Soulless Devil (Sons of Valentino #3)(20)

“That would explain a lot,” I murmur.

“Funny, you two should really go into the comedy business. All that intellect between the both of you is wasted.”

“What are your plans for after college?” I ask Luca, trying to move us on to nicer, more normal conversation.

“Pro football. What about you?” he asks.

“Prosecuting attorney,” I say proudly. Luca chokes on his food and I feel Romeo’s body stiffen next to me. “What?” I ask them both.

“You… seriously? I can’t… Well, Romeo, it was nice knowing ya. Let me know when Pops hears about this one. I don’t want to miss your last words, bro.” Luca stands and walks out of the room, shaking his head as he goes.

“What is he talking about?” I turn to Romeo.

“Nothing. Like I said, ignore almost everything that comes out of his mouth.”

“So, it’s not because your dad is a mob boss and you two are the princes of the Valentino family?”

“Where did you hear that?” Romeo smirks.

“Google.”

“Don’t believe everything you read on the internet, Livvy. You’re smarter than that.”

“So you’re not a mafia prince?”

Romeo stares at me, searching my face. After what seems like an eternity, he sighs. “I don’t want to lie to you. I can’t. So, I’m asking you, begging you, don’t ask me questions you’re not ready to hear the answers to. Please.” He’s serious.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you have to tell me anything. You really don’t need to. It’s fine.”

“That’s the problem. I know I don’t have to tell you shit but I want to. And I fucking can’t,” he says, looking away.

“Want to play a game?” I attempt to change the subject.

“What kind of game?”

“Twenty questions. If we’re going to be friends, there’re some things we should know about each other.”

His smile drops. “Liv, I can’t.” He shakes his head.

“No, not like that, normal questions. Like what’s your favorite color?”

“Blue,” he says, staring into my eyes.

“Okay, it’s your turn. Ask me a question.”

“What’s your favorite flower?”

“Mmm, lily of the valley,” I tell him.

“Huh, I would have picked sunflowers. But those little Mary’s tears flowers are much more you. Delicate, sweet, beautiful.”

I can feel the redness creeping up my chest and neck. “Okay, my turn. Favorite television show?”

“Easy, The Sopranos,” he deadpans.

“Really? Why?”

“That’s another question. It’s my turn. Why’d you come to college in New York?” he asks.

I think about the answer. “I grew up in a very small town. Everyone knows everyone. It was nice—don’t get me wrong. I love going home for small periods of time. I chose New York because of the people. Nobody knows me here. I can be anyone. I can do anything I want and no one will know.” I lift a shoulder. “It’s stupid, but my safe little southern town was suffocating. I was drowning under the weight of everyone’s expectations. Fearing that I’d end up a southern belle wife. Married to a man I didn’t love.”

“You don’t want the white picket fence, 2.5 kids?” Romeo asks.

“That’s another question. But, no, I don’t want that. Well, I do. Kind of. I want a love that never dies, fire, passion. I want the kind of love Romeo and Juliet had. Just, you know, without the death part. I want adventure. I want a career. I want it all and I don’t want to have to choose one or the other.”

“You shouldn’t ever have to choose or settle for anything less than that.”

“Thank you. My turn. First kiss?” I ask.

“That’s not a question,” he says.

“How old were you when you had your first kiss?”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve? Really? Like a real kiss? With a girl? Or a boy, I don’t judge.”

“Yes, twelve, and it was a girl.” He laughs. “How about you?”

“Sixteen. On my sixteenth birthday, actually.”

“What was his name?” Romeo asks a little too casually. It’s an odd tone for him.

“Kirk, my high school boyfriend.” I smile.

“What happened to Kirk?”

“He dumped me the day I told him I was coming to New York.”

“He’s a fucking assclown,” Romeo grunts.

“No, he’s not. He just wanted a different life from what I wanted.”

“Are you still in love with him?”

“No, I’m not really sure I was ever in love with him. We were friends before we were anything else. It was easy. Comfortable,” I say. “What about you? Ever had your heart broken? A girl who got away?”

“No, you’d have to have a heart for it to be broken. I don’t think I’ve ever liked anyone enough for that.”

“Huh, interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” he asks.

“You think you don’t have a heart, but you do. I’ve seen it,” I tell him.