Stealing Rose

by Monica Murphy

  “I don’t believe it.”

  Violet raises a brow. “You should. Ryder wouldn’t come to me with this information if he hadn’t confirmed it. He cares for you and doesn’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “So what you’re saying is Caden could hurt me.”

  “No, what I’m saying is Caden is a known criminal and it’s only a matter of time before he gets caught and is thrown in jail.” She looks at me. Really looks at me, as if she can see to the very depths of my soul, which she probably can because no one knows me like Violet. She’s seen it all—the good, the bad, and the really ugly. “If you care for him—and I think you do—then yes, he’ll hurt you, Rose. He’ll break your heart even if he doesn’t mean to, because the things that he’s doing will put you at risk. He steals from the rich.”

  “And gives to the poor? Is he a regular Robin Hood?”

  “Not even close. Well, he gives to the poor only because he is the poor. He has nothing.”

  “If he’s stealing expensive jewelry and using the money to live on, he has to have something,” I point out.

  “Maybe he uses the money to finance his lifestyle. You have to admit, he certainly knows how to look rich. And act rich.”

  He doesn’t really dress expensively. His shoes are average; he doesn’t own an expensive watch or … anything, really. Yes, he came to the UK on a jet, but his friend is the owner of said jet, not Caden. “He’s not overly excessive.”

  “Right. Because he’s using you right now.” The look on Violet’s face is nothing short of smug. I sorta want to smack it right off of her. “Who’s paying for the hotel bill, hmm? Who’s paid for meals and entertainment? You?”

  There hasn’t been much entertainment beyond the naked variety and that’s free. When we’ve gone out for meals, usually Caden has paid. But we haven’t gone out much. The hotel is my expense—well, Daddy’s. He told me to put it on the company credit card, so I did. We’ve ordered plenty of room service and the bill is probably the furthest thing from cheap. I gave myself a month to stay there and my time is almost up. I either need to go back home or stay with Violet and Ryder.

  I really had no plan beyond getting back to the States and trying to continue seeing Caden. I haven’t been thinking about the future. It’s been freeing to let go and just live in the here and now. But maybe I should have questioned him more. Then I’d know what was really going on in Caden’s life rather than have Violet so gleefully tell me all the dirty details.

  Everything he’s told me is a lie.

  But has he really told me anything? No, not beyond the story of his father’s death. I really know nothing else about the man. I know he has a way with words. I know I tremble every time he touches me. I know I love the way he says my name every time he first enters me.

  “I’m just … worried about you, Rose,” Violet says, her voice soft, her gaze full of concern. I know she means well, but it doesn’t stop me from being angry at her for butting in where she’s not wanted. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I want you to be aware of what you’re dealing with. Who you’re dealing with.”

  “I know who I’m dealing with,” I say, fighting the unease that wants to sink its sharp grip in me. “He won’t hurt me. This isn’t some grand love affair. It’s a little fun while I’m in London, nothing else.”

  The look Violet shoots me is full of skepticism. I hate that look. She knows I’m lying. I know I’m lying, too.

  I just don’t want to admit it.

  “Have you spoken to Whitney lately?” My rapid change of subject makes Violet blink.

  “We went to lunch yesterday,” Violet says. I can tell she didn’t want to admit that. Her friendship with Whitney almost feels like a betrayal. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help it.

  “Maybe she could shed some light on Caden.”

  “Do you really think that’s a good idea, you talking to Whitney about Caden? Considering their shared history …” Her voice drifts off.

  Yeah. I’m more determined than ever to talk to Whitney about Caden. “Could you give me her number?”

  “You’ll only stir up trouble,” Violet says, her voice firm in that I’m your substitute mother and what I say goes way of hers. “You should keep her out of this, Rose. You’ll only get mad if you talk to her. She might tell you things you don’t want to hear.”

  “That’s for me to decide. Besides.” I shrug, trying for nonchalance. Hoping I don’t fail. “I’m not getting her involved in anything. I just want to talk to her.”

