Raindrops on Roses: Book One of the Favorite Things Trilogy

by Millenia Black

  The spacious three-bedroom apartment he shared with Amber had always been cozy, a really nice home for the two of them, but Michael stood there now, looking around the living room, sensing that the end of their life together had just begun.

  He saw an uncovered dish of lasagna sitting cold on the dining room bar. When he flipped on the kitchen light to put it away, Amber woke up, looking around as if she wasn't exactly sure where she was.

  "Hey you," he said, hoping she wouldn't notice how rumpled he looked—or how sad he felt. Relax, he told himself. She'll just think the funeral got the best of you.

  She got up and walked over to him, slipping her arms around his waist. "Memories?" she asked, searching his eyes.

  He shrugged. "Yeah, it was pretty rough. But still, they did give her a nice send off." Michael returned the hug, praying she wouldn't ask what had kept him out until five in the morning.

  "Lasagna's on the bar,"—she indicated the dish—"but we can just put it away for later."

  "No, no," Michael said, giving her an uneasy smile, "let's have some now. I feel bad that you tried to wait up and I'm really sorry. I should've called but there was just so much going on, you know? So many people there to talk to. It was crazy."

  "Yeah, but you could've texted me back, at least," she replied. "Anyway, if you're sure about lasagna for breakfast, I'm game. Let's eat."

  They went into the kitchen and got busy heating up. Soon after, a delicious smell wafted through the air as Amber poured orange juice. She handed Michael his favorite dinner plate, then threw a light salad together.

  Once they sat down to eat, she said, "So, how'd it go? What famous people did you meet? I saw on the news that most of the big name recluses came out for it."

  "Yeah," Michael grumbled, "and it turned that poor woman's funeral service into a goddamn media circus." He dug into the lasagna, shaking his head. "Dad was like, 'just ignore it,' but that was next to impossible."

  "Well, I offered to go with you for support," said Amber, "but you told me to stay home and work...that it wasn't necessary for me to come."

  He saw now from her demeanor that her feelings had been hurt. "Well," he said, avoiding her eyes, "maybe I was wrong." He watched as her face relaxed and thought, Why's she so sensitive lately?

  When they finished eating, Amber put the dishes in the sink and then immediately slipped into her mating dance. Smiling, she opened the refrigerator and Michael watched from hooded eyes as she produced a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries. Despite the circumstances, he felt compelled to return her amorous smile. Didn't he have to? Even as his body still reeled with the sweet aftershocks of having just made love to someone else?

  Swaying back over to the table, Amber placed her lips firmly against his ear and whispered, "So how 'bout you come into the bedroom and help me eat some of these, hmm?" She put the tray in front of him and stroked his cheek.

  "Sounds delicious," he replied, not quite meeting her gaze.

  Lacing their fingers, she led him into their bedroom, where soft pink curtains draped the windows and red satin sheets clothed the bed in a rich blend of Amber’s favorite colors. She began undressing herself, her clothes quickly hitting the carpet to reveal a fresh Brazilian wax. Then she climbed into the bed and motioned for him to join her.

  Armed with a strawberry, Michael teasingly ran it over her lips before slowly feeding it to her.

  She quickly reached for his belt. "Baby, you should get a little more comfortable." Then she began teasing him with her tongue, helping him undress.

  Once he was completely naked, she plucked two of the strawberries from the tray, fed him one and lay back against the pillows with the other, partially inserting it into herself. "So now you know where to go if you want more," she said with a grin.

  Michael obliged. With any luck, he could make her forget he'd been out all night.

  • CHAPTER FOUR •

  Later that morning, Michael woke up feeling slightly hung over—complete with sticky chocolate sauce all over his chest and his...other parts. Amber was still fast asleep beside him and her face seemed to radiate love for him even as she slept.

  For a few minutes he just laid there, staring at her.

  Jesus, what happens now? he thought. I certainly can't keep this up.

  The funeral seemed like a lifetime ago. And meeting Priscilla Bauer? Still like a dream. It had been less than twenty-four hours since he'd met her, but now she was all he could think about.

  Gently moving Amber's arm off his leg, Michael left the bed and went to take a shower hoping it might clear his head, but he was consumed with memories. The way her body had felt beneath him. The way her body had moved with his. Her passionate moans. The delicious way she had kissed him. Her scent.

  Sweet Jesus. He wouldn't make it through the day if this didn't stop...

  Walking into the bathroom, he went right up to the mirror and looked himself in the eye—and that's when he knew.

  It was already too late. Too late to try talking himself out of pursuing her. She had left him aching, craving much more of her company.

  And although they had been together since high school, he didn't feel this way about Amber—and now he could see that he never had. Raw and exciting passion was a definite first for Michael Frost.

