by Bella Scott
“I will. I—I love you, Rosie.”
“I love you, too.”
***
Rose stood in line at the deli, behind a middle-aged man and woman deep in conversation. A glance at her phone told her she had forty minutes left, and with at least seven people in front of her just in her field of vision, she knew she would be here for a while. She flipped through the photos from the trip to St. Croix—Luke’s arms around her with the sunset behind them as they sat on the beach, a shot she’d taken of him standing in the water with the sun glinting off his skin, one he’d taken of her with her hands covered in flour when she’d tried to bake bread by herself on the third day—
“She’s lost my vote.”
Rose continued looking at the picture of herself attempting to bake, wishing she could meld with her photographed self and return to the island, but she tuned in to the conversation taking place in front of her.
“Mine too. Her son’s always getting himself into some kind of scandal. If she can’t keep a handle on her own family, how’s she supposed to make sure the state’s in the shape it’s supposed to be?”
Rose frowned. She followed the pair in front of her as the line moved forward a few steps, and she returned her phone to her pocket and folded her arms across her chest.
“I mean, really? Punching a reporter? How low can you get?”
Shaking her head, Rose turned away and deserted her place in line. She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and shouldered open the door, and as she left the deli, she heard the woman who’d been standing in front of her say “That’s her.” The woman’s tone was scathing. It was enough to make Rose want to scream, but as the street was still packed with people, she knew she couldn’t. She passed a newspaper box, and at the sight of Luke and herself on the front page beside a picture of Calvin, she froze. She pulled her wallet from her back pocket and deposited a few quarters, and she took out the first paper and scanned the headline.
“LeBlanc’s Assault Accuser Arrested Again.”
In the picture on the left, Luke’s fist was on its way toward the paparazzo whose hand was on Rose’s arm. In the picture on the right was Calvin, his nose bloodied and bruised, as he’d been after the fight with Luke years earlier.
“Evidence continues to surface that Luke LeBlanc, 26, assaulted a reporter after a political fundraiser for his mother, Illinois Senator Kennedy LeBlanc. Calvin Campbell, 27, who accused the younger LeBlanc of assaulting him while the two attended college, has recently been arrested for the fourth time. It remains unclear whether the two incidents are connected, but when interviewed from jail on Wednesday, Campbell stated that LeBlanc’s ‘tendency to overreact’ left him with broken bones that never healed properly. Campbell accused the LeBlanc family of having him arrested to silence him, and he stated that Luke LeBlanc never faced charges for the damage he sustained.”
By the time Rose finished reading the first paragraph, her hands were shaking. She dropped the paper, and it fell into a puddle at her feet. She returned her hands to her pockets and kept walking.
***
Mercifully, the state’s attorney agreed that Luke had no business handling Calvin’s case. When his boss showed him the headline of the day’s paper and Luke understood the light in which whoever had written the article was trying to paint him, it was all he could do to keep himself together. He’d had nothing to do with Calvin’s latest arrest—he hadn’t even known about it until the file had come across his desk. Whoever was trying to link Calvin’s case to the incident with the paparazzi was grasping at straws. They had nothing to connect the two incidents because Luke had had nothing to do with Calvin for the past four years. He hadn’t even seen the man in person since that night at the bar when everything had gone wrong.
When Luke returned to his office, he paced the tan carpet, his mind far from his work. He scanned the law textbooks and leather-bound classics on his shelves, and he ran his fingertips over the little wooden globe painted in greens and browns that his mother had bought him. He traced a line down to St. Croix, and for a moment, he could feel the cool waves and the sun’s warmth beating down on him at once, and if he reached out, he was certain he could catch Rose’s hand. He could hold onto her, and they could stay on the island, in the sunshine, away from all of this.
He returned to his desk. He then picked up his phone, dialed her number, and lifted the phone to his ear. It rang on a loop. When the sound was broken by Rose’s voice, he let out a breath he hadn’t meant to hold.
“Hi—”
“Hey, how’s your first day—?”
“—it’s Rose. Sorry I missed you. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon.”
Luke’s face fell. He heard a beep and then hung up. It wasn’t like he had anything pressing to tell her, but he wanted to hear her voice, and not just in a recorded message. He set his phone on the desk in front of him.
How poorly would it reflect on me if I leave early?
***
Rose stared at the phone resting in the cupholder as she drove, and the longer she watched Luke’s name remain on the screen, the more she was tempted to reach for it and tell him everything that was running through her mind. She’d told Beatrice she needed to deal with something and promised that she wouldn’t be missing any more days in the near future, and she’d left the office just after her lunch break had been scheduled to end.
She was almost back to Luke’s house, and she didn’t know how long she would have. But the comfort that had been building steadily within her over the past two weeks had been shattered by the sight of the newspaper.
Luke had spent the past four years trying to put the mishap with Calvin and Lorenzo behind him. He’d severed all ties with them, to Rose’s knowledge, and now here Calvin was, capitalizing on a situation that had nothing to do with him and taking any chance at all to drag Luke down again.
