So that’s what he’s getting tonight. Lasagna. Salad. Breadsticks.
But of course, as I was getting lost on my way to grab a quart of ricotta, I happened by his favorite cookies and yogurt and those little candied raisins he loves.
God, he’s like a child.
That’s why I rarely take him to the store with me. He loads our cart with everything we don’t need, and he thinks it’s hilarious.
And sometimes it is.
Two weeks ago, he put a jar of pickled pig feet in the cart, and I didn’t see it until we were checking out.
I’m fourth in line now, and the lady three spots ahead has an overflowing cart. Pretty sure she could feed a small country with all of that.
The two spots ahead of me are occupied with two little old ladies in knit shawls and matching white perms cut short. One lady wears coordinating turquoise earrings and rings, and the other’s lips are slicked in a blinding shade of raspberry.
They’re mostly laughing, whispering here and there. After a minute, their expressions sober. I’m guessing their conversation took a more serious turn.
“It’s so sad, Betty,” Raspberry Lips says, placing her hand on her friend’s arm. “All those people, their retirements . . . poof. Gone.”
“My goodness, I just can’t even imagine,” Betty says, her voice rife with condolences. “I’m living off Virgil’s pension, but boy, half the town handed their money to that man to manage.”
“And everyone thought they were getting filthy stinking rich. I just knew it was too good to be true.” Raspberry Lips clucks her tongue. “I don’t know what they’re going to do now. They’re too old to start over.”
Betty makes the sign of the cross. “They’re in God’s hands now.”
“I heard a bunch of them are looking for a good attorney to take him on. They’re going to sue the ever-loving daylights out of that young man,” Lips says, staring down her pointed nose. Her penciled-on eyebrows lift, and she looks like a scolding schoolteacher.
I would know.
“Excuse me.” I interrupt because I can’t stand it a moment longer, and the twinge in my gut gives me a feeling I need to have confirmed. “Do you mind if I ask who you’re discussing?”
Betty glances behind me, swallows, and leans in. “That Brooks Abbott fellow, with Abbott Financial.”
My heart lands at my feet, and my mouth dries.
“Do you know him?” she asks. “He’s about your age. Not very old at all.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod.
“Yeah, I used to know him,” I say. “What did he do? Exactly?”
Raspberry Lips leans in, her hand on Betty’s shoulder. “He was running some sort of Ponzi scheme operation.”
“My God.” I almost drop my basket of groceries when my arms go to Jell-O. The credit cards. The cash advances. The constant moving around of money. The secretiveness. He was constantly buying and selling random things. He never really had any real money.
“Hundreds of millions of dollars. All gone.” Betty shakes her head. “Can you even imagine?”
“How did they find out?” I ask.
“Apparently, he was in a really bad accident a couple of months ago,” Lips says. “While he was recovering, his accountant and partners were trying to balance the sheets, and the numbers just weren’t adding up. That’s when they realized what he’d been doing all this time.”
“Do you know any of these people?” I ask.
Betty nods. “We know most of them, yes. Why?”
“If they haven’t hired an attorney yet, tell them Robert and Derek Rosewood of the Rosewood and Rosewood Agency are two of the best trial lawyers in the state. And you didn’t hear this from me, but I have it on good authority that Brooks has a sizable trust fund set to mature in a few more years. It won’t cover everything they’ve lost, but it’ll help.”
The line moves ahead, and the lady with the huge cart pushes her bagged groceries toward the front door. Raspberry lips places her basket on the moving belt and exchanges a pleasantly surprised smile with Betty.
“Well, sweetheart, we’ll certainly pass the message along,” Betty says. “You can count on that.”
Chapter 48
Royal
“They’re going to freeze all his assets.” Demi’s mouth moves a mile a minute as she unloads groceries. Cupboards open and slam. The glass condiment jars rattle when she yanks on the fridge door. She’s in a frenzy, all worked up. “All this time, he’d been running a goddamn scheme. Royal, he didn’t just fuck me over, he fucked over half the population of Rixton Falls.”
