by Belle Brooks
I don’t spot Rose initially as I approach this man, but do so when I hear chatter coming from three-quarters of the way down the drive. Changing direction, I take the small incline on approach, although I’m halted when Slade steps in front of me. Prick!
“Morning.” Be nice, Tank.
“So, I find myself wondering, Mr Crossley, when did you plan to clean up your mess instead of waiting for others to organise it for you? That’s Trevor, by the way.” He points over my shoulder.
I don’t bother to look.
“I asked him to come here and pick up after you.” What a welcoming from that smug bastard.
I don’t oblige him with a reply. “Hi, Rose.”
“Roselette,” she corrects me, fiddling with a hoop hanging from her earlobe.
“Okay. Have a good day.” Turning, I know I should vamoose before I lose my temper and say nothing more.
“Shirking responsibility seems to be your thing.” Slade has it in for me, and I for him.
I want to permanently shut his mouth with my fist. But I won’t.
“Thanks for hiring coveralls,” I say in rotation. I glare at Slade’s smug-looking face.
“Someone had to get this pigsty tidied. It’s okay, Finlay—the adults took control of the situation for you.”
I shift my attention to Rose, who can’t even gift me her attention. Instead, she keeps her head turned to Slade’s cheek.
“No more parties, you understand?”
Who the hell does he think he is?
“Get off my fucking lawn!” I bark. I’ve had enough.
“Roselette. Get in the car. Do it now.” Slade is dominant in his instruction.
“Yes, sir,” she replies.
Yes, sir. What the fuck?
“Stay where you are, Rose,” I command.
She doesn’t reply. Instead, she shuffles in a tight black dress towards the black SUV parked just off the road.
“You don’t get to instruct her to do anything. She’s mine. My property, my fiancée … mine. You understand?” Slade’s finger dances as he outstretches it in my direction.
This instantly makes me wild, and is probably the reason for my forceful march towards him and the left hook I connect to his face.
“Fuck!” he shouts when his arse hits the ground.
“Get off my fucking property. Understand?” I growl.
“Let’s go, arsehole.” Slade finds his feet and spits blood from the corner of his mouth.
I take not a second to use my right fist to punch him once more. This time, he doesn’t fall down, but stumbles backwards.
“Stop!” Rose yells.
I search for her. Slade charges at me, knocking me down with heavy force. The bang of my head to the concrete is more than a sting, but I don’t let the instant throb bother me. I spring back onto my feet.
“STOP!” Rose claws at Slade’s arm, and at first he just shrugs her off, but as her desperation grows he has no qualms in shoving her away.
I gasp when Rose falls down. “Shit.” I rush towards her.
“Mind your own business.” Slade is a man with an agenda, and he’s the type who loses to nobody. “Roselette. Get in the car.” His bark is as bad as his bite, and he doesn’t waste a minute more before coming at me again.
“Back off, Slade. She’s hurt,” I barge past him. “Are you okay, Rose?” I offer her my hand.
“Go away.” She’s sobbing.
“Are you hurt?” My heart is racing, my stomach awash with unease.
“Finlay. Go.” She’s mad. “Watch out,” she shouts as my knees buckle and I’m brought down from behind.
Each kick to my ribs is painful. Using my hands to shelter my face, I curl up and take one blow after another.
“Get off him, Slade!” Rose is screaming.
“Shut up, bitch.” He’s a man possessed with a desire to kick my arse. He’s doing a good job of it.
I hear a slapping sound, and I’m fearful as to where it landed. Rose cries out—it’s such a painful cry. Adrenaline rushes with my increased pulse and I stretch my arm wide enough to grip Slade’s ankle and rip him down. Sitting on his chest, I pull back my clenched fist, but before I release my attack, Rose whispers, “Please stop.”
I do with clenched teeth as I pant excessively, trying to rein back my fury.
“Get off him, please.” She sniffles.
