Love Me (The Elites of Cheshire shore #2)

11. Florence

CHAPTER ELEVEN

florence

R ome drives straight into the underground car park, parking in his allotted space.

“I’ll just let Luca know to open his door for me. God, I’m so tired I could literally fall asleep right here,” I rasp, my voice husky from the smoke inhalation.

He gives me a half smile. “It’s all right, Flo, I got you.” He jumps out of the car and pulls me into his arms.

“I can walk you know,” I grumble as Rome carries me to the elevator—because apparently, I’m not allowed to walk. My lips tug down, hating that Rome sees me like a helpless damsel in distress. He inserts his key into the panel on the wall and clicks the button for his floor. I’m also secretly grateful that he doesn’t put me down as the elevator doors close behind us. I nuzzle my face against his chest, enjoying the warmth radiating from his body, now that the adrenaline is gone and I’m just left with bone-deep exhaustion.

“Tomorrow you can walk, tonight, you need your rest,” he replies as the elevator doors open to his floor. He doesn’t let my feet touch the ground until he has reached the en suite bathroom and sets me down right in front of his giant claw-foot tub. Gingerly, he grasps my chin in between his thumb and forefinger, his gaze delicately surveying every inch of my body, making sure I’m not about to crumble into a heap in front of him.

I huff, “I’m fine, Rome,” for the second time tonight and grab the wrist holding my chin ready to remove his hand but something in his worried eyes has me stopping. The little creases around the corner of his eyes dip as his thumb rubs my chin slowly.

“I nearly lost you tonight,” he whispers.

“You didn’t.” My voice is still raspy from the smoke. I grab his other hand and place it over my heart. “See, still beating. I’m fine. I got out of there before anything bad happened. Promise.”

Rome’s shoulders sag. “I can still take you to the hospital you know. Just say the word, I’ll call Henley to fire up the helicopter and chopper you in.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m pretty sure if you call Henley at this time of night, he will tell you to fuck off.”

Rome gives a solemn nod. “You’re right. Tomorrow I’ll start training for a pilot’s license.”

Not what I meant. This almost being caught in a fire thing is really affecting him.

“Rome.” This time I move his hand from my chin and tighten my fingers around it, comforting him. “I really need to have a shower; I stink like a bonfire.” Not a lie. At this point, I’m one step away from the two-day-old charcoal twigs crumbling in the bottom of the pit.

His green eyes darken as he assesses me one last time before he nods, like he’s finally agreed that I’m fine, and takes a step back. I pull in a deep lungful of air, now that he isn’t suffocating all the oxygen around me. I pull my Kindle out of my pocket and moan when I see the battery is nearly dead.

“Can I borrow a charger? My Kindle decided to be a bitch and die.” I won’t be able to wind down and go to sleep without it.

“Sure thing, Flo.” Rome leaves the bathroom and I turn the shower on, letting the water heat up. Looks like my shower will be complete without a candle too. What a bummer. First, my apartment burns down, and now I have to have a shower without a candle and a dead Kindle—the night is just full of inconveniences. I quickly scan the benchtop, but I don’t have high hopes that Rome will have a candle.

Moments later, Rome returns with a charger for my Kindle and plugs it in. I’m going to chalk it up to the traumatic experience of watching my apartment proverbially go up in flames as the reason why I am standing rooted in place. My eyes just keep tracking Rome around the bathroom as he makes it his mission to make this the best shower experience I’ve ever had. A small diffuser on the counter glows blue as it blows a cloud of steam into the air. I sniff . Is that lavender? Wow, Rome is really trying to help calm my nerves.

“All that’s missing is a candle,” he says.

Resting my hand in the pocket of my bathrobe I roll my dry lips, tasting soot and ash, my stomach threatening to revolt. “No stress if you don’t have one.”

“Right here, Flo.” Rome produces a candle from the cupboard under the sink. He grabs a lighter from his pocket, and the moment the flame touches the wick, the room slowly fills with a new scent. Rome eyes the flickering flame and his expression turns to one of panic. Lifting his gaze to me, he searches my face. I know what he’s doing, he’s looking for any signs that the candle’s flame will trigger me in some way. Shit, that’s so sweet.

