The Rose

by Tiffany Reisz

“I wish I could tell you,” he said. “But it’s for the best if I don’t.”

  “One question—would I like you more or less if I knew who you really were?”

  “Based on experience...less,” he said.

  “All right,” Lia said. “Then don’t tell me. I’m starting to like liking you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  August was still there when Lia woke up the next morning at nine. She hadn’t expected to find him there, on the pillow next to her, but he was. Eyes closed. Heavy black lashes on peaceful cheeks. She watched him sleeping and found it a rather good show. Worth the trouble of sneaking him out of the house.

  The question remained, however...how was she going to do that?

  Her parents were up and about. They always were by nine. Work hard. Shag hard. That was her father’s motto in life, which she’d told him to never, ever repeat in her presence. Not that he listened. Lia would simply have to hope her parents were busy at breakfast and wouldn’t notice August sneaking out the back door and then the front gate.

  “August...” Lia said as she stroked his hair.

  He made a sound, not quite a sigh.

  “August? Wake up.” Lia touched his shoulder. His dark eyes flew open and stared at her in surprise.

  “It’s morning,” she said.

  “Again? Why does this keep happening to me?” He rubbed his eyes.

  “You all right?” She tried not to laugh at this beautiful bizarre man in her bed.

  “Temple prostitutes are not, as a rule, morning people.”

  “Tough,” she said. “I need to get you out of the house before anyone notices you’re still here.”

  His eyes popped wide open.

  “You’re twenty-one. Don’t tell me your parents won’t allow you to have sleepovers.”

  “With a boyfriend, they’d stomach it. You aren’t my boyfriend, remember? You’re my rent boy.”

  And her father would bloody kill the man, and if anyone was going to kill August, it would be her.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you ashamed of me?”

  “Deeply,” she said.

  “You’ll get over it,” he said, rolling up. “I need my clothes.”

  “They’re on the floor. Except for your T-shirt. That’s in Gogo’s mouth.”

  In the corner of her room, Gogo blissfully gnawed away at August’s heather-gray T-shirt.

  “I didn’t like that shirt, anyway.”

  Luckily, Lia had one of her father’s T-shirts that had ended up with her clothes through a laundry error. A soft black cotton T-shirt with the name of his art foundation—The Godwick Trust—printed in polite letters on the upper right pocket. It clung to August’s shoulders and stomach in all the very nicest ways. His hair was artfully mussed from sleep, and when he yawned and stretched, his shirt rode up, his jeans rode down on his hips and she spied the rose brand on his skin again. She felt a pang of desire, a deep one that nearly knocked the wind from her lungs. Why was she kicking him out of the house again?

  Mother. Father. Rent boy. Infamy.

  That was why.

  August was standing by her fireplace mantel again, staring at her statue of Aphrodite, which seemed to fascinate him.

  “August? Time to go,” Lia reminded.

  “This statue,” he said. “Was it always kept in your bedroom?”

  “I think. But I’ve seen old photographs where it was on the mantel in the music room before I was born. Then again, I was born in the music room—long story.”

  “You were born under a statue of Aphrodite?”

  “Big storm,” Lia explained. “Power went out. Roads were flooding. Daddy had to deliver me himself. Music room had a gas fireplace. Daddy needed the light.” She paused. This was an odd topic of conversation. “Why do you ask?”

  “Your father bought you the Rose Kylix—”

  “Because I love mythology,” she said.

  “There are hundreds of kylikes on the market. He bought that one because he was told it was part of Aphrodite’s cult.”

  “I suppose...”

  “I need to ask your father a few questions.”

  “Write them down and I’ll ask him for you.”

  Lia dressed quickly in jeans and a red knit jumper. She threw her hair up in a messy bun, and when they were both reasonably presentable she stuck her head out of her suite door.

  She looked left, looked right.

  “The coast is clear,” she told August. “Just go down to the end of the hall. You’ll see a set of old servants’ stairs. Down those and out the door to the back patio.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To breakfast.”

  “Right,” August said.

  “I’ll see you tonight at nine,” she said.

  “If not sooner.” Before she could ask him what he meant by that, he kissed her on the lips and started down the hall.

  Lia called for Gogo. He bounded out to her and she had to wrestle with him for a moment or two before she could get him to relinquish August’s shirt. She let him outside for his morning constitutional while she headed down to the family breakfast room.

  She entered the breakfast room and stopped in the doorway. August stood at the sideboard, with a plate in his hand as he examined the various foods on offer.

  “August,” Lia hissed.

  “I was hungry,” he said. “Aren’t you?”

  She grabbed the plate out of his hand and pointed at the door.

  “Go,” she said in a rasping angry whisper when what she wanted to do was scream.

  “I need to talk to your father, remember?”

  “I told you I’ll talk to him. Go. Go.”

  “Are you telling me to leave or calling your dog?”

  “I’m telling you to—”

  “Morning, darling.”

  Lia froze as her mother waltzed into the breakfast room, wearing a simple yet elegant suit of red trousers and a black blouse with a bow at the neck.

  “Oh, um...morning, Mum,” Lia said. “You remember—”

  “Morning, Lady Godwick,” August said. He held out his hand to her to shake.

