Kissed by a Rose: A Dead Roses Novel

by Workman, RaShelle

  He doesn’t hide his laughter this time. “I know. I can smell them from here.”

  “Well, why did you let me order them?”

  He shrugs. “I thought you knew what you were doing.” He moves to get one of the waiter’s attention. The guy notices and comes over. He’s wearing black pants, a white shirt, red bow tie, and a red vest.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Cole picks up the plate of snails and hands them to the waiter. “Please take these away. The lady,” he indicates me, “has changed her mind.”

  The waiter nods. “No problem, Mr. Morrison.” He takes the plate and turns to me. “Would you care for anything else?”

  “No, thank you. I’m good.” I can’t help fiddling with the napkin in my lap, folding and unfolding it.

  “Very well.” He walks away.

  “You sure you don’t want something else?” Cole places an outstretched hand on the table and wiggles his fingers. He’s asking if he can hold my hand, and I happily comply. His fingers entwine with mine, making my skin prickle, my whole body vibrate. It’s as though nothing else exists but his hand and mine. “Rosie?”

  I snap out of it. “Huh?”

  He snickers. “Nothing.” His thumb is caressing my inner wrist. “What do you think of this place?”

  “It’s nice,” I say, clearing my throat.

  A little too nice, I don’t add. It’s super fancy. Thick white linen tablecloths cover each rounded table, adored with red roses arranged into large centerpieces. The silver is real. The plates are made of china. And the napkins are thicker than my bath towels. A ten-piece orchestra is playing Pachelbel Canon in D. The bass begins, then the violins and violas along with the cello. A beautiful round of notes. I can’t help but close my eyes and listen. Even though this piece of music is considered mainstream classical, it’s always been one of my favorites. I focus on each note. The violins play staccato on the E string while the viola and second violins continue the recurring round.

  The gut-wrenching pain in my stomach that never fully goes away calms slightly at the music. I take a deep breath. Cole squeezes my hand, and I open my eyes.

  “Everything okay?” His brows are pinched together. Worry presses his lips into a frown.

  “Yes, just listening. I love this song.”

  He wipes his mouth. “I like it too.”

  A different waiter brings our main course. He seems familiar. “Here you are.” He sets a plate in front of me.

  Cole moves his appetizer of minestrone soup. The waiter places a plate in front of him.

  “Would you like some fresh Parmesan on your Chicken Marsala?” he asks me politely.

  “Sure.”

  He begins grating. “Tell me when.”

  “That’s good,” I say after a few spins of the grater.

  “And for you, sir?”

  “No thanks, Evan.” Cole smirks. “You’re really laying it on thick, cuz.”

  Evan’s eyes go wide. “Just putting on a good show.” He slaps Cole on the back before looking at me. “I can’t believe you’re little Rosie Hansen. Lard Rose. You used to be chunky around the middle. Not any more though. You’re stunning.”

  I look down at my plate. Heat is rising up my neck and covering my cheeks. A lot of kids called me Lard Rose. One thing about Bellam elementary I don’t miss. And now I remember Evan. Never did like him. But for Cole’s sake, I try to be nice. “Thanks, I guess.” I pick up my fork and spin it in my noodles.

  “That’ll be all, Evan.” I hear the controlled anger in Cole’s voice.

  “Come on. I want—”

  “Get out of here and leave us alone,” Cole snarls, keeping his voice low. “Or I’m going to tell Uncle you’re sucking at your job.”

  I glance up in time to see Evan grind his jaws.

  “Fine.” He walks away.

  I watch, wondering about him. He’s a couple of years older than we are and always got Cole into trouble. The only reason he didn’t end up in juvenile detention is because of Cole’s dad. It paid to be related to the chief of police.

  I shake my head at that thinking. I don’t want to go there. Not right now. Instead I look at Cole, admiring him. He’s wearing dark jeans, a gray shirt unbuttoned at the neck, and a navy-blue jacket. He looks exquisite, not as dressed up as everyone else, but gorgeous. Everyone seems to know him, and I wonder if he brings all of his dates here. I push the thought away. I heard his anger when he spoke to Evan. Cole’s protecting me. I can’t help but like the way it warms my insides, makes me feel cared for. I’m going to focus on that.

