The Vanity of Roses

by Lily White

  After lunch, he’d excused himself to tend to business, and I was alone again, wandering the halls, attempting to remember a life lived inside what felt like a giant dollhouse.

  That was the truth of my childhood when it was stripped down to the barest bones: I was nothing more than a living doll to my father, a trinket to be admired, and while I knew my mother loved me, she was always too busy with planning the next party or spending her time with whatever guests happened to be here at any given time.

  I spent most of my childhood alone when I didn’t have friends visiting. Alone except for one boy who never looked at me and refused to talk. Thoughts of him kept floating into my mind as I wandered halls and explored empty rooms, my meandering path with no clear destination, eventually landing me in the place I’d last stood before my life was upended.

  Draped in shadow in the large empty spaces where the low light from wall sconces didn’t quite reach, the ballroom was exactly as I remembered it.

  Three large chandeliers hung in a line down the center. Even unlit, they were impressive, the crystal prisms dripping like liquid diamonds off the multilevel frames. I walked slowly beneath them, staring up, and recalled the beads of rainbow color that would mark the ground when all the bulbs fired to life.

  In the center of the room, I stopped and turned a slow circle, realizing just how big this space was, so large that from the middle, you couldn’t clearly see one side or the other. Yet, it had never seemed as massive to me when I was younger. Maybe I was simply accustomed to it, the lavishness lost on a child who never understood that beyond the walls of her home, there were people suffering and starving.

  Wealth does that to you, I assumed, it fastens blinders to your eyes and prevents you from seeing the truth. It whittles away at your ability to understand that while you walk on marble and dress in silk, there is an entire world of people who can barely afford shoes.

  I’d only experienced that type of worry for a few short months, and it had been enough to send me running back to a house that I believed might comfort me. I’d chosen the blinders because I wasn’t savvy or strong, my makeup not quite sturdy enough to live through hardship.

  It made me wonder if my family’s wealth had crippled me more than I understood.

  While standing in place, I tried to imagine what the ballroom must have looked like on that night, tried to understand the silence that must have suffocated the walls after all those people had been slaughtered. I tried to picture the bodies lying where they’d fallen, tried to experience the fear they must have felt when bullets were fired from a psychopath’s gun.

  It was a nightmare I thought I remembered: the scent of blood, the sound of screaming, the panic racing through swollen veins and across fractured bones.

  But I wasn’t here, despite what my mind told me. Or else I’d be dead like them. Yet, I had no idea how I’d escaped. The memory was as lost to me as my friends had been that night.

  How had one man managed to kill so many without someone stopping him before he’d managed to kill them all?

  I spun again and was disturbed to see a man standing in the distance silently watching me.

  Positioned in a corner of the room where shadow concealed him, he was a silhouette that I could barely make out. I assumed he was security given the breadth of his shoulders and his height, an imposing figure that stood perfectly still and didn’t say a word in introduction.

  It was obvious he saw me, and he must have known that I saw him, but he didn’t move my direction or attempt conversation. He simply stood for a minute before turning to leave the room.

  I was beginning to hate this place all over again. Hate the ghosts that still lingered and the changes made during the time I was gone. Five floors, three above ground and two below, and I’d only managed to explore the same areas I’d known as a child.

  In appearance, the Rose estate was the same as I remembered, but there was something more, something so vastly different that I found it difficult to put my finger on the pulse of it or taste its flavor.

  A home should always make you feel welcome, but if anything, I couldn’t shake the thought that this mansion had become a cage, and I’d been stupid enough to walk inside it willingly.

  Hurrying to my suite of rooms after that, I tossed and turned all night, my dreams filled with images of dead bodies and rivers of blood, of a faceless man walking within it, always watching as he pursued me.

  I woke up on the third day to a noise that startled me. It ripped me from a particularly nasty nightmare, my mind not yet processing I was awake when I opened my eyes to see a maid dusting beneath a couch in a small seating area near my fireplace. She was completely oblivious to me, her movements frantic and expression frazzled.

  I overreacted to the unexpected company, my terror from the nightmare and the feeling of being trapped combining into a fleeting bout of anger that caused me to snap at her for disrupting my sleep.

  “What are you doing in here so early?”

  The woman spun on her heel in my direction, her blond hair a mess around her head. Blue eyes rounded in fear when she saw me sitting up in bed, her lips parting and closing again as if she wanted to answer but couldn’t.

  Her panic should have washed mine away, but it only made me angrier for some reason. I felt like I was in a strange place, my grogginess from sleep not fading away fast enough. I should have apologized for bitching at her for doing her job, but all I could do was yell, “Get out!”

  Tears burst from her eyes, and she turned to flee the room. But as she passed a small writing desk tucked near the door, her elbow hit a crystal vase of flowers, the delicate arrangement of lilies and roses tipping over to crash on the floor.

  The maid squeaked in fear, yet still rushed out, and I pushed myself up higher until fully seated, regret washing over me until I called out, “Wait! Come back!”

  She must not have heard me. Groaning, I spoke as if she were still in the room.

  “I’m sorry for being rude.”

