“How bad could it be?” Atticus asked. “It’s not just ‘Rome’ is it? Because that’s a perfectly fine name —”
“No, it’s short for something,” I said.
Atticus tilted his head. “Romulus, perhaps? He’s the founder of Rome, so it does make sense.”
“No, it’s not short for Romulus,” Rome said with a huff. “My real first name is…Romeo.”
Atticus blinked slowly. “Oh.”
“It’s horrible, I know.”
“It’s not horrible,” Atticus replied. “It’s…romantic. Well, apart from the double suicide at the end of the play.”
I smothered a laugh. “It’s not horrible,” I agreed. “It’s actually a really pretty name. Your surname’s pretty, too.”
Rome glared at me.
“What is it?” Atticus asked.
“Lovelace,” Rome gritted out.
Atticus brightened. “Oh, like Ada Lovelace. The mathematician,” he explained.
Rome and I looked at him blankly.
“She’s Lord Byron’s daughter,” Atticus added.
I had no idea who that was, but Rome raised a brow. “You mean the bi poet who had a child with his half-sister?”
“That was never confirmed, but yes, that’s him,” Atticus said. “I agree with Edwin. Romeo Lovelace is a very…romantic name.”
I suppressed a laugh. Not because there was anything wrong with Rome’s name, but he was the kind of guy who regarded love the way he’d regard a snot-stained tissue.
Which pulled me back to the topic at hand. “You’re meant to be reassuring me,” I told Rome.
“I know. But I couldn’t keep sitting here without being introduced to Atticus.”
“I’m not actually annoying you, are you?” Because he was right, after all — I had spent every Intro to B Law class talking about Leo.
“No,” Rome said. “Although, you have made business law actually seem interesting in comparison.” His lips twitched, showing he was mostly joking.
“I think you made the right decision,” Atticus announced. “If you stayed with him, it would’ve been like an infection rotting your leg. Sometimes, it’s better to just amputate it.”
Rome gave him a look. “That’s an interesting analogy.”
“I’d rather have an infected leg than no leg at all,” I said, voice wavering close to despair.
“No, you wouldn’t,” Atticus said solemnly. “Have you seen infected legs? Imagine rot, blackened skin, maggots —”
I gave him an appalled look, holding up my matcha latte. “I’m trying to drink something here.”
He sipped his latte, unaffected. “I’m just trying to impress upon you how serious an infection is.”
“Atticus’s right,” Rome said. “It’d do you harm in the long run if you stayed with Leo. It’d make you feel shitty about yourself.”
I sighed because I knew they were right. If I stayed with Leo, I would be mad at myself. I’d have to stew in my complete lack of self-respect every time I saw him.
“But maybe,” I began, “if I was with him in a casual way, I could use it as an opportunity to make him like me.” A spark of hope made me straighten up in my chair. He might change his mind if I showed him just how great I was.
