The Roses Academy- the Entire Collection

by Tara Brown

  “I’m sorry about Martin.” She grips my hand. She knows.

  “I’m sorry I didn't believe you or listen.” Tears surface.

  My dress is so tight that the tears don't reach my face, thankfully. They're trapped somewhere in the satin.

  “Forget him.” She passes me a smoke and lights her own. She holds the flame out for me. “We’re going to California.”

  “Yes, we are.” I drag from it as it lights and the soothing smoke fills my lungs. Instantly, the pain in my head is gone. I enjoy the lightheaded feeling I get. Angie says it's because I only smoke socially, and if I smoked regularly it would go away. But I don’t want it to. I like it. I like feeling as if I'm not completely inside my body. Like the smoke has pushed some of me out to make room for it.

  “Miss Huntington, you look remarkable this evening.” The voice behind my back is familiar. I want to groan and turn with the sweetest sickly smile spread across my lips, but I can't. Instead, I giggle like a fool because I'm dizzy from the cigarette and the face Angie is making. I turn, still giggling like I have no breeding. I exhale my cigarette in the face of the man my daddy wants to sell me to.

  “Why, Mr. Ryan, you look remarkable yourself,” Angie speaks with a confidence I know he hates. They all hate it. They all hate her. But she doesn’t care and that makes me love her more.

  His lip fights the grimace he wants to give, but that his own breeding won't allow. I see him now. I see the fake smiles and the fake manners. I see the way he fights his eyes when he stares at me and they seek my heaving chest.

  “Shall we take a walk?” He puts an arm out for me. I pass her my cigarette and take his arm. “Certainly.” I am not allowed to answer differently and he knows it.

  Angie smokes both cigarettes. I laugh at her again. She turns and enjoys the magic of the evening.

  “You really shouldn’t be with a girl like her. Her parents have been allowing her in New York too often. I hear she stays at their place in the city on her own. No supervision. Plus, she's a wicked gossip. Girls like that get a reputation.” His words are soft but the tone scolds me nonetheless.

  “Like who?” My back straightens. “Girls like Margery Banks, you mean?” My voice couldn’t be sweeter.

  He blushes and smiles but doesn’t lose the control over himself, that control only well-bred gentlemen know how to maintain.

  But I know the truth about him.

  He is a cad, like Rhett Butler, only not as attractive and that was really the most important thing Rhett had going for himself. That, and his cocky smile.

  “I suppose.” He walks us away from the party before speaking again, “Girls like Margery Banks are fun for a boy to date, for a time. Not the kind of girl a man would marry though. Your friend Angie is the same sort of girl.” His voice has a hidden sneer that I can hear, but I can't see past the charming smile.

  I will never marry this man.

  A gentleman doesn’t speak ill of a woman he hardly knows. My daddy has misjudged his breeding. Damned Yankees. We may be Southerners; we may talk slow and be simple in a lot of ways, but we don't disrespect people we don’t know and we don’t let anyone mess with one of ours.

  He is a cad and I have fooled myself long enough about him and the foolish notion of marrying to make my family happy. Losing Ramón has changed things for me. Changed the way I see things. Maybe Mr. Whitlock has also had a hand in it. Either way, I do not want this.

  I notice how far we've walked away from the party when my heels dig into the gravel and undermine my balance. I'm reliant on his arm now as we walk down the path to the gazebo. My stomach flips and squirms like a fish is in there. He passes me his bourbon.

  “Thank you.” I take a huge gulp of it. The warmth fills my stomach and I recall not having any dinner. Momma forbade it after my dress didn't fit. I need to get away from him. I need to find my daddy and call the whole thing off before it gets too serious.

  He stops walking and takes the glass from my hands. He swallows the last of it and tosses the glass out into the grass.

  He leers down on me with intensity. My heart stops beating completely. I know what's about to happen.

  The moon gives off just enough light that I can see the color of his eyes. He is beautiful. Tanned skin, straight bright white teeth, dark-blond hair, and stunning blue eyes. He could be a Beach Boy mixed with a Kennedy. His grin is mischievous and confident. He lowers his face on mine and kisses me softly. His lips don’t pry or try to open my mouth. He kisses the way he should, like a gentleman.