I purposely relax my pose, trying hard to show him I’m fine, because I really am. I’m used to high-stress situations. Dropping my cortisol is kind of my superpower.

I lean my butt against the counter and plaster a smile on my face . “Hmm, that smell doesn’t suck. In fact, it kinda makes me hungry.” I wiggle my brows for extra emphasis. It’s a sweet and alluring smell that immediately overpowers the lavender diffuser.

Rome’s eyebrows twist, watching as the flame flickers on the wick, like he is worried it will trigger me in some way. I touch his forearm lightly, letting him know that I’m not bothered by it. Rome smiles, and my breath catches. “It’s cannoli—because you loved it so much.”

“Yeah,” is all my stupid brain can reply with. Am I going to ask? Nope. Nope. Florence, it is way better for you to not analyze why Rome Venuccio has the candle you told him you like in his bathroom. For all you know, he may have gotten extra because Bea insisted he keep a few in his bathroom to make it smell nice. Yeah. Let’s go with that.

“I’ll be outside, take all the time you need,” he says and walks the short distance to the door, closing it behind him.

“Sure thing,” I say to the closed door. I look down at the Kindle in my hand, hoping it will be charged enough when I get out of the shower, but already doubting it. Leaving it to charge on the counter, I quickly shuck my dirty bathrobe and jump into the shower, dunking my entire body under the spray. I’ve never soaped myself up so quickly, I make quick work of the gnarly knots that have formed in my hair, adding extra conditioner to help. Of course, all the soap available smells like Rome, so now I smell like him too. Except for my hair, it still smells like I went to a bonfire. I lean back and dunk my hair in the water. It feels good washing away all the evidence of the giant fire.

After drying my body off with the towel Rome left for me, I pull on one of his old shirts he left out; it’s so huge it falls to my knees. I try to be as quiet as possible, knowing how late it is and that Rome must be exhausted, I don’t want to accidentally wake him. I walk past Rome’s room, noting his closed door—he must’ve gone to bed. I lightly tiptoe down the hallway and make my way into the living room. I freeze when I find Rome sitting at the table.

“Is that…?” I ask, staring at what Rome has in his hand.

“Matcha bubble tea with brown sugar pearls,” Rome finishes, holding the cup for me. My favorite drink. That is only available in one place in the whole of Cheshire Shore.

I grab the cup and take two quick sips, groaning when the pearls hit my tongue. How the fuck did Rome get them to deliver when they closed hours ago? “And are those…?” I ask, turning my attention to the food laid out on the table.

“From the taco truck you absolutely love down on Third.” Rome nods. My mouth waters as I survey the table full of my favorite foods. I quickly pull out a chair and sit down, my appetite suddenly ravenous. He’s managed to get my favorite foods.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

Rome tilts his head down and stares at me. “I know I didn’t have to, Flo. I wanted to. I want to feed you. And maybe help comfort you with your favorite things. But if you don’t want to eat…” Rome reaches for the container of tacos and I nearly growl at him. He smirks and pushes the food toward me.

He’s got a point. I love food. I take a sip from my boba tea and instantly get another hit of dopamine; it’s my comfort drink for a reason. Girl math: it’s also really helping my sore throat. If tonight isn’t a night for comfort drinks, I don’t know when will be.

“I wasn’t sure if you were hungry, so I thought I’d get some food just in case you didn’t decide to crash when you got cleaned up.” He grabs one of the tacos and takes a decent bite out of it. Reaching for my own, I take a bite and moan in delight the moment the flavors hit my tongue. Closing my eyes and sinking deeper into my chair. “Oh my god, that’s so good.” When I open them again, Rome is watching me, his gaze heated, and not from the food.

Sunlight streams through the small gap in the curtains. Slowly I open my gritty eyes, lifting my palm to cover my eyes and let them adjust to the brightness. I stare around the room, quickly sitting up, my heart pounding in my chest. This isn’t my room. The events of the night before come flooding through and I remember my apartment was destroyed and Rome brought me to his place after he’d found me. I remember eating tacos and falling asleep on the couch. How did I end up in Rome’s spare bedroom? I swing my feet onto the plush carpeted floor and still dressed in just Rome’s soft shirt, I pad my way into the kitchen in search of sustenance.