  It was no use. The maid had already run off, and I was left feeling like a raging bitch for snapping at her. Yes, it was early to barge into a woman’s bedroom, but she was just doing her job, and I had no right to make her feel bad about it.

  Burying my face in my hands, I shook away the remaining dread I felt from my broken sleep and nightmares. I took a deep breath and lifted my head to stare at the shattered vase and scattered flowers.

  The least I could do was clean up the mess since it had been my foul mood that caused it.

  Throwing the blankets off, I padded barefoot into the bathroom to grab a towel and a small wastebasket, then made my way to the mess.

  My knees cracked when I crouched to use the towel to mop up the water before I gathered the flowers into a pile and began picking up the largest shards of broken glass.

  Callan

  Lisbeth was as beautiful as I remembered. More so, maybe, now that time had scrubbed what remained of the baby fat from her face and had sharpened her cheekbones and defined her face.

  When she first arrived, I’d stood watching as Franklin led her in, the air held in my lungs for fear that just my breathing would alert her to my presence.

  Purposely hidden in shadow, I’d taken that first glance, my hands tightening on the railing with each step she took inside the house. I could hear the wood crack beneath my fingers, could imagine the enamel of my teeth cracked the same way for how hard my jaw had clenched.

  She really was alive and well, her pretty face a wash of relief as she returned to her childhood home.

  It was as if I could hear the thoughts in her head, the promises she made to herself to retake her pedestal among the Rose family, the plans she had to return to a lap of luxury she did not deserve.

  Those thoughts only made me more determined to slap her down for her part in my mother’s death.

  Did she think I was dead too?

  The amount of self-control it took to remain on that balcony looking down at her was more tha
n I thought I had in me.

  But then she’d glanced up and froze in place, her shoe skidding over the floor as she tripped. For a moment, I thought the game was already lost and she’d recognized the man staring down.

  Only when confusion flooded her expression did I know the shadows hadn’t given up their secrets.

  I left before she could take a closer look, uninterested in whatever web Franklin was spinning around her. I needed a few days to process what it meant to have Lisbeth back, and I’d retreated to my bedroom to think.

  Knowing it would be more fun to let her believe all would return to normal before snatching the illusion away, I’d settled my aggression into place, trapping it like a hunter would a feral animal.

  It wouldn’t be too long, this beginning.

  Hell, it had already been ten years. I knew I could hold out for a few more days.

  Those days passed, one after the other, and while Lisbeth wandered the mansion aimlessly, I followed like a damn stalker, using the service stairs and utility hallways to stay out of sight. Every so often, Lisbeth would glance over her shoulder or turn fully to where I was standing, but I didn’t allow her to catch me in the act.

  Not until she’d stood in the ballroom, at least.

  Not until she returned to the scene of a crime that had her name written all over it.

  Although I didn’t have the chance to find my mother’s body that night, I’d learned where she died, and I stood in the exact spot to watch Lisbeth survey the room.

  When she noticed me, I knew she couldn’t see my face. My lips curved when she startled, her hand flying to her chest as if she could hide her heart from my sight, an organ I knew was cold as stone.

  Over a hundred people dead, and for some reason I didn’t yet know, she had been the cause of it.

  Beside me, Isabelle stirred, her brown hair sweeping across my chest, one leg bent over my thighs where she’d cuddled up next to me in sleep. It was rare I let any woman stay in my bed overnight, but I’d been lost over the last few days, my body using the woman beneath me while my mind was somewhere else.

  Isabelle was a favorite among the fighters but a poor substitute for the woman my thoughts had been focused on. Still, she’d filled the need I had, the desire for sensual violence, her whimpers and cries just enough to sate the beast inside me.

  While she’d fallen asleep satisfied to have played her role, I’d sat against the headboard and allowed my thoughts to return to a time in this house when I’d been nothing more than a poor servant’s kid who was treated like a dog.

  You’re useless!

  Clean it up!

  Do as I say, or I’ll have you and your mother thrown out!

  How can you stand being so dumb?

  On and on and on, her words tumbled through my brain, their ugliness driving my resolve to punish her, the memories leading me to enjoy the time I had to perfect my games.

  Lisbeth would learn eventually that she wouldn’t escape the person she’d been when we were young. Every word she’d spoken was a price she would pay, a debt I would extract for a particular value until the ledger was balanced between us.

  Those thoughts were in my head now as a whimper drew my attention down to notice my hand had fisted Isabelle’s hair.

  “It hurts,” she complained on a whisper.

  “Probably because your mouth isn’t where it should be.”

  The corner of her lip curled, her long, languid body moving next to mine as she turned just enough to stare up at me.

  “Is that an order?”

  When is it not? I thought, uninterested in the games she played frequently.

  Isabelle had perfected the role of obedient plaything, her fake tears practiced enough to fool the eye and satisfy the hunger of men still dressed in the blood of their kill. For me, it did nothing. There was only one place that drove my pulse into a heady beat, only one arena that sharpened my gaze and honed my senses.

  I hadn’t fought in over a month, and already I could feel the violence building up in me, the reckless need to deliver pain while accepting it back, to hear the chorus of bloodthirsty voices rising up with the demand to kill.

