Page 89 of His Juliet

“Good morning, angel.” Romeo’s lips brushed against my forehead, and I snuggled further into him.

“Morning.”

We lapsed into silence again, and my breathing slowed as I was lulled into a trance by his soothing touch.

“How did you sleep the rest of the night? Any more bad dreams?” I asked. His shouts had woken me. At first I’d panicked, thinking someone was breaking in, but then I realized he was having a nightmare. I’d hated seeing him like that, devastated and afraid, especially because I knew exactly how it felt.

His arms hugged me tight. “No more bad dreams. Maybe I need you to sleep on top of me every night. Keep the nightmares away.” He stroked my hair. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

I frowned and propped myself up on his chest so I could meet his gaze. “Don’t apologize about that. I’m glad I could be here for you. Especially after everything you’ve done for me.”

His eyes softened and he caressed my cheek. “My sweet girl. Did you sleep okay? Any bad dreams?”

I shook my head and leaned into his touch.

Romeo hummed. “We must be good luck for each other.” The intensity of his gaze was too much for me and I ducked my head, pressing my lips to his neck. It was hard to reconcile how new and tenuous everything was between us with how comfortable it felt. All I knew was that nothing good in my life had lasted, and when whatever this was with Romeo ended, I might not survive it.

“Shoot, what time is it?” I asked. “I have to get to work.”

His hand tightened on my hip. “You can’t go into the bookstore.”

“Umm, what?” I pushed myself off him and sat up.

Romeo followed me so we were sitting facing each other. “This is the only place I can ensure your safety while the Albanians are still out there.”

I frowned. “Maybe them driving past my apartment was just a fluke.”

His expression softened. “I wish it was, but they obviously know I care about you.” He ran a gentle finger down my cheek. “They know you’re important to me.”

A bright glow burst through my chest, warming me from the inside out. I forced myself to stay focused on our conversation instead of melting into his arms like I wanted to. “I still have to go to work. How could I explain this to Arturo? He relies on me. And I need the money to pay my rent and stuff.”

“I already let Arturo know you wouldn’t be coming in.”

I jolted back. “What?”

“He’s part of the Family. I contacted him and told him what was going on. The store will be closed until we’ve eliminated the Albanians. Everyone’s salaries will still be paid.”

I shifted away from him, unsettled. “You’re related to Arturo?”

His brow furrowed before understanding flashed across his face. “No, I mean he’s part of the Family, as in Mafia Family. He understands what’s going on and that your safety is the most important thing.”

“But you can’t…” I trailed off, unsure what I even wanted to say. All I knew was that I had to protest. Romeo’s actions were unbelievably high-handed. “You can’t just make these decisions for me.”

He leaned forward, bridging the space I’d forced between us. “I can when it comes to your safety. You can be as mad at me as you want, but I won’t budge on this.” He tucked a curl of my hair behind my ear and kissed me on the forehead. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

* * *

Romeo’s handwrapped around the back of my neck as we walked into the kitchen, and I considered throwing off his touch. I was still mad at him for making decisions aboutmyjob. Even if it was for my safety.

But I wasweak. My heart fluttered at his possessive touch and how he’d insisted I wear his sweatpants and sweatshirt because he wanted me in his clothes. I should have refused, stood my ground and proven I was a strong, independent woman. But I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted his scent around me and to feel like I belonged to him. Even though I looked like an unflattering blob in his clothes, his eyes heated as they raked over me, making me feel sexy and confident.

Romeo cleared his throat and gestured at a piece of paper on the counter. “I printed something out for you.”

I picked it up and furrowed my brow in confusion. The top of the sheet said, “Coping Mechanisms for Self Harm.” I swallowed the lump in my throat as I read through the list. Some things were familiar—breathing exercises, holding pieces of ice, coloring, listening to music, going for a walk, and snapping a rubber band against my wrist. But then there were some additions written in with pen: orgasms, let me take you shopping, cuddles, steal baked goods from upstairs.

Romeo wasn’t ignoring what happened, but he wasn’t making me feel ashamed of it. The hurt I was holding onto from our interaction at the bakery, from his high-handedness with my housing and job, slipped away, replaced by the syrupy, warm feeling of being cared for.

I met Romeo’s unsure gaze. Was he worried about how I would react?

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