Standing, I see Rose’s slapped red cheek and tear-stained makeup, and I’m instantly overcome with sorrow for her.
“Go. Finlay, go.”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Please.” She’s begging me.
“No. I’m not leaving you.”
“Get in the car, Roselette, now.” Demanding tone is an understatement. Slade is a control freak.
Rose presses her chin to her chest and heads straight to the car.
“Keep this place clean from now on,” Slade spits, shoving into my chest … stumbling away. He then climbs into the driver’s side of the SUV.
What the fuck just happened?
Chapter Seventeen
Rose
Slade doesn’t say a word as we drive down the mountain and towards the beach. The stinging in my cheek is still giving me aftershocks. I’m terrified. I am.
He struck me.
The white caps of the waves help to bring me a short-lived calm when I look out the window, and my heart, which was thrumming dangerously fast in my chest, begins to slow its pace. He’s never hit me before. Pushed me, sure, but he hasn’t hit me.
The metal grey garage door opens, and as we enter I have the urge to run. I don’t. Instead, I remain frozen.
“Are you coming?” His clipped tone sends a trembling to my legs.
“Yes,” I breathe.
Taking the elevator to his beachfront condo has my stomach performing an aggressive acrobatics routine, one making me feel physically ill. This sensation intensifies when Slade takes my hand to his and raises my knuckles to his mouth before pressing it softly against his lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“I know.” It’s an automatic response. One I don’t give any thought.
“When we get inside, I’ll get you some ice.”
“Okay.” I shudder.
The keys rattle before Slade has the door unlocked, and he punches in the digits to the keypad to disable the alarm system. “Go and sit on the lounge.” A flash of a half-smile touches his lips, and my need to run away returns with vengeance.
There’s nothing to be smiling about.
“Lounge, Roselette.”
I jump. His anger is still present and accounted for. “Okay.”
Scanning the room, I become disheartened by the woman who smiles broadly on the printed canvas attached to the wall. Her eyes sparkle as brightly as the large diamond perched on my finger, yet there’s something about her appearance that echoes emptiness. I can see her naivety. I sense her loss of identity. And I’m distressed by the fact this woman on this canvas is me. My image on a large display in my fiancé’s condo. What happened to this girl who I once viewed as happy, alive, and free-spirited? When did she begin to lead a controlled existence?
Am I being controlled, though? Or is this just a mirage?
The ice is freezing against my cheekbone, and I suck air between my teeth as I’m returned to the here and now. I didn’t even hear Slade returning or handling the pack.
“I’m so sorry.” He runs his hand into my hair and kisses my forehead. “I’ll make it up to you.”
And with this, I’m shaking uncontrollably. I want to leave.
He wraps his arm around my head and pulls me to his chest before making himself comfortable in the two-bay ridged lounge. I don’t dare move and stay in the position he shifts me. I’m much too frightened to do anything.
The generic ringtone of my mobile phone chimes. It has me tipping my chin upwards to locate it—that is, until Slade instructs me to allow it to ring out, so I do.
It rings again.
“I wi
ll need to take this call, Slade. It could be my father.”
“Fine.”
Leaning forward, I retrieve my phone from the coffee table in front of us. Looking at the screen, it shows an unfamiliar number, so I don’t answer. Instead, I settle back into my previous position with my head pressed against Slade’s chest, just how he’d positioned me previously. What am I doing here?
“I think I’m going to wash up, get all this blood off me. I’ll have something ordered in for you to eat when I return.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Don’t go anywhere. Don’t you dare go anywhere. You understand?” It’s a short tone enlaced with a hint of gentleness.
“Yes.”
The moment I hear the shower start, I scoop up my phone and collect my handbag off the floor in the entryway. As quietly as I can, I crack open the wood structure and step through the threshold of a place I once loved to stay. Now, I never want to be here again.
Clip ... clop … clip … clop. The sound of my stilettoes meeting the bitumen surface of the road sends uncontrollable tears to leak from my eyes.
