Page 101 of Juliet & Her Romeos

“Sit back,” he commands.

Shit, if he orders Swan around like this, then he’s going to get a surprise.

I peek up at him, testing the waters. “Or what, Amby?”

He merely looks amused. “Or you won’t be able to watch what happens properly, when I flip the switch on the wall over there.”

Intrigued I sit up, hurriedly.

Ambrose’s gaze meets mine.

Suddenly, all the years between us fall away, and we could be looking at each other with heated gazes across the corridor.

There’s a darkness, however, shadowing Ambrose’s eyes, which wasn’t in them back then.

I can’t quite understand it yet.

It’s something that seems as dangerous and reckless as both Swan and Vito in their own ways. Ambrose appears to have it bottled up and controlled, however, unlike them.

Maybe he’s had to learn to hide it.

Maybe it’ll make him more self-destructive.

Ambrose reaches over to a switch that’s to the side of the tree and then flips it with the flourish of a magician unveiling his trick.

Instantly, fairy lights spring on around the tree and strung along almost every surface of the lounge like it’s truly a magical grotto.

I gasp in wonder.

Then my breath hitches, when I realize that over the mantel the lights have been hung with great care to spell out:

WELCOME HOME JULIET AND SWAN!

Joy surges through me.

Home.

Nowhere has felt like home to me, since my parents died in the hurricane.

I was the unwanted Omega on the ranch, who only survived because of the support of Nova and my cousin.

The academy was nobody’s home, only their cage.

Is my enemy’s home, truly mine now?

I twist to Ambrose, who’s watching my reaction carefully. “Did you do all this decorating for Swan and me? Just like Vito tried so hard to make us the perfect breakfast?”

Ambrose looks uncomfortable. “Do you like it? Benedict made some of the ornaments. He loves all types of celebrationsbecause he grew up in a country where Omegas are rarely allowed to take part in them.”

“Did he make these…?” I kneel up, looking more closely at one of the paper roses, which are fluttering from the tree’s branches.

Then my heart stutters. My hands start shaking.

I read the sentence that has been been scrawled in messy handwriting with sloping letters:

Romeo, Romeo, Romeo!

The note is the same as the one that Ambrose first gave to me in high school.

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