Sugar and Sin Bundle

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  But deep down inside she knew it wasn’t healthy to exist in an imaginary world just because it hurt too much to live in this one.

  What had started out as harmless day dreaming had turned into something darker, something self destructive. How pathetic was it that the only meaningful part of her life were her nightly dreams of something that could never be?

  Her mother was right.

  She needed to compromise.

  To see, touch and smell a real man and have intimate relations with a flesh and blood penis instead of a vibrating rabbit in one hand and a fictional Alexander S. Ludlow in the other.

  Now that she was twenty-nine on her next birthday the time had come for Rosie to put away foolish things, to embrace the real world, whatever the hell that was.

  When, she wondered now, had she accepted this constant pain of heartache? Accepting it as a normal part of her life, her reality? Surely she deserved more? To be a whole person capable of giving and receiving love? She did deserve it and she was going to find it.

  But she’d lost something recently, something only now she’d been able to put her finger on.

  She’d lost hope.

  It looked as if she’d reached a crossroads in her life.

  Go or stay.

  Settle or wait.

  The answer, the enormity of it almost floored her.

  ‘Janine’s looking for a job,’ Bronte said.

  ‘Yeah?’ Rosie responded absently, concentrating on cutting out a floral pattern on a sheet of icing.

  ‘Looking good,’ Bronte told her. ‘How many more to go?’

  ‘Perhaps another four?’

  In the adjacent kitchen, Lucy, their permanent pastry chef, chatted with a college student discussing the finer points of egg whites and a metal bowl.

  An iPod deck rocked Adele in the background.

  ‘Let’s take five in the office,’ Bronte suggested.

  Behind her, Rosie puffed up the stairs wondering when the weather was going to break.

  This summer was steaming, a person could get too much of a good thing.

  She sank into a comfortable leather chair as Bronte grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the fridge. Although the office was at the top of the barn, two Velux windows on each side of the roof space opened out onto a couple of Cabrio balconies, which allowed air to flow and kept the room reasonably cool.

  ‘You’re looking tired,’ Bronte told her as she sat and kicked off white rubber chef’s clogs.

  ‘It’s the weather. We’re not used to this. The air-conditioning is barely keeping up.’

  ‘You need to cut back your hours. Janine’s looking for something part time,’ Bronte told her.

  Rosie made a sound in her throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

  ‘Janine’s never got her hands dirty in her life. And what does she know about wedding cakes?’

  ‘She has brilliant managerial skills.’

  ‘And I’ve not?’

  Bronte ignored the question since they both knew perfectly well Rosie loathed paperwork with a passion.

  ‘She’s a born organiser.’ Bronte looked her dead in the eye. ‘Unless you want to take on next year’s business plan along with updating the website? Most of it she can do from home. Think about it.’

  Rosie hunched her shoulders and scowled.

  ‘She’s not exactly my favourite person.’

  ‘That was years ago. I’ve asked her to drop in this afternoon to have a chat. She’s been to hell and back, Rosie. Give her a break.’

  That was true enough.

  Remorse dug Rosie in the ribs.

  The former Janine Brooke-Stockton now Janine Faulkner had had it all including the drop-dead-gorgeous husband. She winced. Pardon the pun, but the man was indeed dead. And his death had left Janine a physical and emotional wreck with an infant daughter and up to her neck in debt.

  How the mighty had fallen.

  As children, teenagers and young adults, Janine and Rosie’s relationship might be described as love hate. They’d clashed quite spectacularly when Janine had had the brass neck to decide that Alexander would make a fine husband. And she had to admit they’d looked good together for a couple of months before the relationship fizzled out.

  The memory of it made her frown.

  And now Janine was back and vulnerable and needing help. Rosie would put good money on it that Alexander wouldn’t be able to resist riding to the rescue. It was in his DNA, he couldn’t help himself. And she would have to stand by and watch it?

  Rosie didn’t think so.