Despite Rose’s efforts to protect Luke from the heartache that came with loving her when she’d kept the pain of their child’s loss to herself and removed herself from the equation, here he was again, suffering. Because of her.
If she hadn’t been with him at the ball, he would’ve had no reason to snap. If he didn’t have to protect her, there would be nothing forcing him to make these choices to put his reputation and himself in danger.
If she disappeared again, he would be so much better off.
Chapter Nineteen
After twenty minutes had passed with no word from Rose, Luke had begun to worry. He’d expected at least a text asking why he’d called. He picked up his phone and tried again.
Five rings passed before she answered.
“I’m sorry.”
Luke’s heart plummeted. He heard the sadness in her voice, and his pulse quickened. Something was wrong.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Luke…” She paused to pull in a long breath. “I saw the paper. They’re still trying to make you the bad guy for what happened with Calvin after all this time, and—it’s my fault.”
He got to his feet and moved for his office door, starting down the hall without a second thought. He could explain to everyone at work later. Right now, he had to act.
“Please don’t be thinking what I think you are,” he said quietly.
“I’m sorry.”
The line went dead. Luke broke into a run.
***
Rose moved through the house quickly, pulling together everything she could and making several trips to her car with her clothes and toiletries and whatever else of hers that she could find. Luke’s office was closer to the house than hers, and she knew she’d made a mistake in answering the phone, but she was so torn. She wanted to protect him—she would do anything in the world to keep him safe, even if that meant losing him. She felt like she was cursed, or worse yet, that she was the curse. She was tired of everything she touched falling apart.
But no matter what she did, she was hurting him. She’d already left once before, and it had a
bsolutely crushed him. What was worse? Taking herself out of the way and letting him live his life without people using her to get to him, or staying out of selfishness—out of her desire to be with him?
She left the master bathroom, her makeup bag under her arm, and when she reentered the bedroom, her gaze fell on her nightstand. In a slim, clear crystal vase was a white rose that Luke had brought back for her from St. Croix. She remembered everything he’d told her the flower symbolized when he’d given them to her the last time they had been together, and she remembered the one he’d given her when he’d asked her to marry him.
Rose sat down at the edge of the bed and lowered her head into her hands, hoping that if she held on tightly enough, she might be able to keep herself from shattering into pieces on the floor.
Either way, he loses. He would’ve been better off if I’d stayed gone.
“You’re still here.”
She tensed and raised her head slowly to find him standing in the doorway, watching her. His expression was calm, but there was panic in his eyes. His tone was surprised but relieved, like he hadn’t expected to catch her. Slowly, cautiously, he moved forward.
“I should’ve let the call go to voicemail,” she said.
“I’m glad you didn’t. Rose, you don’t really want this, do you? I thought we had a plan—to do this together.”
“You don’t get it.” Rose shook her head and stood. “Luke, you have this incredible life. What goes with your family name… it’s amazing. People look up to your mom, and someday, you’re going to be the top prosecutor in this state, and they’ll all be looking up to you. Don’t let a few idiots use me to ruin that for you or for her.”
“You’re not going to ruin anything,” said Luke. As he drew closer, his blond hair shone in the light, and the pain in his eyes grew clearer, twisting Rose’s stomach. “That’s not possible.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t do this to you.”
She allowed herself one more moment. One moment longer to take in his handsome face: those green eyes that could set her on fire with just a look, that strong jaw that might’ve been sculpted by one of the masters, those perfect lips that she’d missed so much over the past four years.
And then she slid past him and into the hallway. The house whipped by—so many doors she hadn’t even entered since she’d come back. The room that he’d given her on the first night she’d returned, before they’d realized they couldn’t stand that amount of distance between them. The family portraits on the walls. Lenore looked out at her from some of them, and Rose had to look away. She was going to hurt her best friend again, too, and she wasn’t ready for that. But she couldn’t make herself turn around. At the front of her mind was the picture of Calvin taken after the bar fight. From what Rose had heard, he’d only done six months for what he’d tried to do to her, and somehow, Luke was still paying for that night. He always would, unless she put a stop to it.
She raced down to the first floor, and she knew Luke was behind her. His footsteps were rapid and louder than hers, and she wanted to turn around and throw herself into his arms, but she couldn’t. Instead, she plowed forward, making her way to the front door. She pulled it open, and the cool afternoon air knocked the breath from her lungs. Her car awaited her in the driveway. Luke’s was beside it. The ice-blue door of his Miada was open, and the car still dinged rapidly. He’d left his keys in the ignition when he’d run in after her.
She stood on the top step with one hand on the doorknob when she heard his voice.
“Rose! Wait!”
She shut her eyes and fought back the tears that wanted to spill down her cheeks. Now wasn’t the time to cry. She was doing this for him—to protect him, and to protect his family. She was so good at causing him pain, no matter how much she hated it. All she’d ever wanted was to make him happy. For the two of them to be happy together.
He’ll never be completely happy with me dragging him down.