He struck me.
I know I should call my father or mother to come get me, but strangely, I think they’ll be on Team Slade and make me return to his side. The fact that I’m the girl who secured Slade’s proposal and gave my family a financial out, more standing in this community, more than they ever had beforehand, has me frightened to do so. After all, Father is almost a god among the rich now, even though from what I understand we are in debt up to our eyeballs. I know they need for me to marry Slade as much as they need air to sustain life. How can I marry him now, though?
Beep.
My heart launches into my mouth. I’m too scared that if I look in the direction of the short honk, it will be Slade. I quicken my pace. Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop. My speed escalates in a jog.
“Rose.”
A shiver shoots down my spine when my name isn’t called by the person I thought it would be.
“Finlay.” I stop, scanning the street.
He’s in the same clothes he was wearing when I left, and as he crosses the road in a run, I almost feel relief.
He wraps his arms around me tightly and takes a noisy inhale of air at the top of my head. “Shit. Are you okay?”
I break down into a flood of tears. “No,” I cry out.
I remain tucked to his side as he walks me to his car and then helps me in. “Buckle up, okay?”
Pulling the seatbelt across my chest, I’m not sure why I’m glad to find a saviour in Finlay, but I am.
We drive in circles at first. There’s no plan, no directional path mapped out. We lap around the same streets in a comfortable silence.
“Where would you like me to take you?” Finlay asks.
“How did you know where I was?”
“I didn’t. I followed you, but lost sight of the SUV. I tried to call—”
“That was you?”
“Yes?”
“How did you know my number?”
“You gave it to me, remember?”
I do. The bet. I nod and take a sly glance of his profile. It’s not long enough for him to catch me in the act, yet long enough for me to see the contracting of his jaw. He’s tensed.
More silence follows as we continue this circular course as if we’re lost inside a maze, and we’re continuously turning in the exact same direction we started every time.
“Rose, are you okay?” His tone is soft.
“Sure.” I’m not.
“Would you like me to take you home?”
“No,” I breathe. “Can you take me somewhere, anywhere that isn’t home?”
“Okay.”
Keeping my eyes planted on the white broken lines stained to the centre of the street, I take slow and steady breaths before granting my eyelids permission to close. I’m not tired—I’m not calm—I just need darkness to slow my rapid thoughts.
We stop moving, and I hear the sound of the handbrake being lifted. My heart begins to race—why? I’m not sure, but it’s raising my pulse with it and causing heat to wash from my head to my toes.
“Will this do?” His dark eyes search mine when I come to look at him, and this alone stops the overheating and the thrumming in my chest.
“Where are we?”
“It’s a national park, I think. It has bush-walking trails and stuff. I found it a few days ago … It’s quiet here.”
“Oh. Okay.” I’ve no idea what this place is. How can that be? I’ve lived in this area for such a long time. “This is fine. Thank you.”
“No worries.” He is genuine. When Finlay speaks, it always sounds so genuine … I’ve never met anybody like Finlay Crossley. “Do you want to get out or just sit?”
I don’t answer. I take my time to scan these new surroundings through the windows. Trees, more trees, thick grass, and wooded stumps with slats attached create a barrier containing this natural environment from the road. It’s nice here. Red bottlebrushes hang from branches, and upon inspection of these I decide I want to exit, so I do.
The closing of the car door and his feet against the ground alert me to Finlay’s presence.
I move to one of the round stumps and sit down. Finlay comes to rest on the next stump over, about a metre from the one I chose. He says nothing, and neither do I—we sit like two statues. It brings me peace.
The air is thin and fresh. The smells are a mixture of sweet perfume and freshly cut wood. It’s subtle and relaxing. This place is even more tranquil with the sounds of birds chirping above us and the grass rustling in the small wind gusts. All my worries wash away and all my sadness follows suit.
I feel free here.
And I can’t help but wonder if the six-foot hulk of muscle sitting next to me has anything to do with it.