I shut my Constitutional Criminal Procedure book and rise to help her with the rest of the groceries.
“And you’re surprised, why?” I take a box of cookies from a bag and peel the pouch open. “Thanks, babe.”
She slaps my hand. “Wait until after we eat, please.”
Demi’s frown makes her look exactly like Bliss for two seconds, and I smirk. “You look like your mother right now.”
She rolls her eyes. “Good. Then maybe my lasagna will taste exactly like hers.”
“I’m sure it’ll be good either way.”
“How was school today?” She pulls a long casserole dish from the pantry and lines the ingredients along the island of our little rental condo. It’s modest and quaint, and just the right size for two people.
I’d love nothing more than to buy Demi a house someday, but now that I’m in school and she’s substitute teaching, the timing’s all off.
She hasn’t complained though. Not once. That’s what I love about her. The woman of my dreams is content just to be with me.
Now that says a lot.
Demi Rosewood is a keeper, but I already knew that. And I plan on keeping her. Forever.
She hands a jar of red sauce to me to open, and I twist it with a satisfying pop before giving it back.
“You know,” she says. “I was thinking on the way home.”
“Uh, oh,” I tease.
She shoves my arm playfully. “No, I was thinking about that ring.”
Tucked away in a safety deposit box at our bank is Demi’s flawless five carat engagement ring. The appraisal came in around a hundred grand, and we were hoping to use it for a down payment on a house someday.
At the time, it seemed justified. Brooks royally screwed her over, and her father is still working on the credit card fraud situation. But she always had slight reservations.
“He probably bought that ring with other people’s money,” Demi says. “Money he stole from the good people in Rixton Falls who trusted him.”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
“I’m going to sell it and put the money toward them. It’ll hardly put a dent in the damage Brooks did, but it’s better than nothing. We have the rest of our lives to save for our retirement, and they don’t.”
“That’s big of you, Demi.” I clear my throat and slip my arm over her shoulders. She fits under me just perfectly. “I completely agree. It’s the right thing to do.”
The knock at our door at six signals that our guests have arrived.
“I’ll get it,” I offer.
“Royal!” Haven jumps into my arms before I’ve even pulled the door all the way open. She wraps her arms around my neck and dangles, and I lift her up and carry her to the kitchen.
“Hey, man.” Derek pats my back and smiles.
We’ve been reconnecting these last couple of months. Getting to know each other again. Turns out the bonds of friendship aren’t as easily severed as I thought they were. Sometimes when we’re hanging out, it feels like we never really had that separation of time. It’s like someone placed a bookmark between us and we picked up right where we left off.
Demi says that’s the measure of true love and also true friendship. I couldn’t agree more.
“Aunt Demi’s making Nana’s lasagna.” I sit Haven down at the head of the kitchen table where she likes to sit because she loves to be in the middle of all of us
.
“Hi, Aunt Demi.” Haven waves.
“Hey, baby doll,” Demi says, browning Italian sausage over the stove. “I’ll be over there for kisses in a minute, okay?”
“Okay!” Haven’s legs swing under the chair.
“Is that a panda on your shirt?” I ask.
Her face lights, and she grins.
“You know I love pandas. They’re my favorite.” I told her that the last time I saw her. Don’t really have a favorite animal, but it seemed to make her smile.
“I remembered, Royal,” she says.
“She wanted to wear it for you,” Derek says. “Apparently, she’s pretty fond of you for some reason.”
“And who wouldn’t be?” I wink.
“Need any help, Dem?” Derek offers.
“No, no. You guys can go in the living room and hang out there if you want. Haven, do you want to help me make Nana’s lasagna?” Demi lifts a wooden spatula and points it at her niece. “I have a little apron that’s just your size . . . and I could use a ton of help . . .”
Haven looks to Demi, then to Derek, and lastly, to me.