  “Mr. Bowman.” Mum smiled. “What brings you out here so early?”

  “I slept over,” August said.

  “August,” Lia hissed again.

  “Oh, of course,” her mother said. “Glad you could join us for breakfast.”

  “Thank you. Starving.” He piled his plate high with food and sat down at the table next to Lia’s usual chair.

  Lia poured a cup of coffee she had no desire to drink. Her mother walked over to the sideboard wearing a smile Lia did not appreciate.

  “I knew it,” her mother whispered.

  “Mother, I swear,” Lia said.

  “What are we swearing about?” It was Daddy who asked that question, as he walked into the breakfast room in his favorite gray suit and blue tie. No one answered it.

  “Morning, Lord Godwick.” August leaned back in his chair and raised his coffee cup in a salute.

  “Bowman?” Lia’s father said. “What are you doing here?”

  She answered before August could.

  “He wanted to ask you some questions about the kylix you bought me. So I invited him to breakfast.”

  “He spent the night, Spencer,” her mother said. “Coffee?”

  Daddy went silent. Lia mentally committed matricide.

  “What was that?” her father finally asked.

  “I spent the night,” August said. “Thanks for breakfast. Wonderful spread.”

  Did he have to call it a “spread”?

  “You spent the night?” Her father walked to the table and stood across from where August sat.

  “With Lia,” August said. “And Gogo. He was there, too.”

>   “Daddy, don’t—”

  “I didn’t catch your age, Bowman,” her father said. “Aren’t you a little old to be dating my twenty-one-year-old daughter?”

  “I’m much too old to be dating your twenty-one-year-old daughter.”

  “That’s it.” Daddy slapped the table.

  “Spencer,” her mother said. “Sit down and eat your breakfast.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. You will let your daughter have her own life or you will be sleeping alone from tonight until Christmas.”

  “Mona, I will not just stand here and let—”

  “You won’t stand,” Mum said. “You will sit. You will sit and eat breakfast, and that is your penance and you will take it like a man. You have been the scourge of mothers and fathers and brothers and boyfriends since you were fourteen, you hypocritical whore.”

  “Mum, please don’t call Daddy a whore in front of me,” Lia said. “It makes my mouth feel horrid—like when I taste perfume.”

  “Sorry, darling.” Her mother kissed her cheek. “Get your breakfast. Sit and eat. We’re all friends here.”

  “Don’t feel bad, Lord Godwick,” August said. “I’m a whore, too.”

  “August, you can stop speaking any minute now,” Lia said.

  “He can speak, dear,” Mum said.

  “Thank you, Lady Godwick.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Bowman.” Her mother sat next to Lia’s father and started in on her breakfast.

  “Please, call me August,” he said.

  “What questions did you have for us, August?” Mum asked. The old girl was taking it well, Lia had to admit. Daddy was red-faced and ready for mayhem, but her mother carried off having her daughter’s lover at the breakfast table with aplomb.

  “I’m not having this conversation,” her father said.

  “Then I’ll have it,” her mother said. “Go on, August.”

  “Is he wearing my shirt?” Daddy asked.

  “Lia fed my shirt to the dog,” August said.

  “That wasn’t very nice, Lia,” her mother chided.

  “It was my fault for letting the dog eat her—”

  “Socks,” Lia finished.

  “You know dogs and socks.” August went about buttering his toast as if this wasn’t the second-most humiliating moment of her life.

  “The questions, please,” her father said. Lia was grateful Daddy was so healthy. At fifty-eight, he could run circles around men half his age. Otherwise he might have keeled over from a heart attack at the table.

  “The kylix you gave Lia for her graduation,” August said. “Where did you get it?”

  “You know perfectly well. It was up for auction at Christie’s.”

  “But you bought it in a preempt. The seller was anonymous.”

  Daddy shrugged. “I’d told my agent I wanted something special for Lia, something that had a connection to Greek mythology, price no object. He called around and in a few days he had some choices for me. He sent pictures. I picked that one.”

  “There were others?” August asked. Her father nodded. “Why did you pick that one in particular?”

  “Could someone tell me why I’m answering this man’s questions?” Daddy dropped his fork on the table with a clatter.

  “Because I told you to,” her mother said, and patted his hand.

  “My daughter likes mythology. Why else?”

  “But surely the other ones were painted with myths, as well, yes?” August asked. “Why that one in particular?”

  “It was the prettiest,” her father said, biting off each word.

  “Do you remember the name of the seller?” August devoured his toast. He hadn’t been joking about being hungry.

  “Never got a name.”

  “Did you buy that one in particular because you were told it had belonged to the Cult of Aphrodite?” August asked. Her father raised his eyebrow so high Lia was having trouble telling where it ended and his hairline began. “I noticed the statue in Lia’s room. That’s why I ask.”

  “What’s your interest in this?” her father demanded.

  “It’s unusual, isn’t it? A statue of the Greek goddess of romantic love in a child’s room?”

  “Are you implying something, Bowman?”

  “Daddy, no!” Lia cried before her father could lean over the table and beat August’s pretty face into a pretty pulp. “We’re trying to figure something out about my kylix. That’s all. Please, Daddy?”

