the Capulets and we’re the Montagues! It’s the family business to hate us!”
“She and her father are estranged. They haven’t had contact in years.”
“Oh.”
“She’s also a thief who steals from bad guys like her father and donates everything to charity. It’s how we met.”
“At a charity event?”
“No, when she broke into one of my warehouses and stole two thousand diapers from me.”
After a moment, Liam says, “That can’t be true.”
“Hand to god, brother.”
“Huh. No wonder you’re in such a state.”
I groan in frustration. “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
After a slight pause, he says, “When was the last time you were serious about a woman?”
“Thirty years ago.”
“I’m not fucking around.”
“Neither am I. The last time I felt like this, I was ten years old. Her name was Katie Dunham. She lived down the street from us. Black hair. Green eyes. Big gap between her front teeth.”
He thinks for a moment. “The one who was always eating handfuls of dirt?”
“That was her sister, Lizzie.”
“So all these years—as an adult—you’ve never been in—”
“No,” I say curtly before he can continue. I couldn’t bear it if he said it out loud. “I came close once. But she belonged to someone else. This one…”
I drag a hand through my hair, struggling for the words to describe it. “This one is different. I feel like I’ve been electrocuted. Like I’ve been set on fire. Like I’ve got cancer and only have a few weeks left to live. I’m terminal. I’m fucking desperate. It’s the worst.”
“It sounds like the worst,” says Liam, chuckling.
“And I haven’t even kissed her yet.”
In a conversation made up of many different types of pauses and silences, this one is the longest. It’s long and loud and echoes with incredulity. Then Liam says, “Have you recently had a fall? Hit your head on a sharp object?”
“No,” I say through gritted teeth. I turn around and pace in the other direction, savagely kicking a rock out of my path as I go.
“Because I’m concerned about your brain. It doesn’t seem to be working right.”
“It isn’t! Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”
“This isn’t like you.”
“Jesus Christ on a crutch, I know!”
“You’re this worked up over a woman who stole from you, who doesn’t like you, and whom you’ve never even kissed?”
I say flatly, “This from the man who stalked his wife for a year before he mustered the courage to speak to her. And then kidnapped her, because that’s high on every woman’s list of most romantic gestures.”
“At least her father hasn’t tried to kill me six times.”
“He’s only tried to kill me twice.”
“I was talking about me. I ran things before you got there, remember?”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.”
“So between the two of us, Antonio Moretti has racked up eight assassination attempts.” Liam pauses. “Guess you won’t be inviting him to the wedding.”
He’s laughing at me. I can hear it in his voice. “Remind me to punch you in the nose the next time we see each other.”
“Oh, don’t sound so depressed. This is good for you!”
“How is it good for me?”
He stifles a laugh. “Pain builds character.”
I growl, “Piss off, wanker.”
“Don’t hang up on me yet, I have something helpful to tell you.”
Finally. “I’m listening.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about women since meeting Tru, it’s that they hate—and I mean hate—to feel controlled.”
I furrow my brow in confusion. “How is that helpful?”
He muses, “How do I put this delicately?” After a beat: “You’re the most controlling arsehole who’s ever lived.”
“I’m commanding, not controlling. Like the captain of a ship.”
“I hate to break it to you, but women aren’t sailors. They don’t enjoy having orders barked at them while they’re swabbing the deck.”
I think of how many times since meeting Juliet that I’ve demanded this or that from her, and feel a faint flush of dismay.
“They also hate it when you’re overly dominating. Strong and confident is one thing, but caveman-like domination is another. Except in bed. Dominance is allowed in bed. Outside the bedroom, it’s a no-no. Oh, and don’t be condescending. That will make a woman want to set fire to your face and put it out with a hammer. Let’s see, what else?”
“It doesn’t matter what else. I’m already doomed.”
He ignores me and continues. “Don’t explain something to her unless she specifically asks for an explanation.”
“Like what, for instance?”
“Like anything. Economics. Parallel parking. How to correctly load the dishwasher.”
“Why is an explanation bad?”
“Who knows? It just is. They even have a word for it: mansplaining. It drives