“I have to go,” she said. Though she intended the words to come out forcefully, they sounded broken, and she mentally kicked herself for it. She needed to sound like she believed what she was doing was the best option. If she didn’t, how would she ever convince him that it was?
“No you don’t. Please, don’t go.”
She closed her eyes tighter, but she couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. She clung to the doorknob for support. The metal stung her hand with the force of her grip, but she wouldn’t release it.
“Don’t you understand?” Her voice came out a little stronger this time. “As long as I’m here, your life is never going to be what it could be without me. You’ll always have people running your name through the mud because I give them the ammunition. Luke, the only things you’ve done to get in trouble were because you were protecting me. You’re not the dangerous one, like those people are saying. I am. I make you do crazy things, and you don’t need me ruining your life.”
“Ruining my life?” he repeated. His tone was hollow, and she bit her inner cheek at the sound. When she felt his hand on her arm, his touch was light. Tentative. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and tell him she wasn’t going anywhere, but she’d come this far, and she had to see this through. “If that’s honestly how you think I feel,” Luke continued, “then I’ve failed you.”
Rose let out a shaky sigh. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to start sobbing. “I didn’t say that’s what you feel,” she said. “But it’s what everyone else feels. You’d be so much better off without me being in your way, Luke. Can’t you see that?”
“Could you turn around, please?” he asked. “There’s something you need to see.”
The urge to run straight to her car without looking back pulled at her stomach, but she’d never been able to resist him. She could give him this much. She opened her eyes and turned to face him, and her breath caught in her throat.
He was still in the suit he’d worn to work, and its gray brought out the green of his eyes. In his hand was a single white rose—the one he’d brought back from the island. She stared at him, wanting to say something, but no words would come.
“You aren’t ruining my life,” Luke said, sparing her the need to speak. “You’re saving it.”
At this, she opened her mouth to protest, but he continued.
“For four years, I’ve been lost without you. I haven’t felt like me. I was going through the motions every day, waiting for something to happen that made me feel like my life had meaning. And then you showed up on my doorstep, and it was like something out of a dream. I’m still not convinced I’ve woken up since then, but I’m okay with that as long as it means I get to be with you. Rose, my biggest regret in life is that I lost you. That I pushed you away, that I didn’t make you feel like you could talk to me when you were suffering, that I scared you when I was trying to help you that night at the bar. Everything I’ve done wrong has been something that put distance between us. And I don’t want there to be any of that anymore.”
Rose was vaguely aware of the tears streaming down her cheeks. She still held onto the doorknob, using it to keep herself steady. She felt like she might crumble beneath the weight and beauty of his words.
“People are going to talk,” Luke went on, “but I don’t give a damn. And I know it’s hard to get to that point—I’ve been living with the gossip all my life, and sometimes, I find myself slipping and caring what they think. But I shouldn’t care, and neither should you. And do you know why?”
“Why?” she breathed.
“Because if we have each other, it doesn’t matter what anyone says. Nothing anyone could ever do would stop me from loving you. There’s absolutely nothing that could do that. I’ve loved you every second of every day since you left. Please don’t leave again. Please… stay with me. Always.”
He held the flower out to her, and she finally looked down at it. The thorns had been trimmed from its stem, leaving it with nothing but beauty. At the sight of something sparkling within its central petals, s
he blinked. She looked up to meet his eyes, and he was watching her expectantly, his soul laid bare on his face. Pain. Love. Fear.
She returned her gaze to the flower, and slowly, her fingers trembling, she reached out for it. She took it in one hand and removed her other from the knob at last to reach into the petals.
Her fingertips brushed metal. Stone.
From within the flower, she pulled the engagement ring she’d given back to him on the night she’d left him standing in the rain.
Several seconds passed before she could find her voice, and it came out soft and strained. “I just don’t want you to hurt because of me,” she said. “I don’t want your life to be harder because of me.”
“The only way that could happen is if I went back to living without you. You’re the only woman for me, Rose. You always have been.”
She crumbled. The ring in one hand and the flower in the other, she threw her arms around him and wept into his shoulder. He knelt, embracing her tightly, and they remained there on the threshold, clinging to one another. She held on so hard she was afraid she might hurt him, but his grip on her remained firm. Comforting.
“Is that a ‘yes’?” he muttered.
Rose smiled, and for the first time in recent memory, all her fears and worries evaporated. There were still going to be struggles—they would have to figure out how to keep everyone involved in the baby’s life who needed to be, and Luke’s mother’s political rivals would be scrutinizing the pair’s every move for something to use against them. But none of the problems mattered because they would be facing them together.
Always.
“It definitely is,” she said.
***
The smell of coffee and the sounds of porcelain mugs clinking against tables filled the air. Rose sat at a small booth across from Lenore, who wore a purple dress and blazer even at ten in the morning, and Morgan. Rose took a second to process her sister’s presence. Morgan held a cappuccino between her palms. Her hair was medium-brown and fell in gentle waves to just past the top of her back, and the two of them shared the same wide blue eyes. They saw each other far more often now than they had while Rose had been in college, and they talked at least once every few days, but every time they spoke felt like something she needed to savor.