  He could never resist a genuine “please” from her.

  “Lia was the first girl born in the family in three hundred years,” he said at last.

  “In the music room,” August prompted. “Yes? Because of a storm?”

  “I delivered her,” her father said. He glanced at Lia. “Storm came out of nowhere, just like the night of your graduation party, darling. Your mother wasn’t due for another month. We had tickets to the symphony. Then the storm hit and your mother went into early labor. I called the village doctor but his road was flooded as badly as ours. Couldn’t get out. Couldn’t get anyone in. Nothing to do but do it myself.”

  “I’ve never been so scared,” her mother said. “And he was so calm.”

  “On the outside.” Daddy winced. “Inside I was a bloody wreck. But nature took her course and then there you were.” He smiled at Lia, before looking back at August. “The moment I laid eyes on her, I was a changed man. It was truly the single happiest moment of my life. This tiny girl...my whole life in my two hands. Perfect except... Lia wasn’t breathing.”

  “What?” Lia asked, shocked.

  “You weren’t breathing,” her father repeated, meeting her eyes. “I did everything I could. I pushed on your chest, spanked your tiny arse like they do in the movies, breathed in your mouth and nose. I’ve never been so desperate or scared in my life. If I’d lost you... God, I would rather have lost myself.”

  Mum placed her hand on top of Daddy’s and held it tightly.

  “Mona was in and out of consciousness,” her father told August. “She’d bled a lot, was nearly delirious. I didn’t know what to do. I’m an old heathen, but that night I prayed with everything in me to every god I could think of. I remember looking up and seeing that little statue of Aphrodite on the mantel in the music room. I prayed to her, too.”

  “You called her name?” August asked.

  “I might have.”

  “What happened when you called on her name?”

  “I can’t explain it,” her father said. “I’ve thought about it for years, and it never made sense. But...it was like a miracle. A gust of wind blew the French doors open. The room filled with thousands of rose petals from the garden. Lia was in my two hands like this...” He held out his hands, miming cradling a tiny baby. “She was going cold.”

  Mum blinked tears from her eyes.

  “It was like someone pinched Lia,” Daddy said. “Or blew in her ear. She jerked in my hands. And then, by God, Lia opened her eyes and her tiny mouth and screamed her bloody head off.” Her father put his hand over his heart. “I wouldn’t trade every symphony and sonata in the world for the sound of that scream.”

  “You think Aphrodite answered your prayer?” August asked.

  “I can’t bring myself to believe that,” her father said. “But I will say...that gust of wind was strong enough to blow the doors open and rip the petals off every single rose in the garden. It knocked over chairs in the music room and every single candle, clock and bric-a-brac sitting on the fireplace mantel. When it was all over, the one thing left standing was that Aphrodite statue.” Daddy gave Lia a wan smile. “I suppose this all sounds mad.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” she said. It sounded like the fevered memories of a terrified father to her. “But...why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

  “I didn’t e
ven tell Mona at first,” her father said, glancing at her mother. “Only after I’d spent the first three months of your life sleeping on a cot in the nursery did she drag it out of me.”

  “You did what?” Lia’s jaw dropped open. August’s arm wound around her back in comfort.

  “I’d try to sleep in bed with Mona, and I’d have a nightmare about you. I couldn’t sleep unless I was in your nursery or if you were in a bassinet with us in our bedroom.”

  “Never have children, Lia,” Mum said with a wink. “You all are hell on a good night’s sleep.”

  Her father nodded in agreement. “At night, I’d stand over your cradle and pray every new father’s prayer—‘Whatever god is out there listening, please make my baby immortal.’” He finally met her eyes. “Has it come true yet?”

  “Yes,” Lia said, smiling at him through her tears. “I’m immortal.”

  “Good,” he said with a sigh. “That’s a relief.”

  Lia saw August staring at her out of the corner of her eyes. She ignored his searching look, afraid she’d cry if she met his tender gaze.

  “Your father and I didn’t like talking about how we might have lost you when you were born,” her mother said. “Bad enough it gave him nightmares the first three months of your life. We decided together that there was no reason to give you nightmares, too.”

  “Not sure where I got the idea...” Daddy said, “but one day I put the statue of Aphrodite in your nursery so she could look over your cradle. And once I did, the nightmares went away. Placebo effect, of course, but I was grateful for the small mercy that I could finally sleep with my wife again.”

  “And you’ve always liked that statue,” Mum said to Lia. “When you were a little girl, you used to play with her like a Barbie doll. You made her marry Ken a hundred times at least.”

  August laughed much, much too hard at that.

  “Ah, that makes me so happy,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. Meanwhile Lia squirmed in humiliation.

  “Weddings, that’s right.” Daddy looked at Mum with a smile. “When Mona came to after passing out, she saw all the rose petals in the room. Do you remember what you said?”

  Her mother smiled. “I said, ‘Who’s getting married?’”

  Lia watched her father lift her mother’s hand to his lips and kiss it. There really was something very lovely, Lia thought, about old married people still in love with each other. Even if they were her parents and she found it mostly disgusting on every other level.