“Good morning, Flo,” Rome calls, sitting at the table, sipping from his espresso cup as he flicks through the Financial Times .

“Morning.” I yawn, rubbing my eyes and stretching. A small smile touches my lips when I notice Rome’s attention on my upper thigh. I keep the stretch longer than necessary before dropping my arms, noting Rome’s eyes dart straight to his newspaper. Knowing Rome is unlikely to have a turmeric shot in his fridge, I make myself a coffee. Not my favorite kind of pick me up, but hey, it will do.

“Your phone’s been going crazy,” Rome mentions the moment I sit down.

Oh shit, I must have left it in the kitchen before I fell asleep on the couch. Taking a sip of my dirty bean water, I pick my phone up and scroll through all the notifications. Most of them are asking if I’m alive and safe. Luca went a bit wild with thirty-two messages and two missed calls. Rome’s deep cologne invades my senses, and I look up as he places a warm matcha latte in front of me.

“What’s this?” I ask. He knows how much I dislike coffee, but I need something to wake me up in the mornings.

“If I have to watch you grimace from another sip of your coffee I will flick your eyelid.” He lets his fingers linger on my arm before he takes his seat with another espresso coffee.

“Someone is a little violent this morning. It wasn’t that bad,” I grumble, taking a sip from my matcha latte. For Rome, coffee is a religion. Well, for most Italians, coffee is one of the most sacred drinks, right behind grappa, of course. It’s one thing I never really understood. The only thing coffee does to me is make me gassy and give me horrendous breath. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the fact it’s literally hot water that has run through crushed beans. How is that even considered a delicacy? If I don’t have my turmeric shot, a matcha latte is totally not my second choice.

Rome shoots me a look that has me holding in my laughter. “Thanks for the latte,” I reply, taking another sip from the glass straw, letting the heat from the warm glass seep into my cold hands as I continue to work my way through all the messages. A knock on Rome’s door interrupts me.

“I’ll get it.” I start to stand from my chair.

“It’s just Luca.” Rome waves me off seconds before Luca bursts through the door. From his nonchalant reaction I’m guessing Luca has been communicating with Rome for a while, since I haven’t been replying to any of his messages.

“Flo, fucking hell.” Luca rushes up to me, throwing his thick arms around me and hugging me close to his chest.

“Luca.” My cry is muffled by his chest, tapping his forearm. “Can’t breathe.”

“Oh shit, sorry.” He quickly lets me go and plops down heavily in the chair beside me. He takes my cheeks in the palms of his hands and searches my face. His green eyes—a lighter shade of green than Rome’s—stare into mine with worry. A deep shadow covers his face; he didn’t even have time to shave before he rushed down here. “Why didn’t you call me? All I’ve received from my brother is ‘she’s fine.’” Luca lowers his voice, mocking his brother’s deep baritone, slicing him a glare. Rome, on the other hand, doesn’t share the deep etches of worry on his face.

I shrug. “To be honest, after I got out of the building, I was trying to get my bearings, then Rome showed up. I didn’t really have time to call you.”

“Text, WhatsApp, Facebook Messenger, Instagram message,” Luca lists on his fingers. “These are all non-calling forms of communication. I mean, ever heard of smoke signal?”

“I believe her entire apartment building being on fire would constitute as a smoke signal, wiseass,” Rome growls.

“Okay, not a smoke signal,” Luca quickly backpedals. “An emoji at a minimum.”

Opening my phone, I pull up his messages and quickly type a smile emoji and a thumbs-up emoji and hit Send. Luca eyes me as he fishes his phone out and looks down at the smiley face, I sent him.

Narrowing his eyes he glares at me. “Very funny. I was seriously worried.”

Kissing his cheek, I stand. “That’s so sweet, but I’m fine.” Turning on my heel, I put my cup in the sink and start making Luca his own espresso. Even though he is probably on his third one this morning, I know he won’t turn down another one. The Venuccios pretty much live off the stuff; I think if their DNA was analyzed there would be coding for coffee in there.

“I’m just so excited for our pajama parties,” Luca says as I place his espresso down in front of him.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because you’re moving in with me.” He snorts.

“She can’t do that, Luca,” Rome inputs.

“And why not?” Luca replies with the same thing I’m thinking.

“Because she is moving in with me,” he replies.