The Perfect Woman (Rose Gold Book 2)

by Nicole French

  The sun room at the back of the house contained more drug paraphernalia as well as a stack of pornography in one corner.

  “What is this place?” I wondered as we approached the back deck. “What are they doing here?”

  “A safe house,” Matthew said shortly.

  “For what?” I stared.

  He darted a dark look at me, but couldn’t answer because right then there was a sound of jangling keys as the front door was unlocked.

  “We have to get out of here,” Matthew said, pulling me quickly toward the back of the house.

  Just as the sounds of heavy feet slapped on the wood floors, we opened one of the french doors and slipped into my beautiful backyard, which was now just as overgrown and mistreated as the front.

  “Stay down,” Matthew whispered as he peered low through one of the windows.

  I did not stay down. Instead, I looked with him, shocked again by what I saw.

  “There’s only one,” I whispered. “Where did the others go?”

  Matthew’s mouth remained in a tight line as we watched the man I had spoken to yesterday slump onto one of the sofas, set his gun on the side table next to him, and reach for a warm beer that had been sitting on a dirty cooler. The woman, whom I recognized as the one who answered the door and asked for Kate, reached for one of the tourniquets and needles beside him. He snapped at her in a language I didn’t recognize, then grabbed the back of her head. She jerked at first, but I watched in horror as she turned to him in a resigned fashion and started to unzip his pants.

  “Let’s go,” Matthew said, pulling me away. “Now.”

  We crept around the side of the house, darted through the bushes, and into the shade of the oak tree, where we walked quickly back to the car.

  “Drive,” he ordered as soon as we were both in. “Now.”

  We were both silent all the way back to Skylar and Brandon’s, both obviously pondering what we had just seen. Matthew’s shoulders remained tense and cold. His hand crept nowhere near my knee or any part of my body. It wasn’t until we had parked in front of Skylar and Brandon’s house and gotten out that he turned to me beside the car and spoke.

  “Do you need to go anywhere else?” he asked.

  I frowned. “No. We’re already here. Where else would I need to go now?”

  He looked disappointed. And frustrated. “Nothing else you want to check up on? Things you need to tie up before you start school next week?”

  I turned to him, suddenly irritated myself. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m just asking a question.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  Matthew tipped his head. “Why what?”

  “Why the question? Why this whole day, now that I think about it? Why did you follow me everywhere? Come with me to all these errands?” I frowned. “I didn’t need help with this, and it can’t have been terribly interesting for you.”

  “Doll, you have no idea how interesting this is. I’m fuckin’ fascinated right now.”

  I scoffed. “Tell me another. Please.”

  Suddenly, I was backed up against the car, with more than six feet of hot-blooded, dark-eyed prosecutor glowering over me from under the brim of his fedora.

  “Nina,” he growled, “do I look bored right now?”

  I gulped. “No, but—”

  “And did I say anything about wanting to be anywhere else but right here with you?”

  I swallowed harder. “No, but—”

  Matthew smirked. It brought out a dimple on his right cheek, and I wanted to hook my finger in the divot and kiss him. Hard.

  “What are you looking for here?” I wondered. “What are you expecting?”

  He shot me a bemused look. “Why? Should I be expecting anything?”

  I frowned. “No, of course not. But still. This isn’t adding up.”

  Matthew worried his jaw. He hadn’t, I noticed, let me up from the car. If anything, I was trapped more tightly to the shiny metal, his knee between my legs, broad chest pressed to mine.

  “You know you can tell me anything, right?” he asked.

  I hesitated. Was he serious? How many times had he told me the exact opposite—not to say a word? “What makes you say that now?”

  His eyes searched mine. “Nothing. But…”

  And then, instead of finishing his statement, he kissed me. My lips fell open instinctively, and his tongue dipped in to tousle furiously with mine. Searching, somehow, just as insistently as his questions before.

  “Why?” I gasped when he finally released me. I felt like I was drowning, but because he was gone, not because he was there.

  Still.

  “Why what, doll?” Matthew pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, like he was trying to keep whatever remnants of the kiss firmly in place.

  “Why do you keep doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Kissing me. You keep saying we shouldn’t—”

  “You say it too.”

  “Even so!” I burst out. “I’m—you’re—” I shook my head. “You make me feel so weak. And I am. You’re the stronger one, but you keep taking such advantage…”

  He looked at me like he wanted to argue back again. I didn’t blame him. We were so good at it, and it only inevitably started more fireworks. Carefully, he slipped his hands around my neck, cradling my head in his warm palms like I was some precious treasure he couldn’t bear to drop.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly as his thumb brushed over my cheek. “I know I shouldn’t. But every time I look at you, I can’t help thinking, this might be my last chance. One day soon, you’ll be gone forever, and the truth is, it fuckin’ guts me.” He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “I kiss you because I have to, Nina. I kiss you because I might never have the chance again, and if I don’t take it, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  Suddenly, he was kissing me again, with tongue and lips and his hand slipped up to wrap around my throat just tight enough that I felt secure, but not squeezed. Just as quickly, it turned into devouring.

