by Belle Brooks
Just go to her, you punk. I don’t. Instead, I take a break and roll ice into tea towels so I can shove them against my swollen rib cage. The prick gave me a shellacking, and I’m not sure if it’s the way I chose to sit hunched over the breakfast bar or time passing, but they are bloody aching. With only two hands, I craft a way to keep the ice packs on my ribs so I can keep working. A long stretch of bandage to strap them in place will do the job. Problem is, I can’t wrap them on tight enough, and they slip out between the material of my shirt and the bandage every time I try.
“Caterina,” I bellow.
“Yes, Tank?”
I can’t see her, but I can hear her—she mustn’t be far.
“Can you come give me a hand with something, please?”
“Sure.”
No sooner do I re-roll the bandage into a cylinder, Caterina is standing within reach.
“What seems to be the problem?” Her smile is always filled with such a sense of care and purity.
“Sore ribs. Don’t ask.”
“Don’t need to. You had your arse handed to you in the driveway this morning, I was told.”
“Who? How?”
“Blocker. He was coming down to help, but Tessa told him to butt out.”
“Shit, hey?”
“This house is a really fun place to work—it’s almost as riveting as Days of our Lives.”
“What’s Days of—”
“A soap opera.” She giggles.
“You’re quite forward, Caterina … I think I like this about you.”
Her tanned cheeks are flushed.
“So, can you help?”
“Yes.”
“It’s okay. I’ll help him.”
Rose. Where did she come from?
Caterina winks before turning on her heel and offering Rose a smile in passing.
“You’re really hurt, aren’t you?” Rose doesn’t bat an eyelash.
“A bit sore. Nothing too bad.”
Her lips make a perfect O shape.
“Could you wrap this bandage around these ice packs so I can get some more work done?”
“Okay.” She seems oddly shy. Rose’s fingers brush mine as she retrieves the bandage from my outstretched hand. “Take off your shirt, please.”
“I’m not really up for another game of pool right now.”
She laughs, and it breaks an odd tension that was forming between us.
“No pool. It’s just better to have the ice packs against your skin without the barrier of your T-shirt.”
“Are you a nurse now?”
“Common sense, really?”
I’d say this is a smug reply, but Rose’s tone makes it seem logical.
When I stand slowly and move my hand to reach for my collar, a hellish pain rips through my rib cage, and I flinch as I let out a gasp.
“Here. Let me help.”
Now, my breath hitches in my throat, and as Rose steps closer to me, my heart leaps from my chest and lands behind my held breath.
Taking the seam of my T-shirt on either side, Rose stands in front of me, staring straight into my eyes. The connection I feel to her in this one look is stronger than any I’ve felt before in my life, even stronger than what I felt with Penny. I don’t want the connection broken because I’m enjoying this intense pull.
Rose stands on her tiptoes. I want to look down at her stretched legs, but this would mean taking my eyes from hers, and that is something I cannot do.
“Ready?” she breathes.
I nod.
Her knuckles skim my sides as she lifts the fabric until it parts from my body. I want to take her delicate fingers and splay them across my chest. I want her to touch every bit of my skin.
She gasps. It’s over-exaggerated.
“What’s wrong?” I croak.
I get a part of my wish, because without any explanation as to why, Rose places a soft touch to either side of my body, and I hold back my need to groan from the instant pleasure I feel.
“You’re bruised bad, really bad.”
“It’s normal after being kicked repeatedly, Rose.”
“It looks so …” She stops, skimming her nails from either rib cage until they meet in the middle of my stomach. “Finlay.” It’s a breathless deliverance of my name.
“Rose,” I moan as I place my finger under her chin and tip her head until I can gaze into her bottle green eyes.
“I’m sorry he did this to you.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is. It’s all my fault.”
Leaning down, I keep my lips hovering over hers. “It’s not your fault,” I repeat.
Rose closes the gap with a press of her head forwards. It’s a graze of her lips to mine, and I’m taken aback, there was no way I was expecting her to do so. I wish I hadn’t pulled away because the tears rushing down her cheeks make me instantly regret doing so.
“I need to go.”
“Don’t.”
“I … I … nee … need … to,” she stutters.
“I want to kiss you, Rose.”
“You can’t.” And with these parting words, she turns and runs, never glimpsing back.
I stand alone in the kitchen of my multimillion-dollar house, the plans for my dream business spread out in front of me. I have all the money in the world, but I want this woman more than any possession I could ever buy.
Chapter Nineteen
Rose
I haven’t seen Finlay since the moment I so foolishly pressed my lips to his. It was a huge mistake, and I haven’t had the courage to face him. Six hours from now, I have no choice but to do just this. The clock reads 9:00 a.m., and I have a 3:00 p.m. deadline to come good on our bet. Why did I make this silly agreement with him in the first place?
Lying on my bed, I stare at the patterned ceiling. There are decorative plastered cornices curled into hearts, and like their perfect design, I try to picture my own heart looking so beautiful, well-structured, and stable—my heart isn’t faring well. In fact, it has taken more than it can handle this past week. I’m more than confused.
