When I head back into his bedroom, he’s still asleep, and I stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do.
As I’m weighing my options, Romeo stirs and lifts his gaze to mine, concern shadowing his features when he sees my face.
“Hey, come here,” he says.
“Do you have cameras in the penthouse?”
I’m not sure why that’s the first thing I ask, but it feels like as good a place as any to start.
I don’t know if he’ll even be honest with me, but whatever he sees in my expression seems to decide it.
“Yes. But not in your room.”
I sit with that for a minute, even though it doesn’t come as much of a surprise. He knew too much about my life not to have some kind of surveillance. Maybe that should freak me out, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s the least of my concerns.
“Did you set up that inspection at my apartment so I had to move out?”
“Yes.”
“And you replaced my guard with Julian?”
He nods, not verbally acknowledging it, but admitting it nonetheless.
“Why?” I ask.
“Why what?”
“Why did you do all this?”
He doesn’t answer, and the wound inside me throbs, warning me not to go down this path. But I can’t stop myself.
“Was this some kind of game to you? Do you think this is what I deserve?”
“No, Gabi.” His voice comes out raw, and he sits up straighter. “It wasn’t a game. I’m not trying to punish you.”
He doesn’t offer any other explanation, and it frustrates me.
“Did you plan to keep your identity hidden until you decided to end whatever this is?”
He scrapes a hand over his face, giving me no other response.
“What was this to you? Was it just sex?”
“No.” He forces the word out. “It wasn’t about that.”
“But you don’t want to be with me,” I supply, somehow knowing that’s not a question, but a fact. “Do you still think you’re going to hurt me? Is that it?”
A flash of agony flickers across his face, betraying him.
“You’ve spent countless hours with me,” I argue. “We were alone together almost every night, and you never once hurt me.”
“But I could.” He swallows.
“You came out of it that night at the dock so you could help me,” I remind him. “And in the ballroom?—”
“We got lucky.” He closes his eyes, shuttering his emotions. “But eventually, luck always runs out.”
“So that’s it?” My voice falters. “You get to decide for both of us, and I don’t have a say?”
