“I knew you looked through those photos.” Her nails dig into me as she lifts her leg over the bike.
“You’ve never mentioned your father.”
“I haven’t mentioned a lot of things.”
True. Trying to get answers out of Romi is like putting a hand in a den of vipers, but slowly, I’m learning more about her. It wasn’t hard to find her father’s obituary.
She stares off into the distance as she leans on the fence. “My father was great. He always wore this big, brimmed hat.” She’s smiling, and I come to stand beside her, happy to listen and uncover more layers of this complicated woman. It’s certainly refreshing to see her like this, opposed to the way she was sobbing in my arms last night.
“He used to let me run amok on this farm. We had a Rottweiler I called Buddy, and we used to chase cows around the paddocks. My mother always lectured me about being reckless,but my dad…” Her smile stretches. “He always encouraged it.Said it was a part of being a kid. Now that I look back at it, he was probably hoping for a boy.” She laughs. “He got a tomboy, so I suppose that was close enough.”
She looks at me curiously. “Do you have any memories like that?”
Slowly, I shake my head, because I know the stories I have aren’t what one might consider fond memories, and I don’t want to say anything that might encroach on this moment as the morning sun shines around her like some kind of halo.
“Should we go inside?” I ask. People live there, but a little breaking and entering never hurt anyone.
She shakes her head. “No. Here is fine.” She gets comfier as she points at the right side of the house. “It was strange. I thought we had everything we needed, but I didn’t realize at the time that my father was in a lot of debt. Every Christmas we would set up the biggest Christmas tree in the second living room on the right side. I loved it. Mom would make pancakes for breakfast, and my father would insist on bacon as well. When I think back on it now, though, it seems inconsequential compared to the wealth my mother was always used to. The wealth I’ve been raised on since she married Barry. But what I wouldn’t give to return for one day when my parents were together so I could appreciate it a little more. I suppose you don’t know what you have until it's gone.”
Her smile is sad and wistful, and so I make a point to lean into her, nudging her shoulder, letting her know I’m still here with her—that she no longer has to worry about being abandoned.
“I don’t ever remember having a Christmas tree. I vaguely recall my mother giving us gifts, but after she passed, only Milia received presents from my father.” It brings a smile to my lips. “Lorenzo and I would give her gifts as well. One year, we carved a set of horses from wood.” I can’t help but chuckle now as I thinkof how they looked. “They were horrendous. I don’t even think they looked like horses, but she played with them every day. Sometimes, I’d play with them with her.”
She looks up at me, that glint of remorse in her eyes making me uncomfortable. “What happened to your sister and mother?”
It’s not that I can’t share my story with her. It’s that right now, I want her to focus on herself. I don’t need her to shed a tear or grieve for my unconventional upbringing.
I pull her into a side hug as my gaze goes to the room that sounds like it was filled with magic on Christmas day. “I’ll tell you soon enough, sweetheart. But I’ll keep you curious a little longer.” I can tell she’s not impressed, but I want her to only worry about herself because, despite her lashing tongue, Romi does have a big heart. So, I change the subject. “You don’t hate your mother for remarrying?”
She thinks about it for a while, soaking up the sun as she takes in the view. “No. I didn’t really understand it when it happened, but even if I did, it’s not like I had long to wish for my parents to get back together. So much changed in two years. My mother remarried, and my father passed away after being in a machine accident on this very farm. He was there, and then he wasn’t. From then on, all I could ever wonder was what our relationship might’ve been like.
"I remember being so angry as a teenager when I would dwell on the what-ifs. Unfortunately, at the time, I danced a dangerous line of taking it out on Barry, who only ever tried to raise me as his own, and pleasing my mother so as not to disrupt the life she’d built with him. But I was so angry at them, for no reason other than being a teenager trying to understand my place in the world and holding on to my father’s ghost.”
"It wasn’t until my early twenties that I realized the only one it hindered was me, and it wasn’t fair to punish others for something they had no control over.”
“Sounds serendipitous, doesn’t it? You love fiercely, Romi, even those in the grave. Not everyone is blessed with such loyalty.” I tuck her tighter into my side. It doesn’t surprise me in the slightest to hear how many years it took her to process her father’s death, considering how she’s dealt with Lorraine's.
Not once have I cared about killing someone or even the idea of dying myself. But for the first time, I consider how nice it might be to have someone like Romi mourn me. Maybe I’m a selfish asshole, because I even want to haunt her from the grave. But more scarily, I could imagine myself following her into it if anything were to happen to her.
I just couldn’t imagine my life without her.
When I look down at her, she’s staring into the distance.
“For once, you might actually be right,” she says without any hint of sarcasm. “I think it’s time I stopped punishing myself for Lorraine’s death.”
She looks up at me then, a mischievous smirk tilting her lips, and my heartbeat falters at the pure beauty that is Romi Lutton under the morning sun. “Who knew one of the most lethal men in Manhattan could have a soft spot?”
For her.
Only her.
I cup her cheek as I stroke it thoughtfully. “Correction,themost lethal. And don’t tell anyone. I wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation. You keep this a secret, and I won’t tell anyone you’re capable of crying.”
She jabs my ribs, still smiling as she raises up on her tiptoes to kiss me. “And I’ll keep it a secret that the scary monster still bleeds like any normal man.”
30
DANTE