My phone chimes, alerting me to a message, and as much as I want to stare in a trance and admire these perfect lines for the next six hours, I turn my eyes away and reach out across the comforter in retrieval of my phone.
Slade – Tonight. 8 p.m. I’m so glad you came to your senses, Roselette.
Came to my senses? More like I wasn’t given a choice. As my father said to me yesterday, “We all make mistakes, Bubula, and Slade made a mistake he is indeed sorry for. He’s a broken man without you. I know this for a fact, because I’ve sat with him. Look around your bedroom, Roselette—so many gifts and flowers he’s sent to you in apology. You need to go back to him … you need to do this for all of us.”
Oversized bouquets, teddy bears, and jewellery are apologies in my world. I hate it. I also hate that I made my own mistake with Finlay. Deciding not to reply to Slade for the moment, I open the thread of messages I’ve now saved under his name.
Finlay – Rose are you, okay?
Finlay – Don’t be upset. You didn’t do anything wrong.
Finlay – I know you’re reading these.
Finlay – I’ll see you on Saturday. Come to my place. 3 p.m.
Finlay – Rose, are you coming on Saturday?
Finlay – I’ll see you Saturday. I hope you’re okay.
I couldn’t reply. I really shouldn’t even stand at Finlay’s door today. After all, I’m an engaged woman, and he’s a playboy. Although, is he a playboy? I’m not sure if this statement is the truth. I’ve never seen him with a woman, but then again, I haven’t seen much of him to make an evaluation. Arrrgghhhh! I need to shut down my mind. I can’t take this.
Pulling the knitted throw over my head, I try to calm my rapid breathing and turn off my thoughts. It seems to be working, that is, until my message tone alerts me once more.
Staring at the gold sparkle case covering the back of the phone, I take one deep brea
th before turning the screen to face me.
Slade – Roselette, wear an emerald dress and the chandelier earrings I sent you this week. Also, I’d like you to wear a sweet-smelling perfume over a simple washed-smelling one. This is an important event—I need you to be looking your best.
Each teardrop skims my cheeks. Is this the release of my despair and disconnection to my own soul? When did my life become such a mess?
“Roselette, why are you crying?” Maranda’s voice is controlled and sweet.
Sitting upright, I dab my face with my fingertips and will my tears to halt. They don’t.
“Why are you crying?” Maranda climbs onto my bed. She doesn’t reach out and offer me any physical comfort. She only stares at me from a distance with curiosity.
“I’m tired,” I breathe.
“Tired.” She hitches her thin eyebrows high on her forehead.
“Yes. I’m being a silly woman.”
Her light pink lips stretch in a smile. “I was a silly woman myself this morning. You’re not alone.”
“You were?” I’m surprised.
“Sure. I was upset over a boy from the country club.”
“What did he do?”
“He doesn’t notice me, Roselette.” She fiddles with the collar of a white tennis shirt. My sister is fiddling with something … and we are not the fiddling type. Something is really bothering her.
“Who is it?” I position myself into a perfectly postured upright position.
“Bentley McKenzie. Daddy wants me to get close to him. Hard to do when I’m not even someone he sees.” She drops her chin, causing me to sigh.
The McKenzies are the latest freshly crisp bills in our community. I should be surprised, but I’m not. “Do you like him, though?”
She gasps. “What do you mean?”
“Like, are you attracted to him?”
Maranda’s eyes narrow, and she stares at me as if I’ve grown two heads and both are wearing crowns of dancing snakes.
“Do you like him?” I repeat with a softer tone.
“He’s good-looking. I don’t really know him. I’m sure I will, though. Daddy really wants—”
“Daddy. Daddy has a way of pushing you into the arms of certain bachelors. Maranda, you’ve not long turned twenty. There’s no hurry.”
“What are you talking about? Mumma needs to take you to the doctor, Roselette. I think you’ve gone and bumped your head. We’re only young for a short period … I’m running out of time. You’re twenty-two and have optimised your prime time to capture Slade.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to use me and Slade as anything to aspire to.”
Watching Maranda run her hands along the white pleated tennis skirt she’s wearing, I think back to my first instructions on claiming the eye of an appropriate man. I fear I looked just like Maranda does now. The person picked for me was Slade, and Maranda’s is clearly Bentley. It dawns on me we don’t get to choose our love—our love is chosen for us. Will Gabriella face the same fate in two years when she turns twenty?
“Roselette, can you please tell me Bentley will notice me and I’m good enough to be his date?” The lost puppy-dog look she displays screams her dissatisfaction.
“You are.” I slump, defeated.
Maranda smiles broadly. Her perfectly straight and whitened teeth sparkle and a gleam is present in her bright green eyes. “Tell me what you did to get Slade to notice you.”
Straightening my posture once more, I tip my chin upwards and morph back into the Roselette I was trained to be. “I’d love to, and I will, but for now I must find Mumma and have my outfit for tonight pressed.”
“Where are you going?”
“An event in Mainbridge, I thought, but I believe it was relocated to the country club last night. I overheard Daddy talking about the change. I don’t even know what this function is for, but I do know it’s important I look my best.”