  “Sorry about my cousin,” Cole says, playing with my hand still lying on the table. “Do you remember him?”

  “Kind of,” I say because I don’t want to have to lie about how I feel about the guy.

  “He’s pretty cool once you get to know him.”

  “I’m sure,” I say, pulling my hand away.

  The way his cousin acted, so flippant about the awful nickname, I don’t buy it. I’m not sure I’m ready to be back in Cole’s world, even as much as I want to be with him. Maybe this isn’t a good idea.

  “Okay, yeah, he’s pretty much always a jerk. Most of the time I choose to ignore it.” He cuts into his medium-rare steak sticks it in his mouth, and chews. “But I’m sorry. He’s like a brother to me and sometimes I forget what he’s like until I see him through someone else’s eyes.”

  “It’s okay.” I think of Gina and her issues. We’ve only known each other a few weeks and I consider her family. But if my aunt and uncle met her, they’d probably have me switch rooms.

  “You going to try your chicken?”

  “Yep.” I cut into the chicken, then add some sauce and noodles before sticking the bine in my mouth. After chewing a few times, I smile. “It’s good.”

  “I know, right? Uncle David runs the best restaurant in Wyoming.”

  I nod. Swallow, and focus on my plate. Talk of his family is making me uncomfortable.

  “Did I hear my name being spoken in vain?” A man with dark hair, silver dusting his sideburns, and dark eyes walks up to the table. He’s an older version of Evan with a little paunch. His forehead is broad, and his face is stern.

  Cole stands, clapping his uncle on the back. The man does the same to Cole. I try to smile, but don’t quite make it. My heart starts to race.

  Finally, they stop embracing and his uncle turns to me. My breath catches in my throat. I’m not sure why. He sticks out his hand.

  “You must be Rosie Hansen. I’m David Morrison. Nice to meet you.” He has an easy smile and a deep timber to his voice. Likeable like his brother.

  I rise and take his outstretched hand. It’s warm. “Nice to meet you too.”

  His smile falters slightly, and he drops my hand. “I’ll let the two of you get back to your dinner.”

  “Thanks,” Cole says. “The food is delicious, as always.”

  Cole’s uncle turns his gaze on me, and I see a flicker of coldness in his eyes. “You didn’t like the escargot?”

  I glance at Cole for help. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it; I didn’t even try it. My stomach roiled at the thought.

  Thankfully, Cole steps in. “She didn’t know what it was. I should’ve told her. It’s my fault.”

  His uncle raises a dismissive hand. “Nonsense, boy. Think nothing of it.” He gives me a final glance before walking away.

  I feel my head tilt in confusion, and I sit.

  Cole does the same. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”

  “Don’t worry. My uncle is a little on the odd side.” He shrugs and goes back to his food.

  I try to do the same, but it tastes like powder in my mouth.

  “Why did you start playing the piano?” Cole asks, as though everything is normal.

  I want it to be normal. I do. He’s asked a basic question. Lots of people have asked the same one over the years. None were Cole, though. The son of a murderer. The reason I no longer live with my parents. Never got a chance to have m
y father teach me to drive, or have my mom help me get ready for my first date—or first anything. They’re gone because his dad killed them. They no longer exist because of his father.

  Another super attack is coming on. I feel it, sense it. My hands shake and my bottom lip trembles. I stand, knocking my chair over. “I-I—oh my gosh, I have to go.” I throw my napkin on the table and stand, pushing back the chair.

  “Rosie?” Shock contorts his face and he stands too. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m sorry, but I made a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.” My hands tremble. I can’t do this. Why did I think I could? I push past waiters and patrons. Brush past Cole’s uncle and stumble out the front door. The night air is warm, and shivers run up and down my back. I bend over, putting my hands on my knees, and inhale deep breaths, like a fish out of water.

  That’s what I am.

  I don’t know how I thought dating Cole, or kissing Cole, or doing anything else with Cole was a good idea. It isn’t.

