Page 41 of Dark Romeo

I hadn’t slept well last night, tossing and turning, thinking of a certain dark-eyed man, missing his hands on me, wishing I could hear his voice. I still hadn’t heard back from him. He would have landed in London hours ago. He should have seen my text by now.

He was ignoring me. Deliberately. I felt a stab in my gut. Was he really that bitter about how we left things? Did I really deserve the silent treatment?

Or he’d already forgotten about me, I thought bitterly. I was just another notch on his belt. Just something to pass the time...

Don’t be ridiculous, Julianna. You were the one who rejected him. He had every right to ignore my painful reminder. I would have to accept that he didn’t want to speak to me again.

It would be almost three p.m. in London now. Perhaps we’d be walking arm in arm along the Reine, or licking croissant flakes from each other’s fingers or lying on a blanket on the grass at Tuileries Garden. If I had said yes.

When I was little, my mother told me that if I was lucky, one day I’d meet a soulmate. I had asked her what a soulmate was. A soulmate was the truth, she said. A mirror. They reflected yourself back to you, exactly as you were. All of you, even the pieces you hated or the ones you hid well. At first, it would hurt. And it should hurt. No tree broke through the canopy without stretching for it. No flower ever saw the sun without opening up.

The wake of Roman’s presence had left me reeling, viewing my life from a perspective I’d never seen before. He left me turning over each piece in my hands.

Roman had been a soulmate. Undoubtedly.

A soulmate I’d stupidly let walk away.

The saddest part was that he’d never know how much he’d affected me. I’d never be able to tell him thank you. I’d just be a memory he’d sometimes pull out and dust off.

I shook myself. No point in feeling sorry for myself. I would be glad I had a chance to meet him.

Next time, if a soulmate came along again, I would hold on to him and never let him go.

“Rough weekend?” my partner Espinoza asked as I jumped into his dark blue work sedan the next morning.

I thought I’d done a good enough job of covering up my bags with concealer. Obviously not. I should have known he’d pick up on it. Even though Espinoza had only been my partner for six months, he seemed to notice this stuff.

“You could say that,” I said.

Espinoza’s thick, dark brows furrowed as he studied me. He wore his smooth brown baby face with the rugged air of a confident man, which always meant there were at least a few women hanging around wanting more. He was a confirmed bachelor in his mid-thirties, dating regularly but never with a serious girlfriend, at least not for the time I’d known him.

I avoided his eyes and nodded to the road. “We gonna park here all day or are we going to work? Murders aren’t going to solve themselves.”

Espo let out a snort. “Oh, I see.”

“What do you see?”

“You’re losing sleep over a guy.”

I flinched. Dammit.

“Hah!” He nudged my arm with his elbow. “Come on. Who is he?”

“He’s no one.”

“Ooooo,” he sang, “Capi’s got a boyfriend.”

I rolled my eyes. “Shut up and drive, Espo.”

“Am I gonna get a name?”

“Drive.”

“Not even a name?”

“Espo,” I warned.

“Alright, already. Jeez, I tell you about my women.” Espo pulled out into traffic.

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