not having me followed?”

“You slipped your security detail after the lunch crowd congregated around your table to thank you for treating them to thirty-thousand euros’ worth of overpriced Parisian cuisine.”

“If you tried their fricassée de coquillages, you wouldn’t find them overpriced.”

For once, and despite me doing absolutely nothing different to alter myself, he didn’t seem utterly appalled by my existence.

He stared at me with reluctant acceptance. Like I was a chore he needed to get over with.

I could tell whatever was happening here was completely new territory for him.

“Let’s start over, shall we? I have a reservation at The Eye of Paris. It’s on a terrace overlooking the city. You will join me.”

I rubbed my ear. “So weird. My hearing must be off, because I can’t seem to register the P-word.”

“Calling you a parasite seemed unfitting in this instance.”

“I meant please.”

I could tell I was driving him to the brink of throttling me, but I had to score a few small wins after he’d literally snatched my virginity with his tongue, just to make sure Madison wouldn’t beat him to it.

He looked like he’d rather rub his genitals against a rusty cheese grater than say the word, but he finally muttered, “Please.”

“Let me grab a quick shower and put something on.”

Thirty minutes later, an off-the-shoulder olive satin gown with a trumpet silhouette swathed my curves.

“You look adequate,” Romeo grumbled when we crossed the lobby to the waiting chauffeur service.

“Stop, or I’ll swoon.”

He opened the door for me. I slid in, unsure how to behave now that we were in a so-called truce.

“Any special requests tonight?” Each word spat out of his mouth like it was nailed into his tongue.

“Drop dead?” I bit out before I could help myself.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a helicopter trip or jewelry.”

If my whole body could eye roll, it would.

Uniformed personnel welcomed us at the restaurant entrance and led us to an exclusive table upstairs. After we ordered, I clutched a champagne flute, watching cars zip across the Seine River, waiting for Romeo to break the silence.

An array of insults anchored my tongue. I had little to say without their familiar company.

The alternative would be to press him about his scars. A question that often occupied my mind. But I knew he wouldn’t answer.

The sour mood sure to follow would only ruin my parsley-butter escargot.

When our silence began drawing curious looks from neighboring tables, I finally snapped. “When we have kids, I’d like to raise them in Chap—”

“We won’t have kids.” Romeo snapped his napkin over his lap with a flick of the wrist.

“I don’t mean soon.” I shot him a murderous glare.

It wasn’t like I was smitten with the idea of him fathering my children. I could find more emotional intelligence in a key lime pie. More comfort, too.

“We won’t have children. Not soon. Not later. Not ever.”

“And why not?”

Surely, I hadn’t heard him correctly.

Forget the poor manners, absence of conscience, and general assholery. This was my dealbreaker.

In fact, I wanted just one thing in life.

Kids.

Four of them.

I loved children. Loved everything about them. The chubby cheeks, rolling laughter, and pure adoration.

Even on that Sunday Romeo had snatched me from my house, I’d spent my time at church playing with the little ones outside.

Grandmamma always said a house without a child was like a body without a soul. I didn’t disagree.

Romeo piled foie gras on his spoon. “Because I don’t want them.”