  But how did you break up with the girl you lived with? Did you just leave? And when would he tell her? Where would he go? And what if things didn't work out with Priscilla Bauer—would he want to come back to Amber?

  These questions strained him, but still they were no match for the unforgettable evening he'd had at Emerald Leas: The soulful music that had scored the occasion. The profound love she had clearly had for her grandmother. Her palpable grief. The formidable efforts she'd made to smile and graciously accept condolences from her guests.

  Not to mention the unforgettable hours they had spent together in her bed.

  Despite everything, Michael smiled ear-to-ear as he stepped into the shower reliving every moment. More than anything else in the world, he wanted to learn more about Priscilla Bauer and he wouldn't let anything get in the way of that. The mere idea of seeing her again excited him and made him feel happier than he'd felt in years, since he was a young boy.

  The pulsing hot water hitting his back felt amazing, almost therapeutic, so Michael stood under the spray longer than usual, allowing himself this time alone to think. He realized that he'd been feeling this change coming for over a year now—a vague unhappiness that meeting another woman had exposed, in high definition.

  Amber was his high school sweetheart and he would always remember their relationship warmly, but oddly enough, once they had moved in together, Michael had begun feeling like the relationship had run its course. Perhaps he'd outgrown it? He wasn't quite sure what had happened.

  She loved him a lot. That was undeniable; and he wasn't quite unhappy...but he hadn't exactly been happy over the years either, he realized. And now that he had met someone else, he was seeing just how badly he wanted happiness.

  As he scrubbed off the chocolate, he thought about how hurt Amber would be when he told her it was time they moved on. Since he'd never been in this position before, the thought was making him very uneasy.

  Can it ever really be over between us? he wondered. Can we go from expecting to live our entire lives together to just being friends? They were complicated questions. And if there was one thing Michael Frost hated, it was feeling...complicated.

  Throwing himself into his shower, he got busy going through the motions, washing and rewashing, letting the hot water and steam saturate the full six feet of his body. But as the water cooled, he snapped out of it. Now it was time to get out and face the music.

  Wrapping a towel around his waist, he went into the kitchen to put the coffee on and check out the morning news. He had recently installed a mini-flat screen up over the counter for Amber and now he realized he liked this spot as well. It was perfect.

  Amber strolled in just as the coffee s
tarted brewing, smiling the memories of their early morning sexcapade.

  As Michael watched her beam, his resolve weakened. He suddenly realized he wasn't ready to cross the Rubicon just yet...

  You'll know when the time is right, he thought. "Nice to see you up, sleepyhead," he said, handing her a cup of coffee to sweeten. "I think they could've moved our apartment and you wouldn't have budged."

  "Well, you gave me a lot to sleep off," she teased back and plopped into a chair at the table. Then she got busy sweetening her coffee. "So what do you have planned for today?"

  Michael got the "let's play hooky" vibe loud and clear, one of their favorite pastimes over the years—they would stay home, order in and have interesting sex all over the house while everyone else was out in the rat race. It was great fun.

  With an apologetic glance he said, "Sorry, full day at the office." The fib came out smoothly enough and he took comfort in the fact that it wasn't a complete lie. He did have work to do, it just wouldn’t take him all day.

  Leaning down, he rubbed her nose with his. "Don't look so glum." He gave her a quick kiss. "Aren't we going away this weekend?"

  "Yes, and I can't wait..." Amber trailed off as she sipped her coffee, then she looked up at him. I've been missing you was in her gaze. But she didn't say anything else.

  Just then, a local news report began on coverage of Veronica Bauer's funeral.

  God, he thought, glancing at Amber. She'd absolutely hate me if she knew where I'd been last night. The thought hadn't really crossed his mind until now and Michael watched her closely as she got up to make them both Toaster Strudels. But there's no reason for her to find out, is there? The fact that we became lovers before the break up isn't really relevant to Amber in any way whatsoever—she never has to find out.

  He felt somewhat better as he looked out the kitchen window, wondering if it meant he was simply becoming a bad person—or worse—more like his father, who had cheated on Michael's mother throughout most of their marriage.

  Suddenly, he couldn't get out of the apartment fast enough. "I have to go get dressed," he said, rubbing her shoulders. "Make it a good day, okay? I'll call you later."

  •~•

  Outside, it was a nice sunny day as he headed for the office park. But inside, Michael felt a huge storm brewing.

  The drive to the office went by in a blur as he mulled over his options for breaking up with Amber—a move that would change both their lives forever.

  How did you end a ten-year relationship? At this point, Michael's desire to be free seemed much stronger than his ability to reach freedom from where he was. It was...complicated.

  So before he knew it, he had parked and entered the office building. When he got into his office, he flipped on the lights and came face-to-face with his father sitting in the chair behind Michael's desk. His dad's own office faced the parking garage so he must've seen Michael drive in. For a moment, they just watched each other in the air-conditioned silence. Michael looking defensive. Larry, reproachful.

