18. CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 18
Gray
R ose looked beautiful in a white peasant blouse and a long skirt with a slit on one side. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and I wanted to wrap myself in those tresses and have the right to touch them again as I leaned into her, kissing that lush mouth of hers, hearing her say my darling Gray, I love you .
There wasn't enough ass-kicking in the world for me to make up for the sins I'd committed against my wife.
"Hi, Rose." I walked to what I assumed was the check-in desk, where there was a sleek computer screen and a large vase of winter flowers.
She stared, completely shell-shocked.
"What…how…?"
I smiled. "You have a room for me… and Jude."
I felt hope surge through me when I saw tears glitter in her eyes. "Jude?"
"Yeah, he's unloading the car."
"He's here? My baby is here?"
Fuck! I hated how unsure she seemed, how much she loved her children, and how they, because of me, had treated her.
"Of course, he is. We couldn't let you spend the holidays without us, babe."
She wiped tears and then gasped. " Y'all are Malou's friends?"
I grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. She said she'd make sure you had two rooms set aside for us." I pulled out my credit card, and she stared at it.
"I can't take your money," she whispered. "You're Malou's friends."
And your husband and son!
I put my card back in the wallet and slipped it into my slacks. I wasn't going to fight her on this. If she'd come back to me, to us, I'd never fight her on anything ever fucking again.
Jude came in then, and Rose's face broke into a smile.
"My baby." She walked to him; first, her steps hurried and then tentative as if she wasn't sure what the reception from Jude would be like.
He noticed it as I had, and I felt his pain. He opened his arms, and Rose threw herself into them. She hugged him hard, went on tiptoe, and planted several kisses all over his face. "My baby is here. Oh, Jude. Thank you. Thank you for coming. Merry Christmas, sweetheart."
Jude held her and rested his chin on her shoulder, looking at me with tears in his eyes.
Asshole , he didn't even need to apologize, and she was hugging him. If I tried to pull her into my arms, there was a good chance I'd lose said arms.
But I was happy to see them together and hoped very much that they could seal the rift between them; and that when Willow and Mike got here tomorrow; we could all get along and show Rose how important she was to us.
Rose stepped away and then turned to look at me. She swallowed.
"Merry Christmas, babe." I stepped toward her and saw her take a step back, sending an arrow through my heart.
"Gray," she breathed. Not my darling Gray , just pathetic Gray .
I loved it when she called me her darling. Even when she left me a note, she called me her darling Gray. I lost that and her. I wanted so badly to make it right, but I didn't even know where to start. I didn't know how to say everything I wanted to say, how to apologize for hurting her the way I had, and make her believe that I'd never be that stupid again because this was the first time in four weeks that I was able to breathe without air sticking in my chest.
My Rose was in front of me.
She may hate my guts, but she was here , in front of me. I could smell her rose scent, and it gave me solace.
We followed Rose up a wooden staircase to the second floor of the bed and breakfast.
The air was cooler on this floor, filled with the faint, salty scent of the Atlantic. Rose led us down a hallway, past framed paintings of seascapes that seemed to bring the ocean right into the house, and stopped in front of a door at the end.
I had not expected a house this well-appointed. I saw my wife's touches everywhere. She'd decorated this house; I was certain of it. The gorgeous, serene art, the way everything was put together to generate comfort without being cluttered, the holiday decorations, all of it screamed of my Rose’s touch.
She did this in our home as well. Without her, the house I used to love seemed cold, and I hated being there. It wasn't just how my wife set the house up, I realized, it was Rose herself who added warmth to any home, even Angel's Rest Bed I just hadn't come to fully appreciate it, which was on me.
"Six months?" The surprise in her voice was unmistakable. "But…what about work?"
I shrugged. "Justin has taken over as acting CEO and President."
"What?" She gaped at me. "Why?" And then I saw worry cloud her eyes, "Are you okay? Are you not well?"
"Babe, I'm fine. Heart fucking broken but otherwise fine," I spoke quickly, not wanting her to panic. Since her friend was ill, I should've thought about where her head would go. "I want to be here with you."
She looked at me quizzically. "I don't understand."
"I'm here on Angel Island for as long as you're here."
"What?"
I stood silently and watched her instead of repeating myself. She'd heard me fine, even if maybe she didn't like what I had said.
"You can't do that."
"Why?"
"This is…ah…for guests."
"I'm happy to pay for the room, Rose."
"I already told you, I don't want your money," she bit out, and for the first time since she saw me, I saw the fire inside her, the one that I'd heard over the phone and when she'd laid out how unhappy she'd been in our marriage.
"Believe me, I know that," I said sadly.
She hadn't wanted a dime. For all those gold digger remarks Mama made about Rose, my wife honestly loved me for me and not for my last name. I'd known that, but I'd never impressed that upon my mother. I should have. In the early days of our marriage, I was scared of pissing Mama off. But after, I just didn't give a shit. Of course, I didn't. It wasn't like Mama gave me a hard time about Rose; she gave Rose a hard time about trapping me cause she got pregnant all on her own.
"Gray, you can't stay here for that long." She walked to the door. "I…well, let's talk later. But you cannot stay here—"
"If you kick me out of the B I knew that. And I hadn't allowed her to be a teenager either, because I knocked her up and then fucked it up further by throwing her into Mama Rutherford's den to be chewed up and spit out.
"It was a few years ago," she continued. "It was Holden's birthday party at their house. I hadn't wanted to come, but you said I had to. ‘ People will wonder where you are, Rose. I don't want to deal with that shit .’ She spoke that last part in a sing-song, sarcastic manner.
"Rose, I'm so sorry," I said, memories of the party flooding back. I saw myself in their garden gazebo, talking with Holden. I couldn't recall the exact conversation, only that it was about growing older. Holden had turned thirty-eight, with forty looming ahead. That was about four years ago.
"Do you even remember what you said?" she challenged me.
I shook my head. "I'm afraid I don't. Not exactly. Will you tell me?"
Her eyes began to shine with tears. She shook her head. "Dinner will be ready at six thirty. We're having Cornish hens on saffron rice with roasted vegetables and white wine sauce."
"Thank you, Rose."
She cooked elaborate and interesting meals. The kids had grown up eating amazing food. After they left, she'd continued to cook, but I'd come home less and less for dinner. I'd always been home if the kids were there—but if they weren't…. In so many ways, I'd told my wife without ever saying the words that she wasn't important, the kids were. I was an ass.
After she left, her scent lingered in the room, and I breathed it in. I stared out at the crashing waves as the sky darkened, wondering how I could win her back when I wasn’t sure I even knew her anymore. In just four weeks, she’d become more assertive, more argumentative. I didn’t hate it. I didn’t like it. It confused me, because this wasn’t the Rose I’d lived with for twenty years. If she’d stood up to me like this before, been more forceful, would I have behaved better? Not that she should’ve needed to—I should’ve treated my wife properly no matter what. This was on me. But I still wondered how things might’ve been if we’d ever been able to talk about how we really felt, as I admired the view from the B&B I’d refused to visit for years.