  Liar.

  “Uh-huh.” Violet grabs her iPhone and starts texting.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Texting Whitney.” She shoots me a look. “Telling her not to talk to you.”

  “God, you’re a witch.” I won’t call her the B-word. That would start a fight of epic proportions. I did it once when I was sixteen and I still regret it.

  “I’m doing this for your own good.”

  “You’re telling her to avoid me. How is that for my own good?”

  “I’m trying to protect you.” Violet sets her phone down on the desk. It dings and she glances at the message. “Great. Now she’s curious.”

  “Of course she’s curious. If you told me I shouldn’t talk to someone, I’d want to talk to them even more.”

  “Kind of like how I’m telling you to stay away from Caden and you want to go run to him now?” Violet asks pointedly. “Because I know you. He’s like forbidden fruit. All you want is another taste.”

  “You did the same exact thing with Ryder.”

  Her expression flickers. She can’t deny it because I’m speaking the truth. “A different situation,” she says hurriedly.

  “How? You’re being a total hypocrite right now. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  Her phone dings again and she glances at it. “Oh my God,” she whispers.

  “What?”

  Violet snatches up her phone as if she doesn’t want me to see it. Leaping out of my chair, I round the desk, trying to make a grab for her phone, and she clutches it close to her chest. “You do not want to see this,” she says, her voice low and full of warning.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I reach for it again. “I do.”

  “No. You don’t.”

  “Hand it over, Violet.” I hold out my hand, palm up, and she looks at it before she lifts her gaze to mine.

  “No.”

  I drop my hand and roll my eyes. “You’re being ridiculous. Just show it to me!”

  Slowly she holds her phone out toward me and I squint, trying to see what it is.

  A photo. Of the perfect blond-bobbed Whitney, her lips covered in gloss and puckered against a man’s cheek.

  But not just any man’s cheek. My man’s.

  Caden.

  I snatch the phone out of Violet’s hand and she yells at me but I ignore her. The message below the photo says: Don’t tell your sister I’m sitting on his lap.

  I text Whitney a reply, pretending I’m Violet, trying my best to quell the rage rising within me.

  What are you doing with him?

  “You’re not texting her, are you?” Violet sounds horrified.

  Good.

  I’m at a little get-together. You and Ryder should swing by. It’s a crazy one though. I must warn you.

  “She’s at a party,” I say, my voice hoarse. My heart is cracking in two. Caden mentioned he was going to his friend’s house, but he didn’t say anything about a party.

  “With Caden?”

  I nod, unable to speak. I’m afraid I’ll start yelling or worse, crying. He’s with Whitney. At a party. And she’s taking pictures of the two of them together, and …

  God, what are they doing together?

  My imagination kicks into overdrive and I send that bitch Whitney another text.

  Where are you at exactly? Maybe we will stop by.

  I wait, my patience, my control, my emotions … all of it fraying at the seams. I feel like I�
��m about to break apart into a trillion tiny pieces. No way could Caden be cheating on me with Whitney. No. Way. He wouldn’t do that. We’ve become too close; we’ve shared too much.

  Well. We haven’t shared much beyond our bodies. I can’t even begin to deal with or process what Violet just told me, either.

  I just want Caden. Is that too much to ask?

  Apparently it is.

  The phone dings and I check it.

  Belgrave Square. Want me to text you the address?

  The most hoity-toity neighborhood in all of London. Of course. Maybe Caden’s not there to screw around with Whitney. Perhaps he’s there to steal from his friend, or anyone else who happens to be there and dripping with fine jewels.

  Oh, God. This is all just too much. I think I’m going to be sick.

  Ignoring the nausea that threatens, I reply to Whitney, refraining from calling her every whorish name I can think of. Talk about a dead giveaway that she’s not texting with Violet.

  Send it to me. We’ll come by later.

  “Give me my phone back,” Violet demands, holding out her hand.

