by J. S. Cooper
***
“Clementine, I wrote a poem for you. Yes, I, Rhett Madison love you Clementine O'Hara more than I've ever loved anyone before. And I wrote a poem for you.” My voice caught as I stared into her sad eyes.
“I don’t believe it.” She smiled weakly. I could tell she was still upset that I’d come home so late. But she seemed to understand that after the call from the doctor about my mom that I’d needed to get out and get some fresh air.
“Believe it.” I smiled at her beautiful face. “Clementine,” I took a deep breath. “I have to go back to South Carolina.”
“For how long?” She looked like she was fighting tears and I could feel a sharp pain in my chest. It almost felt like we were breaking up.
“I don’t know.” I took her hands into mine. “I need to work this stuff out with my mom, once and for all. I need to try and find a way to battle the pain I feel.”
“She loves you, you know that right?”
“Honestly, no, no I don’t know.” I said sadly. “All my life, I’ve pushed my pain and rejection to the side. I’ve pretended it didn’t matter, but it does matter. It matters a lot and it hurts. I feel like a part of me doesn’t even exist. I feel like a part of me has always been lost. And the only reason all of me isn’t lost is because of you. You’re my map home. You’re my compass. You’re my everything. Without you, there would be absolutely nothing in my life worth living for. And that’s powerful, Clementine. That’s not healthy. I live to be with you. I live for you. I’m empty without you. And I can’t be empty without you. I can’t be empty because you need a man that is full. You need a man that can give you all those things you’ve always dreamed about. I was a boy, Clementine. But now, now I need to be a man.”
“I don’t want you to go.” She bit her lower lip and I could see the tears in her eyes. “I don’t want her to hurt you. She loves you, but I don’t know if she’ll ever be the person you need her to be, Rhett.”
“That’s okay. That’s why I’m going. I need it to be okay. I need to be able to accept that.” I sighed. “I need to do this for myself. I need to do this to try and get some closure. I need to make myself whole. I need to be the man you need me to be.”
“I only want you Rhett. I’ll take you however you are.” She said quietly and I could see the tears flowing from her eyes. “I don’t want to be without you.”
“I have something to ask you, Clementine.”
“What?” Her eyes searched mine and I took a deep breath.
“You’ve always been my best friend. You’re the love of my life. I know things are different between us now and I know I’m not the most romantic of men. I want to make a promise to you, Clemmie. I want you to know that I’m yours forever, as long as you’ll have me. I love you more than anything. I wrote this poem for you and I want to read it to you, but first I had a question.”
“Yes.” She said quietly.
“Clementine, I know it’s too soon to ask you to marry me, but I want to make a promise to you. I want to promise you that I’ll always be by your side. I want to be your husband Clemmie and I’d like you to promise me that one day you’ll consider being my wife.”
“I’d very much love to be your wife one day, Rhett.” She smiled and gave me a quick kiss. “Even though this isn’t a proposal, I’m still deeply touched.” She gave me a wide smile as her eyes teased me and I chuckled. “And yes, yes, I’ll be your wife.” And then she started laughing. “Am I being too enthusiastic for a non-proposal?”
“You can never be too enthusiastic.” I grinned, then gave her a quick kiss. “Now shh, let me tell you my poem before I get stage fright.” I took a deep breath and then said the poem I remembered by heart. Her eyes gazed at me adoringly as I said the words from my heart and I knew in that moment that I was already a different man than I’d been just six months before. I was only at the beginning of my journey, but I knew in my gut that I was on the right path.
“There's not a day that goes by,
That I don't remember your eyes,
The first time you said you loved me
And the last time we said goodbye.
I love you more than the stars in the sky
I love you so much, I believe I can fly
You are the dot to my i
I am the apple in your pie.
I'm not a poet, like Frost or Cummings
I'm not a writer like Hemmingway or Poe
I can't build you a house with my bare hands
But I love you so much more than you know.
Each hair on your head is precious
Each breath that you take keeps me sane
Each part of me loves every part of you and I'll say it over and over again.
I love you, Clementine O'Hara.
You stole my heart and I never want it back
You are my reason for living.
You are the joy in my heart.
I promise you that I'll always love you.
I promise you that you'll always be mine.
I promise that with each step that we take.
I'll always be by your side.
We have an eternity to love each other.
We have a love that is pure
You are my soul mate, my better half and
Nobody could love you more.”
“I love you, Clemmie. Thank you for agreeing to be my wife. Thank you for everything.” I pulled her into my arms and I could feel her tears on my cheek as she cried. “Happy tears, right?”
“Of course, happy happy tears.” She grabbed ahold of my face and kissed me hard. “Always happy tears with you, Rhett.”