  Perhaps it was her mother’s phone call but she admitted now that she desperately wanted a husband and a child of her own. Her mother was right. Women today were struggling to find a man to settle down with, especially in her demographic.

  She was financially solvent with a good career and had invested the considerable sum her late grandfather had left her.

  But what if she couldn’t find a man to love?

  What she needed, Rosie decided, was a friend with benefits.

  An idea that had been simmering in her mind for months surfaced.

  ‘Actually, it might not be a bad idea to bring Janine in. I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while. I’ve been thinking about the future. My future...’

  Their eyes locked.

  ‘You’re not happy,’ Bronte stated.

  Pulling off her bandana, Rosie took a deep breath knowing full well she’d opened her own personal can of worms.

  ‘I’m in a rut. I want to travel, see other places and meet new people. I haven’t seen my parents for months.’

  Although Bronte’s eyes were wary, she nodded.

  ‘Why don’t you go for it? Take a sabbatical.’

  ‘It’s a bit more than that. I miss my family. I want a fresh start, a new beginning.’

  Understanding dawned as Bronte sat upright, her green eyes too bright. And Rosie spotted shocked hurt, quickly hidden.

  ‘You want to leave this? And us? What about the kids they adore you?’

  Rosie’s eyes stung. She loved Bronte. She always would, but they’d moved on. Things had changed and rightly so because change was a natural progression of life.

  She stretched out a hand across the desk and her fingers found her friend’s.

  ‘I adore them too. You know that. You know how I feel about you and Nico. But I don’t have a life, Bronte. I’m living to work and it’s not enough.’

  After a stunned moment, Bronte pulled her fingers away and pressed them into her eyelids.

  Her voice breaking, she spoke,

  ‘I’m so selfish. I want you to stay.’ Her breath hitched as she took a big breath and stiffened her spine. The expression in her eyes was one of sorrow and determination. ‘How can I help and when do you want to go?’

  ‘Lucy can run things here, she’s more than capable.’

  Bronte nodded.

  ‘Okay. And young Amy’s fully qualified and back living at home. I’ll give her a ring.’

  Not a little hurt, which she knew was pathetic, Rosie attempted to sound light-hearted.

  ‘You see? I’m easily replaced.’

  Bronte turned on her, anger burning brightly in her eyes.

  ‘Don’t you dare think that. Don’t you dare. You’re a full partner which means you’ll still receive a salary. Do not interrupt me. If you want to start up on your own in Cyprus or New York or Timbuktu or wherever I’ll buy you out. But until then you’re still part of this. You’re still a part of my life.’

  Rosie shot out of her chair as Bronte shot out of hers and they met in the middle in a hug. She was an emotional mess, but underpinning every feeling was one of relief. Yes, it would be hard to leave everyone she held dear but the cord needed a clean cut.

  ‘You’re being ridiculous, Bronte. I’m not taking a salary for nothing.’

  Temper flashed now in those green eyes as they glared into hers.

  ‘Do you think I would ever forget how you put your own lif
e on hold when my parents died? When I lost my home? When Jonathan dumped me? When I discovered my father wasn’t my father? When Alexander and I were at each others throats?’

  ‘Anyone would do the same for their best friend.’

  ‘No! They most certainly would not. Jonathan didn’t even come to the funeral and we were engaged. I never had to ask. You were right there, the one constant I could count on.’

  Feeling an utter fraud, guilt she was hurting her best friend smacked Rosie too hard as it scorched a hot path up her neck and over her face.

  ‘You have Nico and Luca and Sophia and Alexander. They’re your family.’

  Bronte’s eyes were like lasers on hers.

  ‘Yes and you’re my family too. You always have been, surely you know that?’

  She did know it.

  Guilt settled like an oil slick in her stomach.

  ‘Jeez, Bronte, it’s not as if I’m going on a ship to Mars.’

  But now Bronte’s eyes narrowed as they searched hers.

  A deep unease uncoiled in Rosie’s gut.