  Cole is suddenly beside me. “Rosie?” He says my name with exasperated concern.

  I scan his face, recognize the frustration in the lines and furrows. He reminds me vaguely of his uncle.

  When his eyes find mine, his face relaxes. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  I want to remain unruffled, but I’m not. I’m seriously ruffled. “Just a lot. Okay? There’s a lot going on in here and I can’t.” I walk away, but immediately turn back, running into his outstretched arms.

  “Why? Did I do something?” he asks, his breath in my hair.

  “Yes! No.” I sag against him. “You don’t understand.”

  He kisses the top of my head. With those lips. Gorgeous lips. “Tell me, then.” His hands are gently massaging my back, sending traitorous bolts of desire through my body.

  I press my head against his chest and breathe in his aftershave and clean laundry and a little garlic.

  “Rosie?”

  “Ugh, it’s nothing.” I can’t tell him. I don’t want him to know his dad is a murderer. I don’t want him to feel bad. “It’s happening again, like the other day.”

  “A super attack?”

  I nod my head. “It sounds more ominous than it is, but I need to rest.”

  “Come on, then. Let me take you home.”

  “‘Kay.”

  He drives me to Irvine Hall without saying a word. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s concentrating or if his mind is elsewhere, but I can’t help admiring his profile, the way he holds himself, his strong jaw, and long lashes. The quiet of the ride has me feeling calmer. The panic is mostly gone, just a slight rumble.

  “What are you looking at?” he asks, surprising me.

  “You,” I respond simply, unembarrassed that I’ve been caught.

  A big grin fills his handsome face.

  After he puts the Jeep in park, he runs around to my side and opens my door. “Take my hand.”

  I do, enjoying the heat of his fingers against my skin. When my feet touch the ground, he kisses me, a quick but tender kiss.

  I lean into him, kiss him back with fervor.

  “You’re a quick study,” Cole says, playfully when we release each other.

  I perk up. “Ya think?”

  “I know.” He taps the tip of my nose with his finger. I get the implication behind his words. He knows because he’s made out with a lot of girls, just like Gina said. I’m not sure whether to think he’s complimented or insulted me. He kisses me again, this time for longer, and I wrap my arms around his waist.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lover Girl. Should we meet in the practice room at five? Professor Jenkins gave us a standing reservation.”

  I quickly do a mental scan through my day. “I’d like that. But don’t call me Lover Girl. Please.”

  “Fine. I’ll stick with Freckles, even though they seem to have vanished.” He walks away, then turns back.

  I try to think of something witty to say. When we were younger, I called him Brace Face and Frizz Head. Neither of those apply now. Words like “hottie” and “gorgeous” enter my mind. But then, like he said, the small smattering of freckles that used to adorn my face are gone. Then I get a stroke of genius.

  “I guess Freckles is better. See ya, Pretty Boy.”

  He busts out laughing. “By the way, I have your music. From the other day. I’ll bring it.” He winks.

  I’d completely forgotten about the music. “That’d be great,” I say, slapping my forehead.

  He chuckles, gets back in the car and rolls down the window on the passenger side. “Anytime.”

  * * *

  Cole

  “She seems nice,” Evan says, closing his apartment door. He zips his jacket, pulls out a pack of cigarettes, flicks the lighter, and ignites one. The air is freezing, the sky clear, and millions of stars shine overhead. Even the Milky Way is visible. Evan inhales and exhales, walks over to the old balcony, where I’m standing, and leans his elbows on the wooden railing.

  “She is.” I lean next to him, stealing the cigarette from his hand and taking a drag.

  There’s no need to clarify. I know he’s talking about Rosie. I take another drag and hand it back, enjoying the mellow buzz that steals over my body.

  “But,” Evan inhales, “she seems like a lot of drama.”

  I let out an exasperated breath. “That she is.”

  “So why are you putting up with it?” His eyes narrow and he searches my face. “You’ve got girls lining up to be with you. In fact, Simone asks me about you at least once a day.” He shakes his head. “I don’t get it.” He hands me the cigarette. “What do women see in you?” He eyes me as though he really wants to know.