  There was money to be made in the underground, and the Rose family was raking it in.

  My fingers fisted tighter. Isabelle’s face flushing white from the pain, her lips falling open, silent for once. Without another complaint, she slid down to kneel between my legs, her hand fisting my cock to bring it to life, the tip of her tongue teasing the tip until the heat of her mouth took it in.

  She wasn’t just practiced in fake tears and sensual games, Isabelle was also the only woman who could practically swallow me, her throat so relaxed that she wouldn’t choke when I fucked her face.

  My head fell back as my hips pumped again and again, desperation building inside me for a release. It was only when Lisbeth came to my mind that my body responded to any degree, my hatred pouring down Isabelle’s throat when that relief finally came.

  My silence while she licked my cock clean had been the only dismissal she’d needed. Quietly crawling from bed, she gathered her things, barely covering her body as she fled my room to run off and do whatever the hell it was that kept her busy all day.

  I tucked an arm behind my head and wondered when Lisbeth would notice the changes in the house.

  The business interests hadn’t changed for the family, only the proof of them that ran the house. While Marcus was alive, he’d kept the truth of his ventures far from Lisbeth’s notice, but there had been no reason to keep up appearances following the ball.

  At any given time, you could wander down the wrong hall and encounter one of our fighters doing whatever he wanted to one of the whores. The mansion had lost the delicate sensibilities of Lisbeth’s youth and replaced it with the obvious truth that the family wasn’t as prim and proper as most would expect. Our surface businesses only a disguise for the crimes that ran just beneath.

  I almost laughed to think what the little bitch’s reaction would be when she left the safety of the upper floors to discover the changes that had occurred in her absence.

  With that thought, I forced myself out of bed and into the shower, my palms pressing against the tile as I lowered my head and let the hot water roll down me. I wondered how many days I could continue being Lisbeth’s shadow before my patience wore out.

  Two full days and I still had no clue what I planned to do with her.

  Obviously, this couldn’t go on much longer. Hiding in my own house was a lot more challenging than I’d thought. I had businesses to run and a workout regimen that I’d avoided since her return. Volatile energy was building up to a breaking point inside me that not even Isabelle’s attention had been able to dampen.

  I needed to make a decision before I lost my patience entirely and tossed Lisbeth out.

  Finishing my shower, I dried off and pulled on a pair of jeans and a plain black T-shirt. There were no meetings today. I had nowhere to be, so there was no point in dressing in anything nicer. It made me laugh to think that at one point in my life I’d wished for the fancy clothes and the social status that matched, and now I couldn’t stand being confined in restrictive collars and pressed pants. I hated just about everything that came with this life.

  All I wanted was to walk into the pit and fight, but it wouldn’t be soon enough to release that tension. Our regular weekly schedule had been suspended for maintenance following a pipe burst that flooded the arena and made it a mud bath. Although the damage had been repaired, we’d lost time acclimating the fighters to the environment and training them.

  I left my room and wound my way to the servant halls en route to the kitchen. Wanting to eat breakfast before Lisbeth woke up, I rounded a corner to take the back stairs down when I heard muffled crying just outside the halls leading to the east wing.

  Curious, I turned to glance down and saw the same maid from a few days before crouched against a wall, her shoulders shaking and legs bent against her chest. She’d buried her fac
e into her knees and wrapped her arms around her shins while sobbing. Holly, I think her name was. A muscle ticked in my jaw wondering why Edward had hired this girl. The timid ones never lasted long, especially when up against Gretchen’s demands. He knew that. But that didn’t mean I could leave her to flounder and cry by herself.

  Stepping up to her, I crouched in front of her to reach out a hand. “Are you okay?”

  Her head snapped up, blond hair flying around her face, pure panic tightening her features as tears slipped down her cheeks.

  “Mr. Rose.”

  Struggling as if to stand up, the girl was terrified that I’d found her.

  “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be crying while I’m at work, it’s just-“

  Her voice trailed off, and she collapsed against the wall again, unsure how to behave now that I was here.

  “Just what?”

  If Gretchen didn’t lay off this poor girl, she’d likely have a heart attack from the stress of the job.

  “Nothing,” she tried to say as if to throw me off, but I needed to know what had upset her.

  “Did you get in trouble for something?”

  I knew I was the last person she would want to speak with about any problems. My presence was intimidating. Not just my size, or my reputation, but also the title I’d been given as head of the family.

  Most of the staff didn’t know I had a soft spot for them and often came to their defense behind the scenes when either Edward or Gretchen demanded one be let go.

  “I broke a vase,” she admitted, shame painting her face. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Attempting a smile as if that alone could appease her, I weakly joked, “You do realize we have hundreds of them, right? Just clean it up and replace it. Gretchen will never know.”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s not Gretchen.”

  Releasing a shaky breath, Holly confessed, “I was in Miss Rose’s room. She was sleeping, but I thought I could clean a little without waking her. I need to keep to my schedule. But I guess I was too loud, and she woke up, screamed at me to get out, and I broke the vase on accident.”