  "Where were you?" he finally asked, his tone quiet.

  "I left, Dad," Michael replied coolly. "That's all." Whether his father believed him or not, was irrelevant. He took a seat near the office window and dropped his leather satchel on the floor. Might as well do this now, he thought.

  "No," his father continued, "that's not all. When I left, your car was still there but you two had disappeared. Where'd you go?"

  "Look, Dad," he said, steadying his hands. "If you want your drafts on time, I think you'd better just let me get to it."

  Larry got up, his body strained and tense beneath his black button-down.

  Michael could feel his father's usual bid for control coming at him full force, clear across the desk.

  "Please don’t be an idiot for a pretty girl." Larry walked over to the door and pulled it open. "When I retire early in a few years, you’re taking over this business, Michael. Show me you're smart enough to handle it. Show me you deserve it."

  It was a thinly veiled threat that sounded hollow and empty to Michael's ears. Whether he deserved it or not, he knew his father would never entrust Frosted Designs—his life's work, his pride and joy—to anyone else. There was no one else.

  Once the door closed, Michael exhaled and fell into his chair, in deep thought about the reality of pursuing Priscilla Bauer. There would be challenges to overcome both at work and at home.

  Would it be worth it?

  Pushing the issue to the sidelines for the moment, Michael threw himself into his current project and worked right through lunch, only dropping his pencil when he began to feel hunger pangs. Leaning back in his chair, he stretched. His mind ran on Priscilla and he itched to call her...

  No, he told himself. She's not ready yet. But before he knew it, he was picking up the phone, sending a text.

  Priscilla? — M. Frost —

  He felt nervous as he hit send, awkward even. What if she doesn't answer?

  Michael? ~ CillaB.

  The reply came just a few minutes later and Michael's heart did a jig. He could barely believe the way this girl was making him feel. He almost didn't recognize himself.

  Yes it's me. Hope you're feeling a bit better — M. Frost —

  I'm ok...things are just crazy here ~ CillaB.

  After that reply, Michael hesitated, staring at the phone. He wasn't sure what to say next.

  Picking up his pencil, he dropped it back on the desk again. He left the chair, pacing the length of his office back and forth. He stared at the phone in his hand, then closed his eyes. C'mon, Michael, ask her. Just ask her.

  Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone and typed:

  Can I see you again? — M. Frost —

  But once he hit send, his heart stopped. Had he forgotten this girl was in mourning? Her whole family was! Hell, much of the world was mourning the loss of her grandmother. And for the first time since last night, Michael felt like he'd taken advantage of Priscilla. I shouldn't have slept with her, he thought. I shouldn't have let it happen.

  I'd like that. When? ~ CillaB.

  And in that moment, as he read that text—Michael knew his life would never be the same.

  • CHAPTER FIVE •

  Getting up that morning had been hard. It had felt just as if Gran were still alive and right down the hall.

  When Priscilla woke up again on the chaise, she had thought vaguely about breakfast possibilities; about whether or not they'd go for a walk on the pier before the day heated up; about the number of teleconferences her grandmother might've booked for the day—all the usual things. Then she realized how reality could be a total mind fuck when someone you loved passed away.

  Gran's gone, she'd thought soberly. She died right here in this house. And you have to live on.

  Fresh tears filled her eyes and she blew her nose. She was hollowed out. Orphaned and stripped of her very identity. And she was completely worn out from all the funeral arrangements. The press. The well-wishers. The distant relatives. And they still had the reading of the will to get through. All the moving parts had sapped her, leaving very little room for actual grieving.

  Meanwhile, she still needed time to adjust to the idea of life on Earth—and alone at Emerald Leas—without her beloved Gran.

  So today, Priscilla had decided to stay in again. She had put off the business meetings, not wanting to deal much with her brother Douglas or anyone else. And she'd also known her mother would be on the prowl, so she had instructed security to say she wasn't at home if Charlotte turned up unannounced, which she was known to do whenever it suited her.

  With Doug out at the hotel for the day and the household staff let off for the rest of the week, she now had the place to herself.

  From now on it'll just be Chewy and me, she thought sadly.

  Gran's beautiful little white Pomeranian was grieving just as much as everyone else. The poor thing had taken up residence near the right side of her grandmother's bed and kept constant vigil, awai
ting her return. Priscilla went into the room often to keep him company and cuddled with him in Gran's king-sized bed. She hoped it meant they were somehow healing each other, but couldn't help wondering how long it would take Chewy to realize the lady of the house wouldn't be walking through those double doors ever again...

  And so that's where Priscilla was—curled up in her grandmother's bed with Chewy, listening to Gran's Sam Cooke playlist on the stereo—when she got the text from Michael.