My Dark Romeo (Dark Prince Road, #1)

by Parker S. Huntington

To all the girls eager to marry a grumpy, tortured billionaire… This one’s not for you.

Then Romeo Costa typhooned into my world, ripping off my rose-colored glasses. He taught me darkness. He taught me strength. Most importantly, he delivered the cruelest lesson of all—there’s beauty in every beast. Thorns in every rose. And a love story can blossom—even from the carcass of hate.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” I amended.

“Your cat will survive. Though I’m tempted to leave it in less-than-pristine condition.” My cat? Did he mean my pu… Oh. My. Lord.

“You’re terrible,” I informed him cheerfully. “You’re going to be my favorite mistake.”

I held it in a death grip. “I’m going to make a pen holder out of your fucking skull if you so much as glance in my wife’s direction.”

I snatched the gun by its barrel. “Stop!” T tried jerking back his weapon. “Fucking let go.” “I told you not to threaten my wife, did I not?” I pushed the gun downward and snatched T by the throat with my free hand, squeezing so hard his eyes bulged out of their sockets, pink and round and petrified. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Nobody threatens my wife and lives to tell the tale.”

“Now.” He dipped two fingers into me, curling them as the sound of my juices clinging to him filled the air. “May I kindly eat out my wife, then fuck her, then eat her out again? I canceled all of my meetings for today, just so I can do that.”

I was, wasn’t I? In love with Romeo Costa. The coldest, least sympathetic man on Planet Earth. The God of War.

In love with her, with the ground she walked upon, with her laugh, with her freckles, with her obsession with books, her messiness, her joy, her unapologetic personality.

I breathed hard, my lips moving over his. “You are not the only one here with a dark corner to your soul. I will go to extreme lengths to make sure you are mine. I want you. And I won’t give you up just because you decided you want to try out life without me again.”

“Our room?” I pulled back, staring at him, wide-eyed. “I am fucking done asking permission to see you every night. You’re moving in. Starting now.”

I did not, in fact, survive even two days without her. The first day, I sulked, firing incoherent orders at Cara, Dylan, and everyone else in my vicinity. The second day, I picked mundane arguments with Senior, Zach, Oliver, and a Starbucks barista who offered me a straw (“Do you like shitting all over your planet? Do you have another one stashed somewhere I should know about, for when the time comes and this entire place is underwater?”). By the third one, I was climbing the walls. Literally.

“I’m your wife. Your safe haven. I need to know everything. As I said before—I will never betray you.”

I’d never been a big fan of life. Growing up, I’d spent countless days wishing I’d never been born. So, the foreign panic that seized my chest surprised me. And with it, came an unsettling realization—I didn’t want to die. I wanted more time with Dallas “Shortbread” Costa. With my wife. I wanted to hear her laughter. To try new food with her. To dance together in ballrooms—this time because she wanted to give me those dances, not because of societal pressure. I wanted to seduce her and be seduced by her. I wanted a do-over of our Parisian honeymoon. Hell, a part of me wanted to see our child. Would it be a boy or a girl? Hazel or gray-eyed? With her temper? Or my dry sense of humor? And her laugh? Was she already pregnant? Fuck, what if she was? I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

“I’m in love with you, Dallas Costa. I love every piece of you. Every cell. Every breath. Every laugh. You’ve bewitched me, and I don’t want to leave this world thinking you don’t know how much you’ve changed me.” “No, Rom. No.”

“They’re coming to save you. Please, wait.” Dallas kissed my cheek. My forehead. The tip of my nose. My eyelids. When had I closed my eyes? I couldn’t remember, but it happened, because I couldn’t see her anymore. I needed to see her. Just one more time. “Please, Rom, stay awake. Please. For me?” “I’ll do anything for you,” I heard myself say, before the world turned black and the ambulances ceased to whine. “You’re my favorite plot twist.”

I pressed our foreheads together, begging to take his cold and exchange it for my warmth. “Please, come back to me. I love you more than I love everything in this life combined—my family, my friends, my books, myself.”

I’d never realized it before. That marriage is a mirror, showing you exactly where your empty parts are before it fills them up. And if Romeo left me, I’d be forever empty.

“Oh, Lord.” I dropped to my knees, grabbing his hand in mine. “Please, tell me this is not a figment of my imagination and you really are awake. I’m too much of a snowflake for crushing disappointment.” A gruff chuckle rumbled his chest. He attempted to curl his fingers in mine. “It’s not your overactive imagination.” Behind me, Senior strode toward the bed. “Son.” Romeo didn’t even look up from my face when he said, “Senior? Jasper? Get the fuck out. Now.”

“You signed a form to pull him out of the medically induced coma yesterday.” Oliver breezed in without knocking, as though he owned the place. “You must’ve forgotten, seeing as you’ve been running on coffee, angry outbursts, and the thoroughly stabbed voodoo doll of Madison Licht that Frankie stitched for you.” I glanced at the couch I’d occupied these past four days and the pincushion of a voodoo doll Frankie crocheted for me. It resembled a rag doll with a yellow receding hairline and Sharpie’d goofy smile. Romeo laced his fingers with mine. “Oliver.” He batted his eyelashes. “Yes, dear?” “Leave.” “Not before you give me Frankie’s number.”

Just as I expected, he turned our home into a library. Every inch of wall space is covered in floor-to-ceiling shelves. The living room. The halls. The theater room. Even his study.

Romeo Costa: Rain check for tonight. For some reason, my wife has locked herself in her reading room with three pints of Morgenstern’s egg custard ice cream. Zach Sun: Maybe she is homesick? Romeo Costa: Maybe your brain is homesick. THIS IS HER HOME. Ollie vB: Take Daytona to eat KFC. She’ll cheer right up.

Romeo Costa: She’s from Georgia, not Kentucky, you uncultured buffoon. Zach Sun: Is there really a difference? Ollie vB: KFC = KOREAN Fried Chicken. You uncultured buffoon.

Helpful as always, Oliver chimes in, “If it’s a boy, you should name him Romeo Costa the Third.” “Kindly go fuck yourself.”

By the time I enter our bedroom, she’s sitting in a sea of bright yellow paper, her arm shoved under our mattress, yanking more and more out. They keep coming like a clown’s handkerchief with no end in sight. She holds one up to the light like it’s money she needs to check for authenticity. “These babies must’ve worked as soon as I got them. Maybe too well. What if we have twins? A triplet?” I lean against the door, watching my wife exist. Loudly. Messily. Unapologetically. Just the way a woman loved is meant to bloom. Like a rose in spring.