Page 16 of Roman and Jules
Father Lawrence frowned over them. “What did I say?” he lectured. “Take things down a notch.”
Roman would have no choice. This wasn’t the marriage the man thought it was. Trying to smother his more serious thoughts with a joke, Roman slid out his phone and held it up for a selfie. “Smile, babe. These are our wedding pics.”
She recovered herself enough to smile brightly, rearranging her veil, then dissolving into sputtering giggles as he snapped a few selfies, until she was finally covering her face to stop him from taking more. “You’re not sending those to anyone?” Jules asked.
Roman shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet.”
But he knew exactly where they would go.
Chapter 7
They just might be annulling this marriage tomorrow. Jules could if she wanted to—she repeated that to herself to calm down her rushing pulse. Everything felt crazy, like she was half out of her mind. The man in front of her on the Harley might have added to that.
He stopped by The Balcony to pick up her purse before going to a vendor down the street who was selling white orchids. There, he bought the biggest, plushest bouquet of them and set them in her hands before gunning the engine and driving them past the brightly lit buildings. Her hands tightened over his broad shoulders. He was a lot more reckless than Ty. And oh, my! She liked that about him.
There was no way to get his kisses out of her mind, which was confusing. Everything was. Now that she was married to him, she would be a Verona, and he treated her just as high class, quite the opposite of how Ty’s mother had done.
She should probably be more nervous about this. The fact that she wasn’t also had a lot to do with Roman. For some reason she felt protected when she was around him, like a lot. Did that make her stupid? Probably.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she reminded herself of why she was doing this. It wasn’t quite what Roman thought. She was angry. Really angry. Roman had hit all the right buttons at the Chapel del Frate. A part of her wanted revenge, another wanted to be spitefully stunning and feel desirable again, and another just missed Tyson and wanted him back. They’d grown so close this past year that it felt wrong to be without him.
But what she should’ve done was admit defeat and get over her breakup like a normal person, andnotmarry Tyson’s cousin. It was too much to think about right now. She tapped Roman’s shoulder and it flexed under her hand. “We’re going the wrong way,” she said. “My apartment is east from here.”
He twisted around to give her an incredulous grin. “I hate to break it to you,” he shouted over the noise of his engine, “but you’re a Verona now. I’m taking you home with me.”
Yeah, duh. She should’ve thought of that. Still, she wasn’t actually prepared. Jules would suggest going to her place first for an overnight bag, but it was so late and she wanted nothing more than to sleep. They passed the street that would take her home, and the fear that she hadn’t felt before began to tighten her stomach. Besides the dread of facing the unknown, she couldn’t shake the dread that she was a stray dog he was taking in.
They didn’t get far before they drove over pale white stone that made up the circular driveway in front of The Mantua, an Italian-inspired casino hotel right in the action of the Strip. It felt like going back in time to a Greek temple with mythical fountains and statues. Ornamented stone columns supported vast porticos with rooftop gardens, and brick-red tiles made up multiple levels of roofs. The white stone was gilded in swaths of gold light in the darkness. A canopy of palm trees made a jungle around it.
A valet stepped forward while Roman turned to her. “Here we are.”
If he thought that he was getting them a honeymoon suite, he’d better think again. “What’s this?” she asked.
“Home.” Searching her face, he reddened and quickly explained, “We’re on the rooftop terrace suite on the fifth floor. It’s called the Casa dei Romani. I swear that’s where I live.”
Jules knew enough Italian to know his place was named after him. She didn’t know anyone actually lived anywhere on the Strip permanently. How rich was Roman anyway? He threw the keys to a valet, who held the bike while he struggled out. She just sat there in shock, and he laughed when his foot got stuck. “This would be a whole lot easier if you got out first.”
Oh yeah. But before she could fully register what he was saying, Roman had freed himself and his hands were already on her waist as he helped her off.
He took her into the entrance hall through a crowd of life-size statues holding torches. They stepped over mosaic floor tiles made up of classical Grecian swirls. She half expected to take an archaic marble staircase to his place, but he pressed an ornate button against a wrought iron door with a Greek key design. The wall behind the gate opened up into an elevator.
Jules was speechless as she got inside with him. The mirrors covering the wall reminded her that she was still wearing her veil. She reached up to take it off and his hand went over hers. “Not yet,” he said with a mischievous grin.
What was he planning? The elevator came to a stop on the fifth floor and she stepped out onto a pebbled floor in the hallway. A warm breeze ran through her hair and she saw that the corridor wasn’t closed in. Aside from the Grecian railings, the hall was open to the elements, like the airport in Hawaii.
He took her down the long corridor and found a door with a monstrous Gorgon with bulging eyes sticking out its tongue at them as it guarded the entrance to his home.
Dared she go inside? She waited for Roman to put in his code and the door unsealed. He stopped her one-handed before she could enter. “Oh no, that’s bad luck.”
What was?
He scooped her up and she let out a gasp when her stomach did a somersault at being in his arms. She steadied her veil as he carried her over the threshold. It was certainly fashionable inside. There wasn’t a Grecian pillar to be seen. They’d come by way of the kitchen. Glass cupboards with white molding were set against a sage green accent wall, and a matching white marble island made up the middle of the kitchen. Barstools were pushed up against it. The oak seat covers gave the place a rustic feel, especially the corresponding timber bolted into the ceiling that sloped into high cathedral walls past the kitchen.
An awkward puppy let out a bark and leaped around them on big paws. He had the softest gray coat she’d ever seen.
“Mercutio!” Roman shouted out happily.
Mercutio was a Great Dane. He pawed at them with at least thirty pounds of endless energy, letting out whimpers like he wanted to be the one held, not Jules. Roman let out a grunt as his hands tightened around her. Her cowgirl boots swung through the air before he set her down on the polished wooden floor.
