“Trouble in paradise?” A familiar British accent and confident swagger chase away all my thoughts of Rome. Rain splashes on the hem of my dress as he takes a seat on the curb next to me.

I wipe my nose on my sleeve noisily, which is definitely not attractive, but having snot running out of your nose is even less attractive. “Whatever floats your boat, Leo.”

I expect him to come back at me with a snarky response, but instead there’s just the sound of rain pattering on the cement. Or at least I think it’s still raining. I blink. The tears in my eyes do not want to go away now that Leo’s here.

We sit there for a few—awkward—moments until I feel him move closer to me. My breath catches, and I can feel the warmth of his own in my ear. I shiver. I should not feel like this around him, not when I have Rome.

But do I still have Rome, after tonight?

“What did that arsehole do to you?” Leo whispers into my ear.

Oh my God. All he did was whisper seven words, and my body’s acting like he kissed me with the intensity of a hurricane and the passion of a hundred roses and—

No. All he did was ask me a question.

“Uhm,” I swallow hard, trying to look unfazed by his effect on me. I meet his honey colored eyes—or are they amber?—and say in my strongest voice, “It doesn’t concern you.”

He looks hurt. “Evalie, how could you even say that?” Our faces are still close, close enough to touch. My heart is a hummingbird. “How many times have you cried because of him? How many times have I had to refrain from beating him up because he made you cry? How many times am I going to have to go home and cry because you choose him over and over even though he does this to you? How many times more are you going to push me away?”

Oh my God. My lip trembles from the cold, and I imagine I look like a mess. Straggly, rain-damp hair, puffy red eyes, and a snotty nose. But Leo is still looking at me like I am the sun and he has been without light for ten years.

“What are you saying?” I whisper to him, my heart thudding against my chest in hopes that it can break free and jump into Leo’s hands.

He inhales. “I’m saying…” He stands up and extends a hand. “Dance with me.”

“What?” I ask, standing up. I motion to my soggy dress and wobbly heels. “Wearing this? I’m the middle of the night?”

Leo nods, dead serious. “Don’t worry, darling. You look gorgeous as ever.”

My traitorous cheeks flame at the compliment. I still refrain from taking his hand, which is being held toward me invitingly. “Thank you, but I’m not worried about how I look. I’m more concerned about what’s going to happen when Rome comes outside and sees his girlfriend with—” I stop myself. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

I turn away before I can change my mind, but I can’t even take one step before Leo’s grabbed my hand and spun me into him with the skill and precision of a magician.

“Are you really going to go back to him?” He whispers, and if I hadn’t known better I would’ve thought he sounded jealous.

"I don't know," | blurt, and I realize l truly don’t. Why should I go back to Rome, when Leo makes me feel so much better? It's like why eat a slice when you can have the whole damn thing?

"You're right,” I say, looking him straight in those beautiful eyes. "Why should I go back to him when I can have you?"

His eyes light up with the fire of a thousand suns. The burning desire of a scarlet flame.

But still, he says, "Are you sure, Eva? I mean... I'm sure; you don't know how long I’ve been wanting this, but—”

I shut him up with the most wonderful, desirable,

to-die-for kiss.

It is curiosity, spun sugar, and splashing in puddles. It is velvet, sweet candy, the feeling of a blanket when you’re cold.

He is the hottest flame, the coldest snow. He is the wettest rain, the sunset’s glow. He is everything and he is nothing. He is Leo, and now he is mine.