Kiss From A Rose (A Modern Vintage Romance #4)

1. CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 1

Rose

I learned long ago not to wait up for Gray. So, it was a fool-me-ten-thousand-times situation when I did so on a Friday night, our twentieth wedding anniversary.

I'd hoped all day for a bouquet, a dinner invitation, hell, a text message saying: Happy Anniversary, babe . Followed by some flavor of: I'll make it up to you .

There had been nothing .

I didn’t make a big fuss over anniversaries or birthdays because I’d learned early on that it would only lead to disappointment. Gray had forgotten a few of my birthdays, and there were times when he’d grabbed flowers from a gas station for me.

It hadn't felt quite so bad when the kids were home—but the twins had left when they turned eighteen two years ago. Jude was earning a degree in architecture like his daddy at Duke, and Willow was pursuing pre-med at NYU.

So here I was, rattling around in a big house in Historic Brookhaven, one of the poshest areas in Buckhead, Atlanta, surrounded by every luxury I could’ve ever dreamed of growing up dirt poor in a trailer park in West End.

Gray had never been anything but wealthy. He grew up comfortable with an enormous amount of old family money; and a decade ago, he had inherited Rutherford Architects from his daddy. Oh, he'd grown it to the size it was through hard work and sheer will—but he didn't know what it meant to be hungry or worry about where to sleep.

I poured another glass of champagne, the last of the nice Perrier-Jou?t I'd chilled for our anniversary.

So, what if he forgot? I told myself. It didn't matter. I remembered, and we'd toast, and maybe even if he were late, we'd make love—go back to a time when I wasn't quite so lonely in my marriage.

The clock struck midnight, and I knew it was time for Cinderella to turn into a pumpkin.

The door opened right then, and I heard him enter the house, laughing at something. I didn't need to look to see if he was on his phone.

He was.

"Of course, darlin'. I'll see you at work tomorrow. I know, we have that meeting at seven."

That darlin' would be his executive assistant. She'd come into our lives three years ago. Beautiful and smart (she had a business degree from the University of Texas, Austin), Aimee Graham had moved to Atlanta from Dallas. She was Aimee , with one I and two Es and no Y. She was in her mid-twenties to Gray's forty-two.

I wondered sometimes if he was having an affair. But it didn't sit right with me. Not Gray. Maybe every wife whose husband cheated on her thought the same thing: no, not my husband .

The doubts came because we weren't having a lot of sex. Aimee, without a Y, was blonde, beautiful, and young . She didn't have gray hair to hide or dark spots to blend with a concealer. She hadn't spent a lifetime sitting at home raising children and keeping house—she had a career.

When friends of ours, the Jamesons, got divorced because Kevin had been nailing his physical therapist (what a cliché), Gray had said, "Kevin outgrew Leah. While he was climbing the ladder, she was at home, not growing as a person, so he found someone young and thin to bang."

He didn't realize he was talking about me as well as Leah.

Like my friend, I had put on weight—you try having children, lose your metabolism as you grow old, and not do that.

Unlike me, Leah used to practice law, which she gave up to keep home because Kevin of the Jameson you don't need to work a day in your life. "

Well, the old bitch was wrong. I'd worked every day of my life. I'd worked hard .

"Rose, babe, I'm really—"

I smiled at him. I was adept now at showing him whatever he wanted to see. "It's okay."

"We had a crisis and—"

I went on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. I used to love that he was a foot taller than me—now, it just made him more unreachable. Aimee, without a Y, was five foot nine, like a model to my five foot five.

"I'm going to go to bed. Goodnight, honey."

He kissed my forehead again. He didn't kiss my mouth as he used to. Maybe he was cheating on me. When was the last time we'd had sex? Three…no four months ago? Or was it five? When you couldn't even remember, you knew your marriage was in trouble. Like Maggie's mother-in-law said in Cat On A Hot Tin Roof, "When a marriage is on the rocks, the rocks are in the bed."

"I wish I could join you, but I have to get through a few things for a meeting we have in the morning with the city," he apologized politely.

"That's okay. You get it all done and get some rest."

Gray would work late in his office and then sleep in the guestroom. His excuse would be, " I didn't want to wake you, babe ." He'd also be gone before I woke up. Yeah, he probably was banging his assistant. Talk about a cliché!

I got into bed and made the decision I knew I had to make, the one I wished I'd made two years ago, right after the kids left.

I texted Marie-Louise, my childhood friend from my trailer park days, who'd worked her tail off and now ran a bed-and-breakfast. I visited her often, more in the past years since she'd been diagnosed with breast cancer. Malou didn't have children, and the last loser she'd had the misfortune of hooking up with (her words, not mine) died in a car accident, leaving her the home she now lived in.

I'd been with her through her chemo and celebrated when she'd come through. Now, two years later, the cancer was back, and the doctors gave her months, maybe a year, on the off chance. Once she told me that a few months ago, the plan for my future began to brew.

Me: Malou, I'll be there by evening.

Malou: You're doing it?"

Me: Yes .

Malou: Did you tell him?

Me: I'll leave him a note. I don't think he'll care.

Malou: For two smart broads, we certainly have shit taste in men.

Me: Amen!