  And then, in the middle of it, he pulled away on a sharp gasp. “Fuck. Fuck.”

  “What is it?” I asked, though my voice was somewhat hoarse from the effect of his fingers. “Matthew, p-please talk to me.” I could hardly speak, I wanted him so badly.

  He stared at my lips like a tiger premeditating an attack.

  Do it, I found myself thinking. Just pounce.

  But instead, his hand dropped, and he turned away. “I’m going for a walk.”

  I stood up. “Are you serious? You’re going out now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need to cool the fuck down!”

  Before I could argue further, he had clapped his hat back on, swept his jacket over his shoulder, and was striding for the gate.

  “I’ll be back in an hour,” he called over his shoulder. “I told Skylar we’d be home for dinner. And I’m not a damn liar.”

  And with that, he left me standing in the driveway, hand to my mouth, lips throbbing, wondering just what exactly he meant by that last remark.

  Chapter Thirty

  At first, I thought that Matthew might miss dinner after all, but he slipped in just as Skylar was setting large, utilitarian platters of spaghetti and meatballs on the oversized farmhouse table just off the kitchen. Despite the fact that three of the five children had left for school, it was still a boisterous affair that became a reunion of sorts when Eric showed up to surprise Jane, along with Kieran Beckford and her wife, Pushpa. Kieran was another of Skylar’s (and once Eric’s) law partners and apparently an old friend of Brandon’s too.

  I, for one, mostly listened as the raucous, joyful conversation embraced the party like a merry hug. Eric in particular was fascinating to me as I witnessed a genial comfort in my cousin’s bright smile and open laughter that I’d never known anyone in my family to possess. Now I could see just why he had stayed away from New York for so long, and why h
e and Jane continued traveling back and forth from Boston so frequently. Their friends were special. The warmth in this home was special. These were the types of people who made their family rather than accepted the lot they had been given, and the difference shined through.

  So, I thought. Money didn’t have to equal propriety. Manipulation. Chill. Theoretically, I’d always known these things to be true, but I’d never really seen it. Not up close. Not like this.

  At the far end of the table, I caught Matthew watching me over his wineglass while his thumb circled the edge, again and again. Most of the time, he was right in the middle of the conversation, having known nearly all of these people for years himself. But every so often, just like now, he would catch my eye and fall back into a pensive silence to match mine.

  I wanted to ask him why he had run off so suddenly. Why his mood had shifted almost as soon as we had turned down my block in Newton. I wanted to ask him if that last kiss still burned on his lips the same way it did on mine.

  But every time I was about to gesture that he meet me outside, he looked away or made some joke that set everyone laughing once more, and I was pushed further back into my own thoughts.

  “What do you think?” Skylar asked as she returned from putting the smaller children down for bed. “It’s a nice night. Nightcaps around the orchard fire?”

  “Only if you can get Brandon to tell the story again over brandy,” Pushpa said as everyone rose from the table. “Every time, he slithers out of it.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Brandon muttered from the kitchen sink, where he was making a mess of his shirt trying to do the dishes. “Not that shit again, Pushpa.”

  “What?” Pushpa blinked her large eyes balefully as she moved to a cabinet and began to gather snifters for everyone, clearly comfortable with the house. “I have never had a satisfactory recounting of it, you know.”

  “What story is this?” I asked as I took a stack of dishes into the kitchen.

  Skylar smiled as she took them. “They love to retell how Brandon tried to get me to be his mistress.”

  “I never used that word,” Brandon snapped over his shoulder, hitting himself with a spray of water.

  “No, you only offered to put her up in a condo a few days a week so she would be at your beck and call. Who did you think you were? Richard Gere in Pretty Woman?” Kieran shot as she located a bottle of brandy from the liquor cabinet.

  “What is this, ‘pile on Brandon’ night?” the man himself asked.

  “Well, it is fun, Mr. Lewis,” Jane jeered as she carried over the empty pasta platters.

  “Leave it,” Skylar said as she pulled the sprayer out of Brandon’s hand. “You’re too riled up to do dishes, babe. You’ll get soaked.”

  After they made sure their phones were synced with the children’s monitors upstairs, we followed the Sterlings out to the orchard next to the house, then settled around a large firepit and watched while Brandon and Matthew quickly got a nice steady blaze going in front of us.

  “I’d like to hear this story,” I said as we all took seats in large rattan chairs around the firepit on the outer edge of the orchard.

  Pushpa grinned at Brandon as she clutched a blanket around her shoulders. “See?”

  Brandon rolled his eyes, but grabbed Skylar’s hand as he began to talk. “There’s not much to tell. They just love hearing about how I messed up with Skylar again and again when we first met. It’s embarrassing, really. And these assholes never let me forget it.”

  “What did you do?” I wondered.

  “Asked me to be his weekend woman,” Skylar joked.

  “Red!”

  “Well, it’s true,” Skylar rejoined. “I think the way you put it was, ‘nip it in the bud,’ right? Complete with a wardrobe allowance and a condo?”

