Not My Romeo

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “Thought you trusted me. Assumed you knew. I was wrong. I would have eventually, Jack. It didn’t seem pressing, but now I see that I should have said it right away.” Her words are clipped, tinged with anger, and I find that I like that better, because at least it tells me that she feels something.

  We’re still staring at each other, and I can’t stop looking at her face, the curve of her cheekbones, the way her hair falls around her jawline. “What do you want from me?”

  She breaks a little then, wistfulness crossing her features before she shuts it down.

  My control dips, that rabbit hole of emotion tugging at me. My arms ache to hold her.

  But . . . shit . . .

  She grimaces, looking pained as she plucks at the waist of her dress. “Absolutely nothing, Jack. I keep my promises. No one will ever know anything you told me.”

  I’ve never seen her so . . . hard to read.

  Empty. Void of that usual light in her aquamarine eyes.

  You put that there.

  You blew up and walked out on her.

  You ignored her words.

  She frowns. “Are you good to go out there?”

  I give her a jerky nod. “I’ll be fine.” I stare down at my boots. “Helps when you’re out there with me. I don’t even think about the audience.”

  “Well, at least I’m good for that. Meerkats work too.”

  I close my eyes. And I don’t even know what I’m going to say, only that I don’t want her to leave. I want her to tell me she loves me again. I want her to . . . “Elena—”

  “Five minutes until the curtain comes up!” Laura yells, sweeping her eyes over us. She lands on me. “You ready?”

  Elena walks away from me, as if she was waiting for the right chance, heading to the other side of the stage, where she’ll enter.

  I nod at Laura, my head spinning. I feel dizzy, and it has nothing to do with being nervous about speaking.

  I’ll never see her again.

  I breathe heavily, as if I’m about to throw a pass to win the game, and the coverage is insane, covered up, and I can’t find . . .

  Dread, thick and dark, curls around me, wrapping around my chest.

  Clarity settles around me, and maybe, maybe I knew from the moment she snapped back at me the other night without fully explaining, as if I should already know she didn’t need to defend her phone call, but I shoved it down, locked my feelings away in a box, wrapped a chain around them, and tossed them where I put everything that makes me feel too much. She . . . she’d protect me until the end. I recall how she dealt with those women at the bakery, her fierceness, and then I’m lost, remembering sweeping her up in my arms and running for the penthouse.

  Where she never wanted to go.

  Where she never felt at ease, yet she . . . went.

  I’ve fucked up with Elena. I’ve . . . I’ve judged her by Sophia’s actions, when Elena isn’t that girl.

  She’s never used me.

  She’s never pushed me to tell her anything, except out of genuine concern. I’m the one who willingly opened up more than I ever have with anyone else, and hell, even then I’m always holding part of me back.

  I let her go.

  Pushed her far away, scared. Afraid of my life repeating old mistakes . . .

  But Elena isn’t a mistake.

  Even with my shoulder surgery looming, that gnawing worry about my future in the NFL, this month has been the happiest I’ve—

  God.

  She’s the girl a man dreams of finding someday . . . everything I always wanted.

  And I threw it back in her face.

  I reacted without listening. I . . . fuck.

  You lobbed another interception, Jack.

  You lost the fucking game.

  Chapter 33

  ELENA

  Dressed in a knight’s costume, Jack enters the masquerade party as Romeo and gazes at me with what Laura calls Romeo’s “Dang, she’s all I want, and I want my lips on hers” look. It’s pretend.

  I’m stage right, makeup repaired, wings on, acting my ass off.

  He moves toward me, a dark flush on his cheeks, his lines not quite as sure as they have been. He’s been floundering since the play started. I saw it right away, as soon as he said his first line. I watch him, encouragement in my gaze. Jack, Jack, Jack. You are so beautiful. Don’t let the people get to you is what I hope he sees on my face.

  He presses his hand to mine. We kiss. Barely. Pull apart. Gaze at each other as the party continues stage center.

  “Then have my lips the sin that they have took,” I say.

  “Give me my sin again,” he murmurs.

