Page 9 of Forbidden Romeo

Roisin looks back at me, annoyance written all over her face. “Why wouldn’t I? All those movies we used to watch. This place is all I’ve ever dreamed of.”

“I just want to manage your expectations,” I reply as pragmatically as I can.

Roisin glances down and bites at her bottom lip.

I know what she’s thinking—it took her months to convince me to come here after she got into Julliard. If I’m not enjoying myself as much as she is, she’ll blame herself for forcing me across the country.

We must have had this conversation a thousand times before we moved. She knows I have reservations about coming here, even if she thinks it’s for the wrong reasons. Ever since she got back from rehab, she’s been a saint—even if she can still drink like a particularly parched fish. I trust her completely, and I know she won’t ever do anything reckless.

But the problem with being back here isn’t Roisin; the problem is everyone else. Everything she can’t remember about why we left five years ago.

“You don’t need to coddle me, you know?” Roisin says quietly. “I know you know this place better than I do, but you don’t need to worry about me slipping into old habits.”

I take her hand in mine and offer her a smile. “I’m your sister. Worrying about you is kinda my job.”

“Well, don’t,” she says as if it were that simple.

“I trust you, Roisin–”

“--It’s just everyone else you don’t trust. I know, Aimee,” Roisin teases.

If only she knew how true that was.

I force back a smile and ruffle her ginger hair.

“Hey!”

I snort at the disgruntled look on her face. “You know what would make this perfect?”

“What?” Roisin replies as she fixes her hair.

“Chinese.”

I love the way her eyes light up at this; it’s like we’re kids again, and I just suggested we sneak out to the park. Yet somehow, I became the responsible one out of the two of us.

“I can run out and grab something if you want?” Roisin says, already moving to stand up.

I pull her back down. “This is New York, Roshe. The food comes to us.”

“But where…”

I give her an incredulous look. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t already made a list of the best takeout joints within five blocks of this place.”

Roisin squeals and gives me a side hug. “You’re the best!”

I make the call, reciting our usual order from memory, as I watch Roisin lie happily on the blanket. Taking photos, scrolling social media, and messaging her new college friends she hasn’t met in real life yet. At that moment, I decide that it’s all worth it. Whatever turmoil I’m putting myself through about being back in New York, it’s worth it to see her like this.

Besides, it’s not like either of us will be out there actively looking for trouble. Someone would need to put a gun to my head before I ever stepped foot in Harlem again. My residency is on the other side of town, and from what I remember, our family home was practically falling to ruin before we left. With any luck, it might have collapsed completely by now.

Food arrives promptly, and Roisin practically skips to the door to pick it up. She returns with two brown paper bags while examining something brightly colored in her hand.

“Did you see your lanyard already arrived?” she says, throwing it to me.

“Yeah…” I catch it and take a look at the plastic card. “They kept my name the same, though.”

She groans and sits back down on the floor, distributing our food to its rightful owners. “I don’t get why you want to change it anyways. It’s not like Connor is actually going to find you. I’m sure he has better things to do,” she says bitterly.

I glance at her. We don’t often talk about our family, and right now, it’s a topic a little too close to home. Literally.

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