  Laughter erupted around the fire as Brandon’s cheeks pinked, even in the dim light. I wasn’t sure I found it funny. I personally knew several men who actually had real mistresses they treated in almost identical ways. But having met Skylar, I couldn’t imagine her ever even considering such a proposal.

  “And what did you do?” I asked.

  Skylar smirked. “Called him a pig and told him to burn my file.”

  The laughter grew louder. Brandon, though taking it all in good stride, didn’t seem to find it quite so funny either. In fact, he looked downright guilty as he carefully watched his wife.

  “At the time, I just thought he was a womanizer,” she said. “Little did I know he wasn’t available. Not really.”

  “But he still had to have you.” This time it was Matthew’s voice cutting across the fire. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at me.

  “Red.”

  Brandon’s deep timbre cut through what remained of the jokes at his expense. Everyone quieted, and the intensity of the way he was looking at his wife brooked no room for her to look away either. No one could.

  “If we’re gonna tell these stories, baby,” he said softly, the guttural edges of a South Boston accent creeping out with his emotion, “then we have to tell them right. We need to include the parts where I chased you through a blizzard in the middle of the night just to get your name. Or how I racked my brain for weeks about how to convince a woman like you to love a man like me, making fuckup after fuckup, sure, but never stopping because it always came down to one truth. There was no one else but you. Not from the second I laid eyes on you.” He leaned over in his seat, begging his wife to look at him. “You know that, Red, don’t you?”

  The other couples around them leaned into each other as well. I tried not to stare as Jane whispered something into Eric’s ear that made his eyes flash, even in the darkness. Nor could I help but notice the sly smile on Kieran’s face as Pushpa made a secret gesture that clearly meant something between the two of them. It felt intrusive to watch any of their interactions, and so, in the end, my eyes landed on the only other unattached person in our party. And Matthew, of course, was staring right back at me.

  “I know,” Skylar murmured, reaching out to trace Brandon’s jaw with her fingers until she traced his lips too.

  All at once, the big man stood and pulled his much smaller wife up with him.

  “Friends,” he said. “Stay as long as you like. But my wife and I need to finish this storytelling on our own. Good night.”

  I watched again as they meandered back through the orchard. Skylar’s laugh filtered through the trees when Brandon paused to lift her into his arms and carry her inside like she was his new bride, not his wife of five or more years.

  “I think that’s a night for us too,” Kieran said as she and Pushpa stood and collected their glasses. “Nina, it was nice to meet you.”

  “And you,” I called as they left. “I hope to see you again.” And I meant it too.

  “And then there were four,” Eric said softly, reaching for Jane’s hand.

  He, Jane, Matthew, and I scooted our chairs closer to the fire, so the flames licked our faces and cast a corona that ringed us in the black of night.

  Jane sighed, burying her face into his shoulder. “Talk some poetry to us, Eric. It’s a good night for it.”

  Eric raised a brow. “You think, pretty girl?”

  Jane’s eyes closed dreamily. “I know.”

  Eric smiled sweetly at her, then began to recite.

  I went out to the hazel wood,

  Because a fire was in my head,

  And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

  And hooked a berry to a thread;

  And when white moths were on the wing,

  And moth-like stars were flickering out,

  I dropped the berry in a stream

  And caught a little silver trout.

  When I had laid it on the floor

  I went to blow the fire a-flame,

  But something rustled on the floor,

  And someone called me by my name:

  It had become a glimmering girl

  With apple blossoms in her hair

  Who c
alled me by my name and ran

  And faded through the brightening air.

  Though I am old with wandering

  Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

  I will find out where she has gone,

  And kiss her lips and take her hands;

  And walk among long dappled grass,

  And pluck till time and times are done,

  The silver apples of the moon,

  The golden apples of the sun.

  “I didn’t know you were such a poet,” I said once he was finished. I was learning all sorts of things about Eric tonight.

  He offered a hesitant, lopsided smile. “I’m not. That was Yeats. I was an English major at Dartmouth. Didn’t you know that?”

  I shook my head. There were so many things we never shared with each other after he left.

  “I thought of that poem a lot when I was in New Hampshire, out by the woods. And later…after Penny died.”

  Everyone was quiet. Jane clearly wasn’t surprised to hear about Penny, the girl Eric had planned to marry before she died when they were only twenty-two. I, however, had barely heard him speak about her.

  “She’s why you left New York,” I said.

  It wasn’t a question, but Eric nodded anyway.

  “The first time, just to get away from the family bullshit and take her with. And then after…yeah. Grief really messes you up,” he said.

  “So does family pressure,” I remarked dryly.

  “Well, sometimes the people we want aren’t the people others think we should have,” he said as he stoked the fire, causing a blast of sparks to shoot into the air “It’s so common with the de Vrieses, it’s practically a rite of passage.”

  I frowned. “Who else do you mean besides you?”

  “Well, my mother, for instance. John Carson definitely didn’t want my father to marry her. And neither did Grandmother, from what I hear. And then, of course, there was Penny.”

  “After what they did to her, I’m surprised you ever came back,” I said, in spite of the years of resentment I’d felt toward him for just that.