“No, thank you, Aunt Demi. I’m going to play with Royal. He likes to play Legos and puzzles with me.” Haven melts me with her big, blue eyes. They match Demi’s. And if we’re lucky, maybe someday we’ll have a little girl with that very same gaze.
“Burn.” Derek laughs.
“That’s cool, that’s cool,” Demi says, her hands in the air. “I get it. Royal’s fun. I’m boring. I only color with you and braid your hair, but that’s cool. Whatever.”
Haven hops down from the chair and walks back to me, reaching for my hand and slipping hers into mine.
“Come on, Royal.” She leads me to the living room and goes straight for the box of Legos hidden under the sofa. Haven stayed with us a couple of weeks ago while Derek was entertaining a new client during his custody weekend. Demi insisted on taking her to Target and buying her whatever she wanted, and she chose pirate Legos. “Let’s play.”
At least she didn’t pick Barbies. I’d never hear the end of it from Derek if I was sitting on the floor dressing Ken dolls.
An hour later, the four of us are sitting around the kitchen table, enjoying Demi’s dinner, which tastes bite-for-bite like something Bliss would make, and Haven’s telling me all about her new preschool teacher.
“They bumped her up to three days,” Derek says. “She was the smartest kid in her class.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Demi said. “She’s a Rosewood. Overachieving is embedded in her DNA.”
“Speaking of overachieving Rosewoods,” Derek says. “Did you know Delilah’s coming back in a few months? She’s in some wedding in April for one of her old friends from high school.”
“Yeah, but we were thinking of taking a trip to Chicago sometime soon and visiting her.” Demi hands Haven a napkin.
“Let me know when you’re going. I’ll go too,” Derek says. “As long as it’s not my weekend with Haven. She doesn’t do too well on planes.”
“Imagine that. Haven Rosewood can’t sit still for longer than an hour. Doesn’t surprise me.” Demi laughs.
“How’s your pre-law program going?” Derek turns his attention to me.
“Going pretty well. Just a few weeks into the semester, but so far, so good. Really immersed in the program. Definitely feel like this was my calling.” I nod as I take another bite and chew.
“Allendale College has one of the best legal programs in the state,” Derek says. “You chose well.”
It’s not like I had many options, but I agree. It’s one of the best, and so far, it’s a great fit.
“Not sure where I’ll go for law school,” I say. “I’ve got a few ideas in mind, but a lot of it will depend on where Demi’s teaching by then.”
“Naturally,” Derek says. “If you ever need a letter of recommendation, let me know. And you know there’s a spot at the firm for you, once you’re all finished.”
“I appreciate it,” I say. “Thank you.”
After dinner, Haven and I put together a fifty-piece, toddler-approved puzzle on the living room coffee table, and Derek helps clean up. After he leaves, Demi and I curl up on the sofa and try and decide which DVR’ed shows we should catch up on first.
“How’s Misty?” Demi asks as we peruse our recordings. “You hear from her lately?”
Blowing a heavy breath between my lips, I drag my hand through my hair. Ever since Misty retracted her accusation, Demi’s been encouraging me to forgive her. She said I need to do it for myself, and that forgiving her won’t mean that what she did was right. It’s just a way of releasing anger, untethering myself from all of that.
Now that I’m no longer a registered offender and Misty is no longer considered my victim, I’m legally allowed to be in her presence.
“Mona said she’s up at some inpatient recovery facility,” I say. “She’ll be serving her sentence as soon as she’s out.”
“You should probably go talk to her at some point. I bet she’s scared.”
And she should be. Prison is no fucking joke. And it’s not meant for the soft or the weak.
I exhale and Demi fits her head beneath my chin.
“I know it’s not your idea of a good time,” she says sweetly. “But I think you’ll feel better when it’s all done. And subsequently, so will she. Only good things can come of this.”
“Yeah.” I kiss the top of her forehead. “You’re right. I’ll visit her soon. Give her some encouragement.”
“You’re a good big brother, even if you don’t think so.” Her voice is a sweet whisper.