  It's a soft kiss at first. Slowly his mouth starts to work on mine. He takes his time, expertly. His lips caress mine as his hands close around my back. He holds me so tightly against him.

  “We can't do this,” I whisper.

  “Yes, we can,” he whispers back like a lover would in the dark and the moonlight. “You're so much prettier than I imagined you would be. Beautiful even.” His hands move to the front of me and slide up my stomach.

  “Stop.” I'm panicking.

  I don’t know what to do.

  My hands twitch with want to slap him or push him away. All that finishing school and I'm left unprepared for this.

  He moves a little higher and I lose my self-control. “Stop!” I push him and stagger back. I don’t get away swiftly because my heels get stuck in the grass.

  He catches me and grabs my arm, spinning me. His grip tightens slightly. He smiles coyly. “You want to wait until we are married?”

  “No,” I snarl. “I don't want to marry you.” I feel sick that I have said it out loud, it’s so unladylike. I jerk my arms free and turn to walk back to the house, but again he grabs my arm and spins me around. I push against his chest but he's hard as a rock.

  His eyes are mean. “Well, little girl, that isn't a decision you get to make. Your father and mine have made the deal. You are mine.” His words are scary and firm. The way he mocks me and controls me already makes my stomach cramp with fear. I want his hands off me. I feel dirty just being near him.

  The scary dominating look leaves his face. He smiles softly. “I just want a kiss, Lorelei. I want a small taste of just how sweet you really are.” His voice is scaring me. I push against him again and lose my shoe to the grass. I stumble out of his arms and hobble up the gravel, pulling at my dress.

  “Lorelei, come back.” His voice is frighteningly demanding. I hurry when I hear his footsteps on the grass.

  Tears I refuse to cry are flooding my eyes. “Asshole,” I mutter. I won't cry for him. I won't cry because it's not the right place to cry. I was raised right. I was raised to hold it back, hold back the shame I want so badly to feel. As I round the corner, hands grab me again. I open my mouth to scream, but I see something I never imagined I would.

  “Lorelei!”

  “Mr. Whitlock.” His name flies from my lips, but it's muffled as his warm fingers cover my lips. I try to straighten my dress and control my breathing. I'm certain my hair is a mess from the struggle. At least if he's looking at the mess it is, he ain't looking at my nearly exposed chest.

  “Are you all right?” He pulls me in. “It's okay, Lorelei. I've got you now.”

  If a Southern girl is a sucker for anything, it's a strong man holding her and keeping her safe. The second he holds me to him, I burst.

  “I'm gonna kill him,” he mutters. He saw. He knows I was just assaulted on the lawn. He saw it all.

  Shame fills me faster than I can push it down like a proper girl does. I'm trembling and his warm lips against the top of my head are wreaking havoc on my heartstrings. I think he is pulling them all, but at least I feel safe.

  “You can't go back to the party like this, want to walk?” he whispers. His voice has an edge to it.

  I nod against him. He wraps his hand around mine and pulls me with him. I hobble along until he turns at the far side of the house, the side I've just run from. I claw at his arm. “Not this way.”

  He holds me tight and guides me along. “We need to get your
shoe.”

  Bile rises in my throat. I shake my head and tremble, but he holds my hand snugly and kisses the top of it. “I'm here now. If he is out there, he doesn't want to come near you; it won't be good for him. You're safe. Men like him are chickenshits anyway. If he sees me, he'll be all handshakes and kindness. It's only when he gets a girl alone that he shows his true colors.”

  I sense the truth of his words in his dark eyes. I'm safe. He wipes my tears away and takes my hands again. He pulls me along. I try not to hobble or limp, but the difference between the shoe and my foot is huge. I peek past him as we round the corner of the house. Martin ain't nowhere to be seen.

  “He went the other way, I think,” he says disappointedly, but looks around with me. He seems more like he is scouting, hoping Martin is still back here. Seeing the fierceness in his eyes, I have a slight hope Martin comes back as well.