  ‘You’re not telling me something. You’re hurting. Who hurt you?’

  Well, she could hardly say,

  ‘I hurt myself. I’m mourning the loss of my dreams of your brother.’

  But her friend wanted to offer her support.

  She could see it in those big green eyes.

  Eyes that reminded her too much of Alexander.

  ‘I’m fine. Just a little off centre.’

  Now Bronte frowned, but her eyes were trained on Rosie’s face.

  ‘Working too hard will do that to a person.’

  ‘I need to keep busy.’

  Silence.

  ‘And that says it all,’ Bronte said.

  Oh God, Bronte had the bit between her teeth and she wouldn’t stop until she’d got to the bottom of the problem.

  ‘It’s just been a bit much recently. I’ve overdone things,’ Rosie told her the truth and wanted to add, ‘And I’ve been so terribly lonely.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Bronte’s smile arrived without conditions, filled to the brim with a love that soothed Rosie’s tortured soul.

  ‘It’s a man, isn’t it?’ Bronte asked softly.

  Omigod.

  And the words poured out of her mouth.

  ‘It’s over.’

  What?

  ‘Who?’

  Yes who Rosie?

  ‘No one you know and nothing happened.’

  Her friend’s eyes went wide with a baffled hurt that made Rosie’s chest ache.

  ‘I don’t believe this. When did you get together? Why has no one mentioned him, seen him?’

  Stop it now. Stop it, Rosie pleaded with herself. But no.

  ‘Er, he doesn’t know I have feelings for him.’

  Those green eyes went too sharp now.

  ‘He’s married?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Something must have happened if you’re hurting. Why the secrecy?’

  Omigod.

  The woman didn’t know when to quit.

  This was so typical of Bronte and Alexander was just the same.

  In a panic, Rosie let her vivid imagination run riot.

  ‘He keeps crazy hours. His job. A pilot. He’s an airline captain.’

  ‘You said it’s over. Something must have started if it’s over.

  ‘What I mean is my feelings for him are over. He’ll never be mine. I’m not his type. He likes... variety.’

  Now Bronte’s eyes filled to the brim with sympathy and Rosie told herself she was an evil, wicked woman.

  ‘Is he in love with someone else?’ she asked softly.

  Rosie shook her head.

  ‘Love has nothing to do with it.’

  Now Bronte gave her a hug and drew back to look at her face.

  ‘You poor thing. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Yes, Rosie, why didn’t you tell your best friend?

  As her friend kept stroking her arm, soothing her, Rosie felt sick.

  ‘I just need to deal with it in my own way, you know?’

  Bronte nodded.

  ‘What’s he like?’

  Yes, Rosie, what’s he like?

  Desperate, hunting for a straw to clutch she found herself describing a person who didn’t exist.

  ‘He’s sort of hard to put into words. But I’d describe him as handsome. Actually he’s built. Tanned, blonde and with no ego. Perfect really except he’s a workaholic,’ she said and wondered how the hell she’d got herself into this mess.

  Bronte shook her head.

  ‘What is it with some men? Is he attractive?’

  Thinking of Alexander Rosie nodded.

  ‘Oh yeah, great dresser.’

  ‘Means nothing,’ Bronte said firmly. ‘It’s what’s underneath that counts. Took me long enough to work that out.’

  ‘Actually, what’s underneath is pretty amazing.’

  Her friend grinned.

  ‘A gym bunny?’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘At least that’s something. Nothing worse than a paunch.’

  But thinking now of how Alexander constantly stuck his nose in her business made Rosie’s tone sharp.

  ‘No man is perfect.’

  Bronte gave her another hug.

  ‘If he can’t see what a wonderful, loving person you are then you’re better off without him.’

  ‘True.’ And it was indeed very true.

  Rosie breathed a sigh of relief that the interrogation was over.

  But Bronte wasn’t done yet.

  ‘What’s his name?’

  Rosie’s mind went blank.

