by Imani King
“Rowan,” I say again, holding his hand in mine so that I can almost feel his excitement. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever offered me. Really. But--“
“I know. Maybe I’ll keep the idea on the back burner. That okay?” He smiles and he butters another slice of bread. “I guess I’ll go check on the drive and see if any of the plowing I did yesterday has helped the snow melt. I nod and lie back on the sofa, lost in the thoughts of the art studio and how it might feel to go there every day. I smile and pet Eliza, who stretches out in a blissful sleep on the top of the couch cushions. As soon as I start petting her, Eliza’s head pops up, and she lets out a low growl, looking toward the foyer. I hear the door opening and closing, and then Rowan talking in a low voice.
“No need to get bent out of shape, Eliza,” I say, stifling a yawn. But Eliza keeps on growling, her ears perking up like she hears something strange. “It’s probably just the horse guy. Rowan cleared the road enough for him to get through, and the highways should be fine--“
Eliza gets up and slinks toward the door. I get up and follow her, my heart beating harder than it should. Because it probably is just one of the workers that come to Rowan’s house. It’s probably just that. But I hear Rowan’s voice rumbling on, rising and falling in angry, frustrated tones. By the time I reach the front door, Eliza is barking angrily, and I can see Rowan moving his hands in broad gestures through the glass of the front door.
And as I stand there in my paint stained jeans and the purple tunic I wore when I came here, I can see the person Rowan is talking to. There’s a care parked by the path that leads up to the door, despite the ice that still sits on the ground.
It’s not one of Rowan’s staff. It’s not Star or any one of his friends from the Foundation. No, the woman that Rowan is talking to is long and lanky, and skinny as a rail. She’s wearing an impractical but sleek leather jacket, jeans that probably cost $500, and her hair falls in perfect blond waves over her shoulders. I’ve never seen a picture before, but I don’t need to see one to know that this is Joanna, the woman that held Rowan down for two years, promising him marriage and a family, and hurting him at every turn.
The worst part of my brain speaks to me as soon as I see her cold green eyes staring at Rowan.
That’s the kind of woman that belongs with a man like this. Or the kind that everyone thinks should be with him anyway. And if you’re with him, people will think that every time they see the two of you together. They’ll remember Joanna, how she looks the part.
“Bullshit,” I mutter, fighting back against the negativity, against the pain and regret that has filled my life for so long. “But why the fuck is she here?”
With renewed purpose, I grab Eliza by her collar and drag her back to Rowan’s office. And then I march myself, worn out jeans and all, to the door, pulling it open and standing there behind Rowan, hands on my hips. Rowan turns around to me, and immediately, I see the pain written all over his face.
“Cadence, this is Joanna. And she was just leaving back on the asshole horse she rode in on.”
“This must be Cadence,” Joanna says, hissing the last syllable of my name. “Well, it looks like you haven’t changed out of your pajamas. I heard you were leaving soon, and I just thought I’d come and stay with Rowan for a few days before your departure.” One perfectly arched eyebrow raises, and she smirks at me. All the fury, all the rage--it’s suddenly knocked out of me. I wish I could channel Anna and her instant ability to go from zero to bitch in two seconds flat, but I’m left standing there, facing a woman who looks like a model, a woman who knows my name, my schedule, and probably more than that, given the sneer on her face.
“How do you—” I turn to Rowan, my hands shaking in the cold. “How does she—”
“I have my ways,” Joanna said. “I thought Rowan might be needing a little relief with his rebound leaving in a few days. And I’d been thinking about how very much I miss you, dear Rowan.”
“Get the hell out of here, Joanna,” he growls. But she brings a hand up and catches his wrist, running her fingers over the bare skin there. The gesture almost brings me to my knees, jealousy wrenching my gut.
“I can’t really,” she spits back. “My car’s broken down, and I need you, Rowan. I’ve been dreaming about the two of us together, starting a family...” Her voice trails off, and she glances at me, her eyes cold. The iciness of her stare hits me in the gut. She’s come back to offer Rowan exactly what he wanted from her—a real relationship, a family. He’s not the type to fall for it, and he’ll assure me that he isn’t, over and over again, on this now ruined Christmas.
He doesn’t understand it. She’s not back to hurt him, not back to get at him. She’s back to undo me. I’ve known women like her all my life—I’m from New York. And she’d know, if she figured anything out about my history, anything out about my life, that I’m not ready to fight her. That I don’t have it in me.
What she doesn’t know—what she can’t know—is that I’ve already won.
“Well Joanna,” I say. “I’m so sorry your car has broken down. If it actually has, I’ll be surprised. But it doesn’t look like you’re planning on leaving.” Her mouth drops open, and Rowan turns to stare at me. “Rowan’s had the guest house fixed up, and you’ll be staying out there. I’m sure he can call in his porter to take your shit out there.”