  We are alone on the back grass that’s dotted with huge trees. Through the branches of the tree I'm standing under, I see the windows full of people. People laughing, dancing, and drinking. They are having fun.

  He lets go of me and walks to a spot on the grass where he bends down and then walks back. He kneels in front of me, holding my shoe out.

  “How did you see that?” I ask.

  In the moonlight, I barely see the smile cross his lips when he speaks, “I was looking for it. Here.” He takes my foot and puts the shoe on. I remind myself of a sweaty version of Cinderella for a small moment. Only a small moment, because being assaulted by the man she would marry wasn’t in any of the versions of the story I've read.

  “Would you like to go to the gazebo?” he points.

  I start to laugh, nervously.

  “What?” His voice is innocent. Martin's was innocent as well.

  Gazing down on his face in the moonlight, I can't believe the words that are about to leave my lips. “No, thank you. I buried my friend today and I'm exhausted. I'd like to go home and take off this ridiculous dress and soak my poor feet. Not very ladylike but it's the truth.” I sigh.

  He stands and lifts me off the ground in one sweep. He paces toward the gazebo anyway. “It might not be ladylike, but I feel the same way. And I dare say, I strive for ladylike in all the things I do.”

  I snicker.

  His eyes grow serious. “I'm sorry about your friend, Lorelei. It's so rare to have a person in your life that is genuinely close and for no benefit beyond the fact you love each other platonically. If only I had known how close you two were.”

  I frown at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I would have searched the woods for him. Instead, I waited for the police. I stayed with you. I sent my driver to phone them.”

  I was unconscious and he stayed with me. I never knew that. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

  I push away all the bad feelings and just try to focus on not falling out of his arms. His arms that don’t seem to struggle to hold me. I weigh more than an average girl my age. I'm strong. Strong enough to get away from Martin.

  I can't help but wonder if Margery Banks honestly wanted the attentions she received, or if Martin persuaded her, aggressively. I wonder what her momma really walked into. Poor Margery Banks. Immediately, the thoughts make me uncomfortable. “Mr. Whitlock, it's truly indecent of you to be carrying me out in public.”

  He smiles at me and my stomach flutters. “What public? We are the only people out in this garden. I think even Mr. Ryan has made his cowardly way back into the party.” When he reaches the stairs, he climbs them gracefully as if I'm no burden. He places me on the bench like I weigh nothing. That’s not the truth of it though. I was forced to weigh myself this very morning. I weigh one hundred and forty-three pounds. I'm not light, my momma told me that as she weighed me. She called me disgusting and told me I ought to be ashamed of that number. That men weighed that. Even some dogs.

  I raise an eyebrow. “You're very strong.”

  “You weigh next to nothing. I must outweigh you by at least a hundred pounds.”

  He is huge, but not in a way that would suggest a hundred-pound weight difference.

  He holds a hand out. “My tip, madam.”

  Through it all, he makes me smile and glimpse down at my dress. “I'm sure you've noticed I have neither a clutch, nor room for change in this dress.”

  I notice the way his eyes burn. He nods. “I did observe there is very little space in that dress for change. I was hoping you would be indebted to me.”

  Chills run up my spine. My smile drops. He is no longer the sweet savior who played chess with me and fed me hospital pudding. Now he's the other one, the one who made me think things I shouldn’t. My mouth is dry when I speak, “Indebted?”

  “Your mind tends to wander down the dirtier streets, does it not? A dance. I would accept a single dance as payment.”

  I feel ridiculous, but I stand on my wobbly feet. “Do you mind if I kick my shoes off? They're making an attempt at my life.”

  “I have never understood the point of high heels. They're sexy in a boudoir for a few moments, but they seem horrid to wear for an entire day or evening.”

  I choose to ignore the boudoir comment and chuckle. “Horrid ain't a strong enough word.” I lean against the beam next to me as I step out of my shoes and walk into his outstretched arms. The jazz band is playing next to the open windows of the house and when I touch his hands, it's as if the sound of the music travels to us. The thick air is heavy enough to bring a song with it, all the way to the backyard.

  His huge arm wraps around me and holds me tightly to him.