  I swallow. He’s jumped ahead a few lines, but I nod and kiss him again.

  He slants his mouth across mine and sighs, his hand still on my face, our bodies closer than they should be.

  “Elena.” It’s not loud, but it’s audible and clear. The cast keeps on, never looking at us. His eyes search mine as he opens his mouth, as if to say something, but it’s my line.

  “You kiss by th’ book,” I say ardently—like the line calls for.

  “Then I’ll take another.”

  That is not the line. Nurse appears for her line, and Jack ignores her and kisses me again, his hands sliding into my hair. “Elena,” he whispers in my ear, and I pull back, eyes big.

  The mic is hot, catching it, and the audience murmurs. If they missed it the last time, they definitely heard it this time.

  Giselle says her line, and Jack is supposed to leave the scene—only he doesn’t. His eyes refuse to drop mine.

  Giselle clears her throat, says her line again, and I come back.

  One of the stage crew shrugs when I dart my eyes at him. He’s waiting for Romeo to leave, only Jack is still next to me.

  There’s an awkward pause, until I flare my eyes backstage. Close the curtains!

  The scene ends, the curtains falling at the end of act one.

  I blow out a breath and dash stage right for a costume change. Jack follows me, and I whip around. The stage crew stares at us, but I barely notice.

  “You can’t do that onstage,” I tell him. “They can hear you.” I refuse to think about how it made me feel, his mouth against mine, wanting me to really kiss him back.

  Giselle gets between us and points her finger at him. “You best get back over there where you’re supposed to be, Romeo! You have the first line of act two.”

  He swallows, his throat bobbing, then turns and stalks away.

  Giselle looks back at me. “You okay?”

  I nod. Yeah. But we still have a lot of play left. What else is he going to do?

  By the time we get to the balcony scene, I’m sure he’s lost his mind.

  Halfway through a long line, he climbs up the ladder to my window—when he isn’t supposed to—and says the rest of it. We’re face to face, and I’m overwhelmed by the maleness of him, by the intensity in his eyes.

  It’s a play, Elena. Acting. This is the scene where Romeo wants to crawl in your bed and get busy . . .

  But he’s doing whatever he wants onstage, trying to get close to me when he’s near me.

  Focus.

  I suck in a breath and say my line. “What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?”

  “The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine,” he says softly.

  My lashes flutter. “I gave thee mine before you asked. I would give it again.”

  I screwed it up. That was all wrong. I left out so much. Lord. Help.

  He stares at me. “Would you give it again?”

  Oh my God. That is not his line!

  I clear my throat. “My bounty is as boundless as the sea—”

  He cuts me off, saying my line. “My love as deep, the more I give to thee. The more I have, for both are infinite. Forever.”

  He takes my hand and laces our fingers together. “Will you tell me again? No one’s ever said it and meant it, Elena.”

  I shake my head at him, hea
rt pounding. Hammering.

  “I know it’s not a line, but I have to know.”

  I dart a look at the audience, who are sitting on the edges of their seats. I see Mama and Aunt Clara. Birdie Walker gawking. Quinn and Devon, an older lady between them.

  Nurse comes in, pulling Juliet away, but the play requires me to rush back out to the balcony to Jack. I have no clue what to expect.

  I stumble through my part, exiting like Juliet, then running back to see him one more time. Young and reckless and silly girl. Her love will only end in heartbreak, and her Romeo will be banished after he kills Tybalt, and everything will crumble.

  Maybe it’s the unease on my face that pushes Jack, because he never misses a beat this time, his timing perfect, his lines not off script.

  I’m a total disaster by the time we dash through the hasty wedding with the friar, and by the time the wedding night rolls around, well, all logical thought is gone. The man I love is in Juliet’s bed, lying next to me, his leg pressed against mine as we pretend to awake to the sunrise. I’m wearing a long white nightgown—and he’s in a long white pirate-style shirt and dark pants.

  His hands hold mine as he leaves from my balcony window. I can’t think straight. I’m dropping lines like crazy, ad-libbing to make it work. I can’t stop thinking about the next kiss, the next time he holds me.