  I send her a withering stare. “No.” Tapping my foot, I’m instantly relieved when Whitney responds quickly with the address. I copy the text and send it to my number before I hand the phone back to Violet. “Fine. Here.”

  She reads back over the texts I sent, my conversation with Whitney, then glances up at me. “What are you doing, Rose?”

  “I’m going to that party,” I say determinedly, grabbing my purse and slinging it over my shoulder. “I have to know what’s going on.”

  “This isn’t the way to go about it.”

  I start for the door. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Me breaking up with Caden?”

  “You’re going to break up with him?” she asks.

  The hope in her voice is clear. And that kills me. I’ve always wanted her approval for everything I’ve ever done. Violet’s opinion has always mattered.

  But I’m not going to end a relationship with a guy I care about because she thinks he’s bad for me. Maybe he’s not. Maybe he could change for me.

  Classic, stupid way to think, Rose.

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know yet,” I admit, reaching out to grasp the door handle. My hand is shaking, I’m so upset, and I grip the handle tight, trying to control my nerves. “I’m sure I’ll tell you all about it. Eventually.” Maybe.

  Maybe not.

  Without another word I open the door and exit her office, making my escape.

  Headed straight into the unknown.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Caden

  The party is insane and it’s not even five o’clock. There have to be almost one hundred people crammed into Mitchell’s parents’ massive Belgrave Square townhouse. Music is pumping through the whole-house sound system and the kitchen is overtaken with every type of liquor imaginable. The place is a mess, empty glasses and beer bottles and cans everywhere, empty platters where appetizers once sat. Tiny red stirring straws and crumpled napkins and cigarette butts litter the floor.

  The Landerses would absolutely shit if they witnessed the destruction happening in their London home. I kick a plastic champagne glass out of my path with a sneer. Hell, the mess disgusts me, and it’s not even my place.

  There are more women than men in attendance and they’re all gorgeous. They all happen to be scantily clad as well. How Mitchell made that happen I’m not exactly sure, but I can assume it took a huge outlay of cash to convince the women to come here. At the very least, a most excellent array of drugs and alcohol was probably offered, and that’ll draw just about anyone to a party.

  I know that’s why Whitney’s here. She loves a party, especially one with plenty of cocaine and vodka. Those are her weaknesses. They used to be mine, too, before I stopped partying.

  The minute Whitney arrived, she came running for me, a giant smile on her face. She deposited herself in my lap, holding out her cell phone in front of us and shouting, “Selfie!” before she snapped a pic, pressing her lips to my cheek at the last second.

  Fucking annoying. I shoved her off my lap and told her to delete the photo but she took off running, giggling like a madwoman. I could almost feel sorry for her and her total lack of direction. Almost.

  I’m skulking near the front door, lingering in the foyer and ready to make a run for it, when I hear Mitchell call my name. I turn to find him smiling at me, a girl under each beefy arm.

  Mom wasn’t too far off when she called him pudgy. He’s still carrying extra weight around the middle, but he’s somehow grown into it. He’s broad like a tank and of average height and looks, but the guy is bleeding money. Since he arrived in London he’s been a partying fool. I know this because he filled me in on all the dirty details when I first arrived. We chatted for a while before everyone started to show up, and I somehow got stuck here.

  But I’m ready to go, ready to head back to Covent Garden and the hotel and my girl. I have only two more nights with her and I need to make the most of them.

  “Where you going, Kingsley?” he asks, squeezing the girls close to him. They giggle and smile, one of them flashing me a sultry look. “I brought entertainment just for you.”

  “They look far more interested in you, Mitch.” I smirk when he glares at hearing his hated nickname. I’ve told him time and again that Mitchell makes him sound like an uptight asshole, but he doesn’t agree.

  “Nah. This one likes you a lot. She told me.” He shoves the one who made eyes at me forward, earning a grumble from her before she smiles up at me. She’s cute, her tits are barely covered, and her legs are long. I don’t feel a thing for her. Not even a twitch of appreciation.