“And I’m not going to be gone for long.” I promised as I kissed her. “This is just the start of a new journey in our life. This is just the start of our epic love story, you know that right?”
“No Rhett.” She kissed my lips. “This isn’t the start. This is just the end of part one and the beginning of part two.”
“I like that.” I kissed her back. “I like that a lot. This is the beginning of part two. And I promise you Clementine, that part two is going to blow your mind. Part two is going to be the most epic of love stories. Part two is going to make you love me more than you already do.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible, Rhett. I already love you more than life itself.” She stroked my face and played with my hair. “But I’m here for the ride, let’s see what you got.”
PART II
This is not the end of the book. Part II of Rhett in Love features special videos from Rhett, special graphics and a special song written by David Berkeley just for this book. Please click here to read and experience part II of Rhett in Love!
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Prologue
“Bianca, where are you?” His voice sounded angry, and I shivered as I opened my eyes.
I stared at the large expanse of blue sky through the tr
ee branches and prayed that he didn’t find me. I could see the white-sand beaches from my vantage point. The whole island looked so much smaller from up here. My limbs felt numb, but I was too scared to even move an inch. If he heard the rustling of leaves, he’d know where I was. I closed my eyes again and tried not to think about falling.
“Bianca, this isn’t funny.” His voice was hoarse, and I heard his footsteps moving closer to me. “Bianca, if you can hear me . . .” He paused, and his voice changed. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I heard a branch snap below me, and I knew he was close. All he had to do was look up. If he looked up, he’d be able to find me. This man who’d become my most intimate confidante was now my predator, and I was his prey. I opened my eyes and took a deep breath before looking down. An involuntary gasp escaped my mouth as I realized how high up I was. That was my first mistake.
“I’ve found you,” he whispered as he looked up at me with dark eyes. “When will you learn? You can’t escape me.”
“Did you hurt him?” My fingers started trembling as I looked back down at him. “Tell me. Did you hurt him?”
“It depends on what you mean by hurt.” He lifted his hands up, and I saw that his fingers were drenched in blood.
I closed my eyes; I had my answer.
“I did it for us,” he said simply, and I felt my heart drop into my stomach. “Don’t you trust me?” he asked me softly as he started to climb the tree. I saw the shiny glitter of the silver knife in his left hand before he placed it into his pocket and my heart stopped beating for a second.
“I trust you.” I nodded and waited for him to reach me.
That was my second mistake.
Chapter One
One Week Earlier
“Can I have this seat?” A deep voice interrupted my typing and I stifled a sigh.
“Uh, sure.” I replied without looking up. I had to finish my latest movie review in the next ten minutes and email it to my editor if I wanted to get paid for the article.
“Can I have some space on the table?” His voice was dry as he spoke again and I pulled my laptop towards me quickly, my eyes never leaving my screen. “I don’t mean to disturb you.” He continued and this time I ignored him completely. I didn’t have time for chitchat. Not when I had to find to finish an article on Adam Sandler’s latest movie and convince viewers to go and watch it without completely lying about my feelings towards the acting and the poor jokes.
I typed away as quickly as I could, but I could feel that the man was staring at me. I bit down on my lower lip to stop myself from looking up at him and asking what his problem was? It wasn’t his fault that I was on high alert and anxious. I knew that I couldn’t have an expectation of privacy if I was working at a coffee shop, but I didn’t normally have to worry about a stranger talking to me. People in New York never talked to strangers, not unless they were tourists.
I sighed and looked up, “did you need help with something?” My breath caught as I stared at the man’s face. He was handsome, or appeared to be under the Yankees cap that covered half of his forehead. His blue eyes looked into mine with a bright light and I could see a hint of a smile on his full pink lips. I licked my lips unconsciously as I stared at the man across from me and attempted to brush my messy hair back.
“No, you’ve done enough. Thank you.” He nodded and looked down at his book in a dismissive fashion. Served me right, I suppose. I hadn’t really given him the time of day and it would be way too obvious if I tried to start up a conversation now. I looked at my watch and then back at my article, I had five minutes to sum up a lackluster review of a movie I’d thought was inane. If I didn’t send it over, I wouldn’t get paid. And now that this was my only form of income, I needed to get paid. I went back to typing, though my mind was partially on the man I was sharing the table with. His knee was rubbing against mine and I couldn’t help but laugh at myself for the slight thrill his touch was giving me.