  He steals my line again, changing it. “Do you think we shall ever meet again?”

  Wait, what’s my next line?

  “I doubt it not,” he picks up with a small smile. “You love me; do you not?”

  I gape at him. That is not Romeo’s line. Or mine.

  “Do you love me?”

  My hands clench. “Did I not say it was so?”

  “Will my love forgive me for leaving when he first heard of it? It was only fear and insecurities that drove him thus.”

  I glare at him in exasperation. Laura, goodness, I can feel her staring at us in shock.

  I shake myself, butchering the next part but getting it out. “Methinks I see you now, as one dead in the bottom of a tomb. Either my eyesight fails, or thou lookest pale.”

  He looks out at the sky, seeing the sunrise, and when Romeo is supposed to be sad to be banished from Verona, Jack isn’t. He looks determined, a glint in his eyes as he looks back at me.

  “One more kiss, and I’ll descend.”

  Nope, we’ve already done that. Not doing it again.

  He stalks toward me, gathers me in his arms, and puts his lips on mine, parting them slowly, carefully, almost as if he’s afraid I might run. His left hand holds my hip, away from the stage, a brand on my skin as he deepens the kiss. His hand curls around my waist, and I melt against him, letting him in more, savoring the smell of him, the scent of leather and male, the feel of his hard chest against my breasts.

  I push him, my chest heaving.

  His eyes glitter down at me as his thumb brushes against my lips. “I love you.”

  He walks away from me, and I fight for control, gathering myself as I watch him exit off the stage. It’s the last time Juliet sees Romeo alive. It’s the last time . . .

  “Juliet?”

  I start as he climbs back up the trellis.

  “Romeo, you’re back. What a surprise.”

  Someone giggles in the audience. I think it’s Timmy.

  “Someone once said that the two most important days of your life are the day you were born and the day you figure out why. I know why.”

  Mark Twain? Wrong century! Wrong author!

  “To meet you. To fall in love with you. Fate’s a funny thing; she hits you with terrible things sometimes, making you grow up before you’re ready. I never believed in destiny, but what if we’d never met? What if I hadn’t been there at that exact moment when we were supposed to meet at . . . at . . . the masquerade party, where you were supposed to be dancing with someone else. But I was there. And there you were. And I had on the right shirt, er, costume, and you sat down with me, and my heart began to beat. Isn’t that fate? Isn’t that life giving us a chance? Isn’t it? Please, tell me it is, because I can’t walk away from you again without knowing you haven’t given up on me.”

  I can’t think of one thing to say. And I should, because by now even a two-year-old could figure out that we are doing a Jack-and-Elena thing here and not Romeo and Juliet.

  He continues. “That same author also said that love is not a product of reasonings and statistics, but it just comes—none knows whence—and cannot explain itself.” He pauses. “I didn’t expect it, never dreamed it, never aspired to it. But here it is. Yours.”

  Juliet’s mother enters the stage, a startled look on her face. No one knows what to do.

  “Go,” I whisper. “Please.”

  “Adieu, my love.” After a long look, he climbs back down the trellis and walks away.

  My soul cries for him to come back, to tell me those words again so I can soak them in, but he can’t; we can’t do this . . . whatever it is . . . in front of all these people.

  I watch his shoulders, not able to tear my eyes away.

  Chapter 34

  JACK

  The curtain goes down as the princess ends her last line, and a thunderous applause reaches our ears. Thank God! I’m so ready for this to be over so I can talk to Elena . . . instead of muddling and butchering poor Romeo’s lines.

  “Great job!” Patrick exclaims, clapping. “Big success.”

  Is he kidding?

  Elena rises up from me, and I pull her back down. I scan her face, reading her, but since the messed-up honeymoon scene, we haven’t spoken a word; instead I’ve been lying here with a hard-on with her draped across me.

  “Elena . . .”

  “Not right now, Jack. I can’t.” She stands and runs to stage right.

  Fuck. I still can’t get a read on her.

  I head to my spot, an entire stage between us.

