Chapter 15
15
Samantha
I removed the piece of rose quartz from my pocketbook. It seemed the love-attracting qualities the rock was said to possess worked a little too well. Silly, for sure, to think a simple piece of organic matter could affect daily life but with Timothy’s attempts to draw me back into his circle, it was better to be safe than sorry.
Our lunch together had gone as expected, with him trying to charm and manipulate, and me shooting him down. It was uncomfortable, so I’d claimed a headache and he took me back to the shop. Placing the pink stone in a slotted bin filled with other gems and minerals, I inhaled deeply, centering myself. While I was in my store, I was safe, I was away from the pressures that bore down upon me by my well-intentioned family and society at large.
“He won’t be bothering you for much longer.”
I whirled around at the voice, my hand making contact with a rock-hard abdomen covered with soft fabric. The man sucked in a breath as I glanced up to be met by the same green eyes I’d seen a couple times before. “I’m sorry,” I muttered. The man looked tortured. Had I hurt him? I hadn’t hit him that hard and besides, what was he doing standing so close?
He didn’t move, and neither did I. My eyes stayed fixated on his, my breath now caught in my throat. He was beyond beautiful, with his sharp jawline and cheekbones, hair as black and shiny as the chips of onyx we sold. His clothing was gorgeous as well, bespoke and tailored precisely for him, the dark fabric of his dress shirt highlighting fine musculature. The man was living, breathing, sin in the flesh; the image of him seemingly designed to inspire the darkest of thoughts.
“Don’t apologize. If I didn’t want you to touch me, you wouldn’t be able to.” The odd statement floated through my mind as a warmth coursed through me in response to the thought of touching him further.
When I backed away, he reached around me, and picked up the stone I’d just returned to its bin. “Keep these off your person,” he ordered me. His voice reminded me of the man who’d let himself into my bedroom the other night, but I quickly pushed the thought away, there was no way a man like this would do such a thing. He was too well-mannered and dressed, plus the protective air he seemed to possess wouldn’t allow for such behavior.
He tossed it back, his arm brushing my shoulder. He smelled good, like spice and the forest and snow and everything I wanted to smell more of. My thoughts tumbled and I blinked, starting to move away. My leg trembled while I tried to find my footing. He was telling me not to carry rocks, and that someone wouldn’t bother me anymore, and none of anything that was happening made any sense at all. Not my physical response, nor the words flowing through his lips.
My pulse was racing but I still managed to ask, “Who are you?”
His eyes appeared to brighten, his lips tilting into a smile. He held his hand out. “My name is Ramone.”
Hesitantly, I reached to shake his hand, staring at it. He had beautiful, long fingers, and enviable nails that shone like diamonds. The warmth of his skin sliding along mine sent a shiver up my spine. “Samantha,” I replied.
He repeated my name reverently and let go as I pointlessly nodded. Unsure of what to do with myself, or of the growing desire for the elegant figure in front of me, I stood waiting. Realizing I was staring impolitely, I glanced at the floor. His shoes were just as finely well-made as the rest of him, I noticed.
Marshall called for me, and Ramone backed away. “Wait,” I muttered. “What did you mean, who won’t bother me?” My head had cleared enough to remember what he’d said.
He stilled, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Tim. And then you’ll be free.”
Marshall yelled for me again, and when I looked back, Ramone was gone. My head spun, dizzying me when I pondered the implications of his words. Ramone knew who Timothy was. What I didn’t know was how. I’d never seen the man in public at any events, and he didn’t look like any lawyer I’d ever seen. What did he mean I’ll be “free”?
“There you are,” Marshall grumbled when I returned behind the counter. “The payment system is down again.”
“What? No, this can’t be.” Toni nodded at me, confirming. “What the hell...” I muttered.
Toni stood up. “I already called the tech; he should be here tomorrow.”
Tomorrow was too long. We were way busier than usual. “The register card system still works?” I asked.
“It seems localized to online purchases,” Marshall confirmed. “You’d think that whoever had it in for us would’ve affected both avenues. I don’t understand how this happened. I thought you said the guy was good?”
Toni rolled her eyes at him. “He is. He was? I don’t know.” She sat at the desk, repeatedly tapping a button on the laptop.
Placing my hand on hers, I moved it away from the keyboard. “Can’t we just set up a different system? There’s other credit card merchant services out there. Not every business uses the same one.”
Marshall tilted his head. “I’m an idiot. Good point. Move, Toni. Let me see what I can find.”
“Fine,” she muttered, shoving herself from the chair, the younger man then replacing her in front of the screen. “I got this, don’t worry,” he said, grinning.
Rubbing my forehead, I said, “I’m so tired of this.” I was tired of the computer problems, tired of trying to live up to my parents’ expectations, and pre-tired thinking of Timothy’s newly resurrected interest in me.
“We’ll figure it out,” Toni said. “Did he pick up one of the demonology books? I saw you talking to that guy from the other day. Oh, he would’ve come up here.” She shook her head.
“Oh yeah, I don’t know what he wanted.” The man whose name I now knew—Ramone—had been forgotten with the distraction.
“He didn’t ask for anything?”
“No, he just warned me about rose quartz.” A puzzled look crossed my friend’s face. “Yeah, I know.”