“Loser,” I whispered to myself under my breath as I wrapped up the article and attached it in an email. I knew that I was sending the email without rereading the article one more time so that I could try and chat to the man. Though, I really had no business trying to flirt with a strange man in a coffee shop. I was about to ask him what he was reading when I got the strangest sensation that someone was watching me again. And this time I knew it wasn’t the man sharing the table with me. I looked around the coffee shop and saw an older looking man sipping his coffee and staring at me over a newspaper. As soon as our eyes made contact, he looked away and back down at his paper. I felt my heart racing as I stared at his coffee cup on the table. It wasn’t from this coffee shop. I pressed send on my email and grabbed my bag up from the floor in a panic, spilling half of its contents on the ground.
“You need some help?” The man looked up from his book and stared at the ground. He leaned down and picked up my lipstick and some mints and handed them to me. Our fingers brushed each other as I took my belongings from him and I felt a dart of electricity running through me at his touch.
“Thanks.” I stared into his deep blue eyes and nodded quickly.
“Is everything okay?” His eyes crinkled in concern and I was about to answer when I felt the man in the corner staring at me again.
“I think I’m being followed.” I said as I shook my head and jumped up. “Sorry, I have to go.” I grabbed my laptop and pushed it into my bag. “It was nice meeting you.” I gave him a quick smile and ran out of the coffee shop. I continued running down the street until I could no longer run anymore. I stopped outside a donut shop and leaned back against the wall, breathing deeply. I looked left and right to make sure I didn’t see the man that I was pretty sure had been following me and then rubbed my forehead.
“You’re going crazy, Bianca.” I muttered to myself as I straightened up and started walking at a normal pace. I started laughing as I reached the subway station and went down to catch my train. Not one person had looked at me like I was crazy as I’d run down the street like I was in the 100m sprint finals at the Olympics. That was part of the beauty to living in the City. You could be who you wanted and you weren’t judged. The other side of the coin, the side of the equation that made me stop smiling was the wonder of what would have happened, if the man had been following me. Would anyone have come to my aid? I walked onto the subway and held onto the rails without looking at anyone. As I stood there I thought about both men in the coffee shop, one that I’d wanted to get to know better and the other that I hoped I never saw again. I shook my head as I realized how different I was now. My life had changed completely and so had I.
***
I never thought I was particularly brave until recently. I don’t enjoy watching horror movies. I sleep with all my doors double-locked and I go through and check all my windows are closed tight every night before I go to bed; and I live on the eighth floor of my apartment building. No, I’m not someone that anyone would call brave and definitely not an amateur sleuth. I’ve always been someone that likes to keep to herself. Some people would call be quiet, but those are the ones that don’t know me well. Inside I’m a dynamo of activity and fun.
I used to be the sort of person that froze when she heard a creak in the floorboards or heard a sudden scream. My father always used to call me his little frightened rabbit when I was growing up. I heard the term a lot as there were always sudden and unexplainable noises in New York City. I don’t think he realized that it was his overprotectiveness that led to my lack of trust of most people. However, my whole demeanor changed when my father died.
My father died of a broken heart. Or rather I should say he died with a broken heart. I don’t think he ever got over my mother’s death. I’m not sure that I ever got over it either, even though I was a young girl when she passed away in a car accident. Her English ancestry was the reason I studied British history in college and my love of her memory was the reason why when I found my father’s sec
ret box, I knew I had to do something about its contents. My mother’s death changed my father’s life and my father’s death changed mine. The moment I read his letter to me was the moment I felt steel implanted in my backbone. It was the moment I knew that I wouldn’t allow anything to frighten me until I found out what had really happened to my mother.
***
I wasn’t surprised when the letter arrived. It was only after I read the note that I looked back at the envelope for clues. Only then did I realize there was no postal stamp. Whoever had left the note for me didn’t want any clues leading back to them. I stared at the letter in my hands and shivered slightly. It read simply:
Beauty and Charm. One survives. One is destroyed. What are your odds?
I read it again, trying to make sense of the note. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to take from it. I picked up the envelope again to see if there was anything inside that I’d missed. While I hadn’t been surprised to receive the letter, I had been surprised by its contents. I hadn’t expected such a blatant threat, though it shouldn’t have surprised me. My father had warned me in the letter I’d found in his box, that there were people willing to do anything to keep their secrets safe. His letter had stated that he suspected that my mother’s car accident hadn’t really been an accident. However, his suspicions had come too late. It was only on his deathbed, that he had started to remember conversations and actions that had happened previous to her death. His letter spoke of his sadness and regret at having shutdown after my mothers death. He felt that if he’d not been in such a deep state of depression, that he would have made the connections earlier. His letter didn’t directly ask me to find out the truth, but I could read between the lines. He wanted justice for my mother. It was the reason why he’d written the letter in the first place. The only problem was, my father didn’t say whom he suspected. All he had left me was a one-page letter, talking of his suspicions and a box full of paperwork from the corporation he’d used to work for, Bradley Inc.