  Laura calls out our names one by one, and we take our bows, the crowd on their feet, clapping.

  Juliet’s name is called, and Elena runs to the stage and takes her bow; then I take mine. I clasp her hand in mine as we take our bows together. Whistles and cheers erupt, and I grin sheepishly. This part hasn’t been hard at all. The only thing on my mind was Elena. I didn’t give a shit about anyone else.

  The audience claps for three minutes. “Jack, Jack, Jack” starts up in the bleachers from some Tigers fans, and I give them a wave. Devon smirks at me from the front row and gives me a thumbs-up. Quinn moves his gaze to Elena, popping an eyebrow.

  Yeah. I don’t know yet.

  Does she still want me?

  Or has she had a good hard look at some of that darkness inside of me . . . and . . . shit—

  Maybe I’m not worth the trouble?

  Chaos ensues as some of the crowd pushes forward and jumps on the stage with us, Laura and Timmy and some of his friends he’s got tagging along to talk to me. They all have pens and playbills out. I wince but try to cover it up. Part of it, Jack.

  “Cast party at the Tavern in an hour, guys!” Laura calls out, a wide smile on her face. “Free beer and pizza courtesy of Jack.”

  Cheers go up.

  She gives me a big hug. “Jack, thank you so much for doing this.”

  “I hijacked your play for my own personal use—”

  “Shut up. It’s you and Elena. The audience ate it up. A few reporters from the Tennessean were here. They inquired if they could interview you, and I said no.”

  I hug her again. “Thank you. They always print what they want anyway.”

  She smiles. “Well, there was nothing bad to say about you today. You and Elena . . . your chemistry . . . be still, my heart.”

  I throw a look around the crowded stage just as Timmy and company arrive.

  I don’t see Elena.

  Two hours later, most everyone has left except for me and a few straggler fans still waiting in line to see me. I feel exhausted yet exhilarated after I finish the last autograph and selfie. Dev
on left with Quinn and Lucy already after saying their congratulations and goodbyes.

  There’s not a hint of Elena anywhere.

  Chapter 35

  ELENA

  I pop in the cast party super early, hug everyone, and eat pizza. No one mentions Jack, but you can tell by their questioning looks that they want to ask me what the heck was going on. Maybe it’s my face that keeps them from inquiring.

  As soon as he walks in the door an hour later, I head out the back exit and drive back home. I need time to think, to process, and I can’t do it with him in front of me, wanting answers. I need space. I need home.

  I fly in the house, whipping my costume off as I head to the bedroom, grabbing pajama pants and an NYU sweatshirt. One pour of whiskey later, I’m out on the back porch, heating lamps on.

  Sitting on the steps, I blow out into the chilly March night and gaze up at the full moon. April is almost here. And spring.

  The play is finally over. I close my eyes. God, I’m going to miss him.

  “Figured I’d find you home.” Jack’s husky voice comes from the back door of the kitchen.

  He sits next to me, easing his body down and gazing out at the faint outline of the rolling hills.

  I don’t look at him, but I feel him glancing over at me, making me self-conscious. I dip my head so he can’t see my face.

  The wind picks up, and I rub my arms. He gets up and heads back in the house before coming back with one of the jackets I keep on the peg by the kitchen door. He drapes it over my shoulders, his hands brushing at my hair before he takes the seat next to me, keeping a few inches between us.

  A long exhalation comes from him. “I’m sorry, Elena. I freaked out over Marvin and assumed you were guilty. I was wrong.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him scrubbing a hand through his hair.

  “I lost my head. Does that mean I’ve lost you too?”

  I meet his gaze, seeing worry mingled with fear in his tawny eyes. “You pushed me away from you like it was nothing.”

  His throat bobs. “It was pure unadulterated fear. Deep inside me, in a part I hadn’t acknowledged yet, I’d already given my heart away to you, only to hear that conversation and think everything was blowing up in my face. All my protective instincts flared up. To be made a fool of again? To believe that a woman loved me? It felt ridiculous. Women who love me usually end up hurting me in some way.”