Tropi Girl’s Reviews > The Dead Romantics > Status Update

“Always. I’m yours, Florence Day,” he said, and kissed my knuckles.
Those words made my heart soar. “Ardently?”
“Fervently. Zealously. Keenly. Passionately yours.”
“And I’m yours,” I whispered…”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and gave me a sad sort of pleading look. It twisted my gut. “I want to be with you—but not like this. I want to grow old with you. I want to wake up every morning and see you on the pillow beside me. I want to cherish every moment of our lives and—”

No because why is this getting soooo sentimental?

“‘Love is a celebration,’ ” I read, my voice wobbling, “ ‘of life and death. It stays with you. It lingers, my darlings, long after I’m gone. Listen for me when the wind rushes through the trees. I love you.’ ”

“I would drive you crazy,” I commented.
“Florence, you already do.”

BEN. UGHH 😩🤧🥺🔥

“Romance isn’t a sprint, Florence. It’s a marathon. You start slow. With your blouse, one button at a time. You said I was meticulous, but I would show you just how meticulous I could be.” His fingers mimed undoing the buttons of my blouse. “For each button, I’d plant another kiss on your neck, your collarbone, and finally your perfect breasts . . .”

BEN THE GHOST. STOP ITTTTTT!

“Love wasn’t a whisper in the quiet night.
It was a yelp into the void, screaming that you were here.”

“For having the audacity to trust someone you loved unconditionally?” he asked, and the anger was gone from his voice. It was softer now, warm like amber.

Awww BEN!!! 🥺🫶🏻😭

“That bastard,” he repeated a little louder. “Of all the fucking shitty things to do to you, he ruined your memories. Things you told him in private—in trust. That fucking dead-eyed narcissistic asshole.” Behind him, a vase full of orchids began to rattle. I didn’t think Ben knew he was doing it. “The next time I see him I’m going to—”
“Whoa, tiger, you’re dead.”
“Minor inconvenience.”

“And then I came into your life and declared that romance was dead. No wonder you hated me.”
“I didn’t hate you,” he clarified. “I was caught off guard. Here was a beautiful young woman declaring that romance was dead.”
“I’m not that pretty, Ben.”
He gave me a strange look. His eyelashes were long, and the ocher flecks in his brown eyes glimmered in the dim evening light. “But you are.”

“So—what—you believe in love but just not for you? You believe in romance and grand romantic gestures and happily ever afters but you think there is something so fundamentally wrong with you that you don’t deserve it?”
“It’s better than not believing in it at all, isn’t it?” he snapped back.”

Touchè.