“What did you say? He’s kinda scary looking, I would’ve promised to throw them all away.”
I laughed. “He didn’t scare me. I don’t think I answered him.”
Her eyes widened. “You like him. You’re blushing; you like him.” She pointed at me, and I swatted her hand.
Marshall glanced up. “You know who that was, right?”
“He said his name is Ramone.” Thank goodness Marshall knew so much. I wouldn’t have to do the internet search I’d planned for later. He seemed to know everything about everyone in town. It came in handy at times.
“I think I found one; this one sounds good. Let me double check.” He squinted at the screen, eyeing some software. “That man is Ramone Von Fulgere. The Fulgere who owns Fulgere Industries. And the one card merchant that keeps popping up every time I look is owned by Fulgere.”
That meant nothing to me. Although I had to say it was weird it was so popular, and I’d never heard of it. “Okay? Focus on finding a new merchant, please.”
“He’s a gazillionaire. He owns the marketing you see every time you look at a screen. Well, almost all of it. He’s super private, no one ever sees him.”
“He was literally just here.” I pointed out.
Toni gave me a look, as if that information would do something. I faced her. “What?”
“He was looking at you like he wants to eat you.”
My shoulders slumped. “No, he looked at me like he was terrified. Makes sense if he’s that private. He has no interest in me. Plus, I’m going out on a date with Matthew this weekend.” I then remembered I’d meant to ask Marshall about the man, but it didn’t seem as important anymore, so I didn’t.
As if on cue, my cellphone vibrated. It was Matthew, asking if I needed anything for the opera. I texted him back letting him know I was prepared and thanking him. “Speak of the devil,” I announced, holding my phone up. “You’re not going, are you?”
Toni’s lips tilted. “No, not this time unfortunately. We’re heading to Long Island for the weekend.” Toni and her fiancé didn’t frequent many events, preferring a quieter life. I envied her low pressure and freedom-filled existence often.
“Lucky.”
“I thought you liked the opera?”
“I do,” I said, slouching against the counter. “I’m just tired.”
When I arrived home, a large box was positioned in the center of my bed, the green velvet box placed on top along with a note.
Wear the necklace with the dress. See you soon.
The script was elegant, and the ink shimmered as if it were alive, sparkling without any movement of the paper. I stared at it in fascination, not daring to breathe and disturb the phenomena. There was no way this was possible; ink didn’t move of its own accord. I let go, watching the cream-colored parchment float to the bed. I was seeing things, imagining them. My eyes watered. This couldn’t be happening to me; why was I losing my mind again?
I slapped a hand down on the package and dragged it toward me, my fingers prying at the lid. I gasped when it opened. The black silk gown lay there, bundled in tissue paper, several days early. Snagging my phone, I went to dial the dress shop, my finger hovering over the screen. I tossed the phone onto the comforter at the last minute and removed the dress to try on.
It fit perfectly.
While the dress fit like a glove, nothing else did. Not having been held prisoner in my dreams, not having read strange moving ink, not facing disturbingly singular computer issues at work, not Timothy’s renewed interest, not the hot dream sexual encounter, and most certainly not the five-minute dress alterations.
I flatly refused to believe the intimate moment had been anything other than a dream.
My life had always been neat, orderly, and rational and I was currently feeling none of the above. I felt out of control, adrift, and I was suddenly thankful for my parents’ dominance over me. Taking a deep breath, I reassured myself. Everything would be okay. All of it would work out. It had to. My family couldn’t survive another tragedy.
Stripping the gown from my body carefully, I got changed and went downstairs to my kitchen. Pulling leftovers out, I warmed them up and headed to the living room, intent on streaming something on the large screen. When I reached the threshold, I almost dropped my plate.
Placed on the center of my coffee table was a large vase of more than a dozen roses, in a heavy lead crystal vase. The deepest, richest of crimson blooms released a sweet fragrance into the air, almost overpowering my reheated Chinese take-out. The stems, the form, the color, all of it was immaculate and very clearly not from a corner shop, or even a standard florist. Otherworldly in their beauty, I almost didn’t dare touch them. Had I been so distracted when I’d arrived home? How did I miss them? I felt the vase, trying to check the temperature. The water couldn’t have been cold or too warm; whoever had placed these here knew that the liquid must be precise to preserve the flowers as long as possible.
Gently, I cupped one of the breath-taking blossoms rubbing my thumb along the satiny petals. They were gorgeous. There wasn’t a notecard I could see, or any indication where they’d come from. I opened the security app on my phone to check the camera footage but as I watched, it appeared the arrangement had always been centered in the room. Scrolling back further, it had been here for weeks, it seemed. With shaking hands, I walked back into my kitchen and dumped my food in the bin before tossing my plate and utensils in the dishwasher, wincing at the sharp crack of porcelain against porcelain.
I climbed into bed and grabbed the demonology book, intent on relaxing and clearing my mind, a distraction from the turbulent thoughts. My brain won, and I curled up under the sheets, tears streaming from my eyes.
Not crazy. Not crazy. Not crazy.
The affirmation repeated in my mind as I attempted to convince myself, tried to lie to myself.
Everything will be okay.