  I look away, out into the dazzling night. I can’t say what I’m thinking, which is that they like me because I don’t treat them like a piece of meat. “She…” I close my eyes. Remember all the times she was there for me growing up and the awful or not-so-awful fact that I love her.

  The feeling has never gone away. I also remember the many times she took care of me. I never had a mother, and with Rosie around I hardly missed her. At least not that much.

  Now that we’re grown, it’s not about the way she took care of me. It’s about the hurt I see on her face. The way she tries to hide it, block it away, and I feel this undeniable need to take care of her, if she’ll let me. When we’re together, it’s like she’s the Earth, and I’m bound to her by gravity. Even if I’d wanted to break away, I can’t. There’s something inside me, holding me to her.

  “Dude.” He shoves his shoulder into mine.

  I run my hands through my hair. Open my eyes and stare at the vivid stars.

  “She never returned your phone calls. She didn’t answer a single letter.” He flicks the dead cigarette from my fingers.

  I watch it fall to the pavement below. “You know how, after my father died, I was kind of a wreck? Doing stuff I shouldn’t.”

  Evan nods. “Yeah, those were good times. My dad had to pull some serious strings to get you out of a couple of messes.”

  We laugh. Punch each other a few times.

  “It was like ants were crawling around inside my ribs. I thought I would go crazy and the feeling wouldn’t go away, no matter what I did.”

  Evan lights another cigarette. “Okay. What does that have to do with… Rosie?”

  I take another drag. “She’s special.” I can’t say more than that. He wouldn’t understand anyway.

  He snorts. “I thought that’s what playing piano was.”

  I nod. “Yeah, it helps. But with her, I feel…” I graze my hands through my hair. “Whole.” I laugh. “It sounds stupid. Even I know that.”

  Evan takes back his cigarette and sucks in. He’s staring at me like I’ve grown three heads. “Sure, bro. Whatever.”

  I slam my hands on the banister and straighten up. “Yeah, whatever. Hey, did you ever solve that problem with those guys?” I hadn’t seen them around in a while and I hoped so. They were thugs. I had
no doubt they would keep their promises, unless Evan paid them. I wanted to ask him what it was about, but I refrained then, and I do it now.

  “It’s all good, cuz.”

  “Sweet. Want a drink?”

  “Why not?” He follows me inside my apartment.

  21

  Wing Woman

  Rosie

  The rest of the week goes by in a blur of classes, homework, practice—piano practice and kissing Cole practice—more homework and hanging out with Gina. Repeat. By Friday night I’m exhausted. All I want to do is fall asleep, but I’ve promised Gina I’ll go to a party tonight. Be her wing woman, which basically means I’ve got her back and will keep her out of trouble. I’m nervous about it. If she drinks too much, I don’t know that I’ll be able to stop her antics.

  Cole is going to meet us there. I’ve told him I need to focus on Gina, and he understands. He says he’ll keep an eye on her too. Very thoughtful. Very un-chauvinistic.

  “Are you ready?” I ask, only a little impatient.

  Gina has changed her outfit for the sixth time. I’ve never seen her so undecided.

  “Crap. I don’t know what’s wrong.” She kicks off a pair of boots and doesn’t put them back in their box.

  I walk over. “Gina, what are you looking for?” I pat her knee.

  She throws her hands in the air. “That’s the problem. I’m not sure.”

  I walk to her closet and look through it. There’s a pair of jeans. Tags are still on them. I pull them off the hanger. “What about these?”

  “Gross. I won’t wear…” She stops and grabs them. “Okay, why not.”

  She rips off the tags and her black leggings. Tosses them on the floor. Then pulls on the jeans. They fit like a second skin, tight all the way down to her ankles. The black shirt she’s wearing fits snugly. It doesn’t cover all of her stomach and exposes her belly button, her hipbones. She twirls in front of the mirror.

  “I like it.” She runs over to a shoebox, flings it open, and pulls out her ankle boots, the same ones she wore the first night we went to a party.