Placing her hands over her heart, Maranda falls until her back rests against the mattress. “I envy you. Fancy events where everyone is all dressed up. I can’t wait until this is me.”
I force a strained giggle whilst rubbing away the last of my fallen tears. “They are dreamy.” I try desperately to contain my sarcasm. I believe I did well enough to conceal it.
“Maranda, you have a tennis lesson to be getting to. Hurry now, sweetheart.” Our mother graces us with her presence.
“Yes, Mumma.” It’s a knowing smile Maranda gifts me before practically skipping from my bedroom.
“Roselette, your father tells me—”
“Mumma. Sorry for the interruption. I’ve much to do today, and I’m running behind schedule.” I can’t stand to be around my parents right now. Any excuse is a good one. “Can you please have the staff steam one of my emerald green satin gowns for this evening? Slade has requested I wear this colour.”
“Of course.” A flash of worry crosses her face, but it’s quickly replaced with elation. Why did Mumma look at me in such a way?
My day starts with a piano lesson, followed by horse riding. Lunch is seabass and eggplant and once finished, I brush up on my Greek, since Slade and I will be travelling there at the end of the year. A quick change of clothing and I’m ready for yoga class, which takes place on the lawn. My sessions conclude here for the day, and I’m left after to freshen up and take the dreaded walk to meet Finlay. I’m not sure I can even go.
Chapter Twenty
Finlay
The hands on my watch read 2:00 p.m., and that’s my queue to leave the partially set-up motorcycle shop and head home.
“Okay, lads, I’m out of here. Sailor, can you check the sign is definitely being erected on Tuesday? And, Tardo, we need the VIN numbers off the motorbikes we have in stock logged into the computer system by Monday. Ask Petra if she’ll have it finished by then—if not, you’re going to have to help her. She’s our receptionist, but she’s not our slave.” I hitch the strap to my backpack high on my shoulder.
“We’ve nearly finished everything, though, Tank. Don’t sweat it.” Sailor is right—we have.
“Grand opening is Wednesday. I think we’ve got this in the bag.” Tardo grins.
“How you pulled this off so quickly still has me bowing at your feet,” Sailor says.
“The owner said we could lease it until the paperwork went through and the place was fitted out for what we needed … it wasn’t rocket science,” I say.
“A beer before you hit the road, Tank?” Blocker encroaches my view holding up two stubbies, one in either hand.
“I’ll pass. But you boys enjoy. We’ll meet back here tomorrow around ten a.m.?”
“Sounds good,” Rance comments, pushing a dirt bike into line with the others, which are already set up. “Are you going to bring Al with you?” Rance has taken his responsibility for Alan seriously, and I believe they’re forming a solid friendship. I’d never expected to see this mature side of Rance, but I’m seeing it daily.
“Yep. He said he wants to help.”
“It will be good for the kid,” Rance says quickly.
“I agree.”
Whatever Rance and Alan have been talking about has made a difference in the kid. He’s coming out of his shell more and more each day.
“Don’t forget to lock up and set the alarm. The last thing we need is hoodlums getting into the shop,” I plead on exit.
“Sailor is in charge of lock-up,” Blocker yells.
“Good.” Thank God they picked the most responsible out of the four of them. I head towards the utility.
I’m not sure why I’m nervous as I drive the distance home, but I am. I haven’t seen Rose since she placed her lips to mine, and she hasn’t returned my messages, so I think she’s going to bail on our agreement. For a stuck-up Miss Prim and Proper like herself, I wouldn’t put it past her.
Stopping in the garage, I take the backpack I’d carried with me for the day inside and throw it onto the kitchen counter.
“Did you have a good day
, Tank?” Tessa asks, closing the refrigerator door.
“Yeah. We almost have everything set up at the shop now. You’ll have to come for a look before we open on Wednesday.”
“I’d like that.” She smiles.
“Where’s Roxie?”
“Where do you think?”
“Your bed.”
She laughs. “Bingo. Let’s just say Roxie is slack today.”
“She’s spoilt. Lucky dog.”
“She is.” Tessa passes me an apple and points to a chair, indicating she’d like for me to sit.
I do.
“So, Rose is coming?”
“Not sure.”
“You haven’t heard from her? Since she came here the other day?”
“Nope.” I sigh before taking a large bite of the apple she handed me.
“I think she will. She said you two had had a bet and she’d lost. This was the prize, right?”
“Yeah. What makes you so sure, though, she’ll keep her word?”
“Our chat the other day. Tank, that poor girl is one lost soul. She’s no idea about life.” Tessa sits beside me, opening the lid of a container already on the breakfast bar.
“Nope. You’re right. She has not a clue. Silver-spoon fed, is Rose.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Really?”
“I think there’s a girl inside her waiting to break out of this high-society prison she lives in.” Taking a spoonful of yoghurt, Tessa appears to be studying my reaction.
I keep a straight face.
“Did she tell you that knob-jockey fiancé of hers hit her?”
“She told me.”
“You’ve always had a way of getting people to open up. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.”
Tessa’s top lip arches upwards before she once again spoons a mouthful of yoghurt into her mouth. “You shouldn’t have fought with Slade … It’s Slade, isn’t it?”
