I find Rose in her glass-walled office in the back. She subconsciously touches the bruise on her cheek, concealed with makeup, as she scans her computer screen. I enter quickly and shut the door.
She springs to her feet in an instant upon seeing me. “What’s wrong?” Her fingers touch the corners of my eyes, as if she needs to feel my tears to know they’re real. I don’t blame her. I did the same fucking thing.
I don’t remember the last time I cried. But it was probably over something trivial. A grade. An accomplishment I didn’t fully succeed. The things that used to matter to me. I never cried over a person until now.
“Hold on,” Rose chokes, worry coating her voice. She moves swiftly, drawing cream curtains closed so that her employees can’t see into her office.
I take a seat on her white couch, another breathtaking view through the window. This time New York City. And then Rose sinks down on the cushion, turning her body towards mine.
She rubs my leg. “Connor…”
I take her hand in mine, lacing our fingers together slowly. I try to speak, to let it out, but I shake my head and pinch my eyes as they outflow. Why is this so hard? Why do real emotions have to be so devastating? Why do they have to cripple me?
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”
But I do. I need to fucking say it. “I hate her…” I start. The first thing that comes out of my mouth is impudent and juvenile. I can’t take it back. I just keep going. “I hate that she has continued to blind me. No matter how wide I open my eyes, there’s been a haze that only she could clear. And she made me believe that I was walking in the fucking clear sky.” I pinch my eyes again, and I actually scream, one that burns my throat. “I am so—”
“Don’t you dare say stupid,” she snaps. “You’re not stupid, Richard.”
“I feel like an idiot,” I tell her. “I was fooled by my own mother for two fucking years, Rose. Two years, and she couldn’t find it in her heart to tell her only son that she has breast cancer? That she’s dying?” My throat swells as the truth bears down on me. “She made me believe I’d be taking over Cobalt Inc. in five years, maybe ten. And this whole time, she knew I’d be taking it in two months.”
Rose’s mouth falls. “Two…months?”
“Two months. That’s how long she has left.” I extend my arms. “And she didn’t think it was important to tell me.”
Not until now. She was scared. I saw the fear in her eyes at her office. It’s why she’s been regretting and remembering the past. And yet, I can’t pity her. I can’t wish her farewell.
I only hate that it took death for her to see her mistakes.
And I hate that it’s taken me the same to see mine.
I unlace my fingers from Rose, and I hold her one hand in between two of mine, just staring at them for a while. I call her stubborn, but in the past year and a half, I’ve been worse.
I meet those fierce yellow-green eyes. Even in the wake of my pain, she has this resilience that’s more beautiful than words can describe. It’s fire to my water. And I want her to burn me alive.
“You’re the only one who has ever loved me,” I confess, my chest heavy. “Not a mother. Not a father. Not a friend. Just you, Rose.” All these years, I never thought I’d need anyone but me to survive. My mother thought the same.
I was wrong.
“I don’t want to be sixty years old and wishing I opened myself up to the people I care about. I don’t want to look back and regret that I wasn’t a better friend or a better man to the woman I adore.”
She’s already crying. I haven’t even said it yet.
Tears fall down her cheeks, matching mine.
“And I can’t tell you how long I’ve been fighting the truth, but it’s been awhile,” I say.
The next words come from the core of my chest. Each word is like taking on water and breathing in oxygen—a paradox that I enjoy very much.
“I am so deeply in love with you, Rose.” I wipe her cheeks with my thumb.
She tries to smile but every time she does, more tears fall. I can tell they’re from a place of joy by the way her eyes light. And then she says, “Ca vous a pris pas mal de temps.” It took you long enough.
I said the same thing to her once. “How long do we have left?”
She finally smiles through the tears. “Forever.”
I draw her to my chest and kiss her strongly, not letting go.
I realize, in this very moment, that love was the only thing missing from my life.
And it’s the only thing that matters to me.
I can live with that.
As stupid as it may seem.
[ 51 ]
ROSE CALLOWAY
Connor reties the halter on my bridesmaid’s dress in the limo while I read an article to him off my phone. When I finish I say, “Well?”
“You shouldn’t fixate on a gossip columnist.”
“It’s not a gossip site. This is a news article, Richard,” I snap. “Did you not hear what they said?” I’m about to reread the part of the article where they condemn him for not being a real dominant in a dominant/submissive relationship. I didn’t even know there were standards that had to be met.
“There aren’t rules,” he says calmly. “We do what works for us, and if no one on the internet likes it, then they’re free to watch another porn that doesn’t star us.” He grins. “Although, they won’t be as good…”
I turn around and smack his chest. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he says, staring down at me with an intense gaze, like he’d love to consume all of me.
Love.
I smile. Yes, he loves me.
That never gets old.
“You need to stop reading all of these articles that dissect the sex videos,” he says in a low, husky voice. “It’ll spin your mind.”
“Maybe I like my mind to be spun.”
“I can find a much healthier way to do that.” His lips rise, and he leans close to kiss me, but the limo bumps down the cobblestone street, tearing my attention to the outside.
“We’re here,” I say, filled with a flurry of emotions.
Our limo ditches the rabid media behind the entry, and I roll down my window, hearing the helicopters buzzing in the air. I ignore them and focus on the palace looming ahead, taking in the stunning architecture and massive size. This really is a wedding fit for a queen.
I hope Lily is more excited than anxious today. I feel like I’m carrying nerves for the both of us. I’m not sure what to expect. Connor has taken the reins of the wedding, which means every detail is a surprise. He’s already confessed to changing the venue, no longer a church in the heart of Paris.
We’re a little bit outside of the city now. “I still don’t know how you booked the Château de Fontainebleau,” I tell him, stunned.
Connor wraps an arm over my shoulders and leans into my ear. “I have my ways.”
Connor and his ways. “You mean your connections,” I clarify.
“Those, yes,” he smiles.
I check the time on my cell again, and he slips it right out of my hand. I ignore his tactics to calm my nerves, and I hike up my bright pink bridesmaid dress to climb to the seat closest to the driver. “Excuse me,” I say in clipped words. “Could you drive just a little faster? We’re running behind.”
“We’re thirty minutes early,” Connor reminds me, his smile only widening.
“And I wanted to be an hour early,” I snap at him. “But someone spent fifteen minutes just choosing cufflinks. I don’t think Loren really cares that you put on your…” I glance at his wrists. “Are those real gold?”