I grab the remote from her hand and select an episode of Walking Dead.
“Hey!” Demi pops up and tries to swipe it back. “I thought we were watching Scandal tonight. I wanted something a little . . . sexier.”
“Oh. You’re in the mood for something sexy tonight?” I rise up, guide her onto her back, and climb on top of her. Pinning her beneath me, I crush her lips with mine, feeling them pull into a grin as I kiss her. “Screw watching TV tonight.”
I crawl off of her and pull her off the sofa, sliding my hands down her thighs and up her ass before hoisting her up. I carry her to our room, and her nails dig into my scalp as she kisses my neck.
This could be the rest of my life, and I’d be the happiest man alive. We could relive these small moments again and again, like Groundhog’s Day, and I wouldn’t mutter a single complaint.
As I lay her across our bed, the bed that we share, the bed we picked out together on some lazy Saturday afternoon several weeks back, I’m filled with nothing but warmth and an unapologetic, unwavering love for Demi Rosewood.
I stare into her gorgeous blues and breathe in her soft scent that fills the electric space between us. Our love is just as vibrant and alive as ever before.
I climb over her, and she nestles her head into a pillow and tugs at the hem of my shirt, and I know with absolute certainty that I’ll never tire of making love to this woman.
Ever.
No matter how much time will pass, it’ll never get old.
I’ll never take her for granted.
And I’ll never jeopardize our happiness, so long as we live.
Chapter 49
Demi
{eight years later}
“Let’s go see Mama.” Royal’s voice from outside my hospital door makes me instantly forget the searing pain between my thighs from birthing a nine-pound baby at three AM this morning.
Apparently, Royal and I make some big babies. But they’re so darn adorable that it makes up for all the less than pleasant things that go along with that.
“Hey, baby,” I say softly when our three-year-old son tiptoes into the room behind his father.
It’s his first time being in a hospital, and judging by his apprehension, he’s not quite sure what to think of it.
Beckett carries a bouquet of lilies in his hand, the hand attached to the arm that’s currently broken an
d wrapped in a neon green cast, because two weeks ago, he decided to climb into the old tree house at Nana and Papa’s. He snuck in there when no one was looking and fell when he attempted to climb down the ladder.
I’ve been trying to talk my parents into taking it down. The wood is rotting, and it’s dangerous. But they don’t have the heart. Dad keeps repairing floorboards as they rot, and Mom tears up whenever the subject is brought up.
They watched us all grow up in that thing. Taking it down would be like destroying a living piece of Rosewood history.
“Hey, buddy, want to give those flowers to your mom?” Royal urges him, ruffling the top of his wavy, dark hair.
“Here, Mama.” Beckett hands me the wrapped flowers. I count five white lilies and one pink. “The pink one is for my sister.”
Campbell stirs in her bassinette, and Royal pushes it closer to my bedside before lifting her out and placing her in my arms.
“You want up here, little man?” I ask.
Beckett nods, and Royal helps him.
“Thank you for the flowers, my love.” I lean forward as much as I can and kiss his forehead. He smells like glue and Play-Doh, which isn’t surprising, since he spent most of the day with his cousin, Haven, at Uncle Derek’s house.
“You’re welcome,” he says, in his sweet, little boy voice.
“You’re a big brother now,” Royal says in his best, stern father voice. “That’s a pretty big responsibility.”
I laugh. “I don’t even think he knows what responsibility means.”
Royal shrugs, smiling as he gazes down at his newborn daughter. “He’ll find out soon enough.”
“How much time are you taking off from the firm?” I ask.
Campbell came two weeks early, which is probably a good thing, given her size, but we weren’t expecting her, and it threw off our carefully laid plans.
Royal juts his chin and waves his hand. “Don’t even sweat it. I’ll be around as much as you need.”
I keep forgetting that he was made a junior partner last month, one of their youngest in the history of the firm. His boss, Richard Madsen, was a friend of one of Royal’s old law professors. Hired him fresh out of law school.
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