The icy, angry pit of fear still sits in my chest. And I know, with this development, I’ll be finishing the mural as soon as the roads are dry—and that should be tomorrow. And I’ll be booking my flight out on the 27th. Joanna might stay, and she might leave. Regardless, the look on Rowan’s face tells me he has healing to do as well. I turn on my heels and walk back into the house, because snubbing Joanna right here and right now is the very best thing I can do. And it’s probably the best for my sanity. Do anything else, and I’ll be in way over my head.
Don’t try to be someone you’re not. You’ll regret it every time. My mother’s words echo in my mind, and I can feel them settling into my psyche. Everything about this feels wrong right now, and I’ll be packing my bags to get out of here early.
I let Eliza back into the living room and sit there, sipping cocoa and watching out of the big, floor-to-ceiling windows as Rowan makes Joanna trudge out to the guest room, lugging about half of her own baggage. I don’t know what she expected to happen, but I’m betting it wasn’t this. Still, my stomach is in knots, and there’s a pain growing in the center of my chest.
It’s the pain of a lot of things. But it makes me even more sure that I can’t stay, not right now.
When Rowan stomps back in through the mudroom, there’s snow in his hair, and his cheeks are bright red from the cold. Again, the worst part of me comments that he might be better off with a woman like Joanna. She’d know what to do at parties, and she’d know about decorating things, and entertaining.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
She’s gone, and I find myself in the very unmanly position of being lonely, with no one to talk to, no one to keep my warm. Sure, my feet are still warm in the new slippers I ordered, and Eliza sits with me when I’m typing away and talking to new donors and people interested in volunteering for the Coming Home Foundation. But all of that is the very slightest distraction from wondering about Cadence, feeling that ache of longing when I think of her.
And it’s not just the longing for her body. It’s the longing for her presence by my side. Watching her paint, watching her as she walks through the early morning mist toward the horse’s stables, Eliza steady and patient by her side. And she wouldn’t admit it, but Symphony got under her skin too.
And Cadence is under mine, in a way that makes me wonder if I did everything I could to make her stay, convince her that I don’t need a woman to be a brood mare, that we’d make a family from whatever we could find. Because that’s what Cadence is. She’s the woman I want to spend every Christmas with, the woman I want to have by my side, no matter the circumstances.
Maybe I
did too much thinking about what I needed all along, and not enough wondering what she wanted from this whole thing. Listen back to all the words she said, and don’t fuck it up when you see her again.
I take out my phone and look at it, and then I put my computer on the coffee table where Cadence left her cocoa and wine. There’s a ring where she sat her drinks, and I smile. I’d like to see her leave a few more.
“She’s right,” I say to Eliza. “We only knew each other a month.” Eliza looks over at me, lifting her heavy head and blinking her eyes blearily. She yawns like she’s heard it all before. “But it was a really good month. Maybe the best one.”
Several emails pop up in the time I’ve set my computer down, but I close the computer and push it to the side. “Can’t go see her, I don’t think. She needs her... time. I guess. Something a big dumb man won’t understand, right Liza?”
Eliza goes back to sleep, and I pick up my phone again. I scroll through the contacts, past Cadence’s name, to a person I haven’t talked to in all the years since I built my estate. Without stopping to reflect on my loneliness any longer, I press the name and wait to hear the ringing on the other end. A sleepy voice answers, and I realize it’s not quite six in the morning. But already, there are plans forming in my head.
“David, sorry to call so early. But you should be awake anyway.”
He laughs and yawns deeply. “Talk to me, Rowan. What’s the plan? If you’re calling me this early, I know there is one.”
“I want the guest house turned into an art studio.” I hear him breathe in sharply like he can’t quite believe what I’m saying. After all, he knew me when I was with Joanna. And Joanna would flip her stupid shit over something like this. But now I know better. No, now you know a better woman. Before he responds, I’m talking again. “I need a shitload of skylights in the roof, windows on the wall that faces the mountains. Floor to ceiling windows, with French doors on both sides. Fire pit out front, big porch on the side that faces the house.”
“This is different—” David starts.
“Different from my original plan. That’s life sometimes, isn’t it?”
David snickers over the phone, and it’s almost like I can feel his brain working. I know he’s thinking about all the changes he’ll have to make when he starts working on the guest house, originally built for Joanna’s parents. But just like I kicked Joanna out a week ago, I’m removing every damn trace of her from my property.
“What is this, Rowan?”
“Something better than an engagement ring with the biggest damn diamond you ever saw. Might get that too. Start as soon as possible. I want it done by Valentine’s Day, at the outside. And you know very damn well, I’ll pay you whatever exorbitant fee you damn well please. So knock off a few other clients if you have to. I’m your main priority for the next month.”
