For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating.
That was the only explanation my mind could offer—the only one that made sense. Rome standing there, half-swallowed by shadow, lilies in one hand and an expensive box of chocolates in the other, looking as real as the cold night air pressing against my skin.
My back hit the door hard behind me.
"Rome…"
The name slipped out before I could stop it.
His gaze locked onto mine.
And my breath left me all at once.
The Rome in front of me looked colder than I remembered. There was something in his eyes that unsettled me deeply—sadness, yes, but also something closer to accusation. As if his eyes were asking questions his mouth hadn't yet formed. As if he were demanding answers I didn't even know how to give.
"How long have you been there?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my effort to steady it.
"Long enough," he said.
The weight of those two words settled heavily in my chest.