  “You are so beautiful. I have a feeling you don’t see it.” His voice is low as though we are sharing a secret. “You are hard on yourself. Your mother is hard on you. I don’t mean to pry. Mrs. Kirsch told me.”

  I shake my head and lean into his broad chest. “I am what she tells me I am.” The words don’t sting, not like they used to. I'm used to them now.

  He kisses the top of my head, something I'm growing fond of, and whispers, “You are perfection, and I swear, I will end anyone who says otherwise.”

  I laugh. He's crazy like Emily. It's not the first time I've heard him say it. It doesn’t bother me as much as it should, Em is always threatening to kill people. Of course, she's a hundred and ten pounds. He's massive compared to her.

  “I would. I would do anything to make you happy, Lorelei. Anything.”

  “You don't have to do anything. I'm happy right now. You made me feel safe. Thank you, again.”

  His eyes say things his lips don't. The emotions are bubbling inside him. “It was my pleasure, both times.”

  I close my eyes and relax into his chest and the sounds of the jazz. If I slow down my mind, the bourbon and smoke shift the world slightly. I let myself melt into him. He doesn’t press my chest into his. He doesn’t let his hand stray beyond the small of my back. He doesn’t hold my hand tighter than he would an egg.

  Without shoes, my face only reaches his breast pocket. I knew he was tall but not as tall as he is, and I'm not a short girl.

  I let myself forget everything that has happened in such a short space of time until his voice ruins it, “Do you want to tell me about what I witnessed between yourself and Mr. Ryan?” His voice is soothing.

  “I'm happy. Remember what we were just saying about being happy?”

  He chuckles. “I want to know. Tell me.”

  I don't want to but his voice makes me, so like a good girl I explain it the way I should. “He was drinking I think, and got a bit overzealous. It's my fault. This dress, it's ridiculous. I'm sure he'll be plenty sorry tomorrow.”

  His hands slip up my arms fast like a rattlesnake moves. Suddenly, he's holding me by my shoulders and shaking me. His eyes are fierce. “It's not your fault. That dress is tempting, and yet I'm able to keep my wits about me when you're near. No true gentleman ever puts his hands on a lady without her consent.”

  He's angry. I'm not afraid though, not like I should be. I
have a suspicion he won't hurt me. He has saved my life twice. He snarls when he continues, “You could walk across the grass naked,” I blush and a fire crosses my flesh in a ripple that resembles a shiver. “And I would remain a gentleman.” His lips curl into a grin. “Until you gave me permission to be otherwise.”

  My breath escapes my lips in puffs of hot air that resemble a laugh. My parted lips tremble as I stare up into his dark eyes and forget what we're talking about.

  He bends his face and brushes his lips against mine. “That look will suffice as permission.”

  Time stands still for us. In fact, it might have frozen across the world. His kiss is intense and yet delicate. He doesn’t part my lips farther. He ends the kiss with a slight nibble of my lower lip and a very low growl. “I will end his life if he manhandles you that way again. He's lucky I ran into you tonight and not him.”

  “Please, stop saying that.”

  He straightens his back and glances around. “We should be getting back.” His words hurt. I want to stay here forever, dancing in the gazebo with his arms around me. I don't want to rejoin the real world. I want to stay with him, locked in the time warp we have created. I want to stay up all night, letting him hold me and kiss me and tell me how pretty I am. I scowl as I glimpse back at the house. That house has a way of life I don't want to live, not anymore. I could live out here in the grass, live off his kisses.

  I don’t even know who I am anymore.

  “Let's go before I do things I can't take back.” He takes my hand and picks my shoes up. My face flushes at the millions of responses floating through my dirty mind. I fan myself a little and try not to think about the possibilities in the words he's spoken.

  I grip him as we leave the gazebo and smile at how refreshing the damp grass is on my tired feet. My momma chose shoes that were too small, as always. She is always trying to make me smaller than I am.

  The overhang of the huge willows and black walnut trees makes me feel safe and hidden, like our deeds are hidden from my parents. The world in the window is real. The world out here is what I want. I didn’t know it until this second.