Chapter Eighteen
Finlay
I offer to walk Rose the distance from my garage to her home. She declines. I offer for her to come inside and have a coffee with me. Again, she politely declines. I’m not sure what to do from here. Rose had nothing to say at the park, and she didn’t speak much on the drive home either.
Standing with her hands splayed across either hip, Rose seems as if she’s drifting further off into space with the passing seconds, and maybe there’ll be a grand delay before she returns to the garage we’re standing in, so I study her. Every inch of her. She’s a goddess amongst mere mortals. I think she knows she is, or does she? I can’t seem to put my finger on anything to do with Rose right now. This is frustrating the shit out of me because reading people has always been something I’ve done with ease. One minute Rose is acting all Miss Hoighty Toighty; the next she’s the complete opposite. Something tells me Roselette Horton has absolutely no idea of her own identity, and this is a confronting thought.
“I would like to come in.” It’s a whisper of her desire, and I oblige by holding open the door separating the garage to the living area for her to walk through. She doesn’t walk; she glides.
Woof. Woof.
Roxie jumps up and down my leg, wrapping herself in figure eights around my ankles.
“Settle down. Why are you in a tizzy? Is it Tess?” I leave Rose standing by the kitchen counter and march through the house yelling, “Tessa, where are you?”
“Here, Tank. In here, setting up to watch a movie.”
The media room is darkened, but I can see her outline in one of the oversized recliners at the front.
“Everything okay?” I take three strides until I’ve made it to her side.
“I’m fine.” Her head rotates in my direction.
“Good. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Roxie was acting a brat when I came through the door—wanted to make sure it wasn’t because you’d had a spell.”
“No spell. Caterina is here anyway. No need to worry.”
“Where is she?”
“Bedroom, I think.”
“Good. You still like having Caterina around, right?”
“Yeah,
I do. She’s really nice, and I enjoy talking with her.”
I breathe a sigh of relief before heading back towards the door. “Open or closed, Tess?”
“Open,” she calls out as I go to exit.
“Finlay, I’m sorry to impose. I think I might go back to my house.” Rose swings her hips on approach.
“No. Stay.”
A soft smile, and the tip of Rose’s head to the side tells me she’s comfortable here.
“Hello. Who is that?” Tessa is a nosey old bird.
“Hello,” Rose responds.
“Would you two like to watch a movie with me?”
“No, Tess. We—”
“I’d love to,” Rose cuts me off.
I guess we’re watching a movie.
Now most people would think an old biddy like Tessa would watch something outdated and boring. Even I thought this to be the case, so when Fast and The Furious begins playing, I’m surprised.
Tessa sits at the front, Rose right beside her, and I opt to sit three rows behind them in some space of my own.
I’m not sure the last time I had the time to sit through a movie, and admittedly, I’m glad I did, because as the credits roll up the wall-length screen, I realise I needed this moment of relaxation. I’d had murder in my eyes from what happened this morning. I can’t help wondering if Slade strikes Rose often. No man should put his hands to a woman’s skin due to aggression, or for any reason for that matter.
At first, it’s mumblings, and Rose even giggles before Tessa says, “Finlay, we’re going out to the pergola if you’re looking for us. Please get Caterina to bring me my medicine and a cup of tea. Would you like a cup of tea, dear?” She looks at Rose.
“Please,” Rose responds quietly.
What’s happening here? “Sure thing. At your service.” My sarcasm is obvious to even an untrained monkey.
Tessa laughs. Rose does not.
The entire time Rose and Tessa sit out in the pergola, I busy myself with the final plan layouts for the motorcycle store. I’m yet to come up with a name for it, and I need to in the next twenty-four hours, but I find myself distracted, wondering what on earth Rose and Tessa could be talking about, considering they had no real knowledge of each other until now. I desperately want to go out into the yard and approach them, even though I think whatever is happening is good for Rose, given the occurrences of her day.