  Seeing this girl only makes me miss Rose.

  “Sorry. Not interested.” I shrug.

  Her smile fades and she narrows her eyes. From pretty to mean, just like that. “Fuck you,” she spits out before she turns on her heel and leaves with a flounce.

  “Classy,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Where do you find them, Mitch?”

  “I’ll catch up with you later, okay, sweetheart?” Mitchell kisses the other girl on the forehead and shoves her out of his arms. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, and offers him a soft smile before she walks away. He turns to me, making a soft tsking noise. “You broke that girl’s heart, Caden. That’s why she’s so hostile. Have you lost all your finesse or what?”

  “Whatever,” I mutter. “Listen, bro, I gotta get out of here. It’s been real, but I’ll see you Sunday, okay? Text me the exact departure time so I know what’s up.”

  “Where’s the fire?” He comes a little closer, an easy smile on his face, but I see the look in his eyes. He doesn’t want to take no for an answer. He doesn’t want me to leave. I don’t get it. Why torture me when I clearly don’t want to be here? “Don’t leave yet. The party’s just getting started.”

  I’ve been here for hours. If the party is really just getting started, I’m beyond done. “This type of thing really isn’t my scene anymore,” I tell him. “You know this. When was the last time I partied with you like this?”

  “When did you become such a drag?” Mitchell shakes his head and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, extracting one from the pack. “I miss the good old days, man. When we used to drink and fuck around with girls. Get high, get laid, eat, take a downer and crash out. Remember how much fun we used to have?”

  I remember how empty my life felt. I remember hating the hangovers the next day. The humiliation when I couldn’t quite recall what happened the night before. Finding a gold necklace in my pocket with an emerald-and-diamond pendant dangling from it one time, so freaked out and worried over who I’d stolen it from. Whether that person saw me, because I couldn’t remember for the life of me what exactly happened and how I became in possession of that necklace.

  That was the last night I partied. The last night I let myself get out of control. Never again, I told myself. It’s one thing to be a sly criminal.
It’s another thing entirely to be a reckless thief who doesn’t give a shit if he’s caught or not.

  That moment taught me a lesson. One I’ll never forget.

  “You know why I stopped,” I tell him, my voice low, my gaze intense. “I have my reasons.”

  He stares at me and then offers a short nod. “If you’ve gotta go, go. But I think Whitney is looking for you, so you better tell her goodbye. This might be your last chance before we leave London.”

  The absolute last thing I want to do. And from the look on my face, Mitchell must have sensed it because he bursts out laughing, not giving a shit about my predicament. “Man up. She’s not that bad.”

  “She’s insane. Besides, she knows I’m with someone else and doesn’t give a shit,” I mutter.

  “Yeah, what’s up with that anyway? Who is she? The girl you’re with. I’m curious.”

  “You don’t know her,” I say quickly, too quickly. Though he probably does know Rose. At the very least he should know Violet and Lily.

  “That means I must totally know her. Hmm.” He takes my arm and drags me back into the living room, which is crowded with people. At least the music has lowered, so it’s not so fucking loud. Probably got turned down so as not to disturb the neighbors.

  I glance around the room, spotting her in an instant. Whitney is sitting on a couch crowded with other people, bent over a silver tray with white lines of powder on it, and I pull my arm out of Mitchell’s grip.

  I don’t want to deal with Whitney now. She’s going to be a nightmare. “I gotta go. Seriously.”

  “Whitney! I found him,” Mitchell crows, pointing at me with a jerk of his thumb.

  Whitney lifts her head and wipes delicately at her nose, a giant smile on her face. She springs up from the couch and runs over to me, slinging her arms around my neck and slamming her body into mine. She’s wearing a little top and shorts, her ass cheeks practically hanging out, and she tries to give me a smacking kiss on the cheek but I dodge away from her.