Page 107 of Sin With Me

Because there is no way this thing between us ends in anything but our mutual damnation.

But fuck, if I’m not excited to burn.

“Holy Christ,” I murmur, eyeing the opulent hotel. My fingers clutch the handle of my overnight bag like I’m afraid it’ll drown in the shiny marble flooring, never to be seen again.

Isaac chuckles softly and steps up to the front desk to check us in, leaving me to peruse the lobby. I’ve never been to a hotel like this—one with an elevator that goes above three. My eyes search the vast expanse surrounding me and, sure enough, it’s thirty floors.

I swallow thickly.

How on earth is he affording this?

Shaking my head, I force myself to accept the gift, the kindness, without question or guilt. This weekend isn’t for my conscience. It’s an adventure—hopefully, the first of many.

The only real trip I’ve ever been on was the one to Atlanta with Mama all those years ago. It was just after Daddy started chemo. He’d arranged the whole thing. Planned it so his favorite girls would be out of the house when he returned, unwilling to let us be tainted with the truth of his illness.

I’m pretty sure Mama knew exactly what he was up to, putting on a happy, brave face for my benefit, but I had no idea.

At the time, we didn’t have a lot of extra money. Our car and home were nice, but they were provided by the church. The hotel we stayed at in Atlanta was a couple-star motel off the freeway, but Mama, being her sweet, vibrant self, made it an adventure, just like everything else.

Growing up, I never felt like I went without. I never felt the hunger so many do. Never questioned my safety. Never felt the loneliness other kids experienced.

Kids like Roman.

My parents were wonderful humans. They did the best they could. I’ll never fault them a single thing, but sometimes—sometimes—I wish we could’ve had a bigger life. Not financially. Not in opulence or jewels. Just more.

I wish I wouldn’t have lived a childhood in a tiny, religious town with closed-minded people, only to find myself in another town that’s just as stifled. Just as backward. I wish I would’ve had more friends and less prying eyes. Less sheltering and more experiencing.

It feels suffocating.

More often than not, I feel like I’m still choking on the thick repression of my existence.

I click my tongue, tracing my fingers over one of the cognac mid-century couches adorning the waiting area. I sound just as broken and pessimistic as Ro used to.

“Eve,” Roman sighs, pointing to the highlighted quote in our shared book. “Read it again. Really read it. What’s it say?”

He passes me the book, and our fingers graze each other, sending shivers down my spine. I swallow back the breathy sound that tries to escape, forcing myself to focus on the words.

“The mystery of human existence lies not in staying alive, but in finding something to live for.”

He nods, shoving his messy black hair from his face. “And what does that mean?”

My eyes track his movements, absorbing them like a woman starved of oxygen. I blink. Once. Twice. “It means life is precious.”

He cocks his head to the side, and that damn wayward strand falls in his hazel eyes again. “Is it?”

“Obviously,” I scoff. His brow arches in disbelief. “Roman, life is precious. You only have one. You can’t waste it. You must live a big life. Exist big. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Ro gives me a long, questioning look. “And do you want a big life, Golden Girl?”

Chills break out over my skin at the nickname—one that started off as an insult feels like so much more lately. I smile widely. “The biggest.”

My eyes squeeze shut, and my stomach flips uncomfortably. I haven’t thought of him much lately, especially not in the last three weeks since the anniversary of Mama’s death. I’ve been too busy trying to wrap my brain around the insanity of my new normal.

I scoff internally. As if this thing between Isaac and me could be considered normal.

He’s been hot and cold, pushing me away and pulling me back in, just like that afternoon outside his room. Some days, he doesn’t speak to me at all, choosing to pretend I don’t exist. Part of me likes those days, sinking into the idea that ignorance truly is bliss.

But then, Isaac will storm into the house after a long day of campaigning, looking exhausted, and pin me to the hot stove with drugging kisses, and chaotic hands, reminding me exactly what bliss feels like.

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