“That’s impossible,” he starts.
“Not if I give you enough money, it’s not. See you Monday. Hell, come by tomorrow, and we get blueprints done and finalized by the end of the day.” I hang up the phone before David can respond. I don’t like being told no, and I know all the things he was about to say. But I’ve never met a more passionate architect, and the contractors he works with are second to none. He’ll get so excited about the studio in the next twenty-four hours that he’ll probably have it finished by the end of January, given that the weather behaves itself between now and then.
“More business to attend to, Eliza. Let’s book that spot at the airport and get the jet back to New York on February 1st.” Eliza doesn’t even wake up this time, and I know she’s sick of being the only one listening to me. When a man is hell-bent on adding a woman to his life, he’s bound to chatter. “You’re awfully quiet for a pit bull, Liza. Thought I was getting a guard dog, and all you do is bark at squirrels and ignore me when I have something on my mind.”
I reach over and scratch her head. “Don’t you want to see Cadence?”
Eliza perks up at the mention of her name, but then she drifts off again, her legs twitching happily. I get the idea in my mind that maybe she’s dreaming about Cadence being here, staying here.
After I get in touch with a big name realtor in New York and secure a few penthouse apartments to look at over Skype, I decide I better stop talking so much to my dog. Instead, I put up an out-of-office reply on all emails related to the foundation and start delegating responsibilities out to the directors.
If I’m going to get Cadence to say yes to my proposal, I need to be ready for every little thing that could possibly go wrong, because that woman can be as contrary as she pleases. And if I show up in New York unannounced like I’m planning, I expect she’ll be very contrary. For some reason, the thought of her getting angry with me for showing up sends a rush of heat through my body.
But once she knows what I’m thinking, maybe she’ll get it straight in her mind that I’m for real. I won’t hurt her, won’t ever leave her.
I smile and look through the listings the realtor has sent. What I didn’t think of—what I never thought of, in fact—is that Cadence was becoming a little bit country for me. And I wasn’t doing anything at all to adapt to her world. So maybe this country boy has a little bit of city in him. For a love like this, I’ll adapt to the world she lives in. She rode a horse into the hills, wearing her steel-toed shitkicker boots. The least I can do is buy an apartment for us in New York.
“A spacious apartment. Lots of room for you too, Liza. This first one is 80 million. I’m feeling a little like dropping some money today. Twice as expensive as this place, but what’s money if you can’t spend it?”
I spend the day looking at the penthouses, imagining myself walking through them with Cadence, showing her the place we’ll have her art studio, the place we’ll have our master bedroom, having her pick out the furniture she wants. She’s not one for material things, but she’ll like the windows, the light, the art to hang on the walls. We’ll get a house wherever she wants after that.
After wearing myself out looking and talking to everyone I can find in New York, I decide that for once in our short-lived relationship, I’ll let Cadence decide what she wants to do about a place in New York.
But I believe my own damn self when I repeat it over and over in my head.
I’ll let her have what she needs, but by damn, she will say yes eventually.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It’s still cold as hell when the plane lands in New York. I steel myself against the icy air when I step out of the plane and the wind whips around my face. The staff on Rowan’s jet makes the landing and transportation home the easiest I’ve experienced in all of my travels. But there’s nothing to help with the heavy sadness that creeps over me as the car drives me back to my lonely apartment in Brooklyn. I know Joanna is still at the damn house, so I know Rowan’s house would be even lonelier. And Joanna, twirling around and proclaiming that she had finally decided to have Rowan’s child.
Rowan’s face, when he looked at me in misery.
He might not know it, given what he said. But I know he’d rather be with me than that witch who showed back up in his life uninvited. But I also know when I’ve overstayed my welcome. Even if he did want me there, he doesn’t need two women running around the place and making his life a living hell.
One he loves. One he used to love, one who wants to have his baby.
When the limo drops me off in the incongruously bad neighborhood in Brooklyn, I’m left alone with my jars of paint and my thoughts. And I stay that way for a long time after I deposit the $100,000 in my bank account. I sit on my ass in my apartment for days, avoiding Anna’s phone calls and paying the bills that I’ve ignored for so long. I run the heat up to 72 degrees in the apartment, and I strip down to a t-shirt and shorts, nearly sweating as I lay on the couch, reading romance novels and watching an entire season of Jane the Virgin on Netflix.
Sometimes, I cry and think about all the things I’ve lost. Sometimes I sleep, but it’s never at the right time.
I rumble with the grief and the heartbreak, fight with all the rage and the sadness that washes over me in waves. But finally, I let it come. And I cry. Finally, I make a tiny painting with a picture of a heart on it and set it up on the mantle. I’m not sure if it represents the love I lost when the embryo never grew, or the love I left behind in New Mexico because the time wasn’t right.