  She blinked once, twice.

  ‘Simon,’ she said.

  ‘Simon who?’

  Christ, the woman was like a dog with a bone.’

  ‘Not going there, Bronte. It’s over.’

  Bronte gave her a hard look and Rosie knew that look.

  Shitty, shit, shit.

  And her mother’s voice bellowed in her ear, ‘Lies are contagious. You start with one and end up with a skewed sense of reality’

  ‘Okay, when do you want to leave?’

  It wasn’t until the question was asked that Rosie realised she’d already made up her mind, sort of.

  ‘It’s my birthday in five weeks. How about after that? And do you think we could keep this just between us?’

  Thrusting her feet into her clogs, Bronte nodded.

  ‘Okay. A birthday and goodbye party.’ She blew out a breath and turned to her. ‘Tomorrow, after work, we’re power hiking.’

  Purely for form, Rosie pouted.

  ‘If I must.’

  Bronte grinned, turned to leave then stopped and looked back.

  ‘By the way, has my brother upset you?’

  The jolt in her heart and tummy had Rosie take a gulp of water.

  ‘No more than usual.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Look on the bright side, he’ll be out of your hair soon.’

  Chapter Five

  Later that afternoon Rosie sat on the couch in the office of Sweet Sensations and tried not to look utterly shocked.

  The woman who next to her looked nothing like the Janine she’d known. She was painfully thin. Her miles of luscious blonde hair was cut in a short crop which accentuated razor sharp cheekbones.

  Where were the perfectly manicured nails, the make-up, the designer clothes?

  Where was the sassy, confident pain in the ass?

  Wearing skinny jeans that hung from her hips and a white vest Janine Faulkner sat breast feeding an infant with jet black curls.

  The baby was ten weeks old and apparently had jaws of solid steel.

  How could breasts so small hold that amount of milk?

  Rosie winced as Janine popped a tight wet nipple from the tiny mouth and carefully placed the infant over a shoulder on which she’d placed a folded white terry cotton nappy. The baby burped right on cue and the unconditional love she saw in Ja
nine’s eyes for her child made Rosie’s eyes sting.

  Janine tucked her breast into her bra before popping out the left one and settling the baby to the nipple.

  Bronte leaned her elbow on the desk resting her chin on her palm. Grinning she watched the baby latch on with a soft look in her eyes that said, ‘Aww.’

  Rosie just had to ask, ‘Does it hurt?’

  Janine’s big blue eyes danced into hers.

  ‘Not once the milk is flowing.’ Her voice was still deep and sultry but softer.

  She couldn’t help it, Rosie reached over and ran a finger over the glossy curls,

  ‘She’s so beautiful. What’s her name?’

  Janine stared down at her baby for an endless moment before answering.

  ‘Daisy Boo. I call her Boo.’

  Rosie’s jaw dropped.

  ‘You did not call that innocent little baby, Boo?’

  ‘I did.’

  Shaking her head Rosie met her eyes, stunned at the sheer mischief she saw there.

  ‘When did you develop a blissfully barmy sense of humour?’ she demanded to know.

  Those blue eyes went dark and she spotted a flash of pain that was quickly hidden.

  ‘There are times when life throws us curves we’re not expecting. It either makes a person stronger or destroys. I decided on the former and made changes in my attitude to life and to myself.’

  And what Rosie wondered was she supposed to say to that?

  ‘So you’re living at The Grange? All by yourself in that big house?’

  Again those blue eyes went dark as Janine stroked a gentle finger down Boo’s velvet cheek.

  ‘I don’t have a lot of choice, Rosie. I’m waiting for my grandmother’s will to be finalised and then I’ll be in a better financial position. But the other reason I want a job is to connect with other women and have a conversation with another adult. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the chance you’re giving me.’

  ‘Your business experience is well documented and you’re a technical whiz on the computer.’

  Anxious blue eyes met hers.

  ‘I won’t let you down.’