Chapter 34
thirty-four
ROSE
A dark and violent storm overtakes the island. Lightning and thunder and winds so strong, we have to shutter the windows. Just like the change in weather, things are suddenly different after the run-in with Crue. Dare and I can’t seem to resist one another, but something has shifted between us, and I catch the slight changes in Dare.
Occasionally, he clenches his fist to keep from reaching for me, whereas before, he wouldn’t stop himself.
I hate that my near slip is the reason. The trip was going so well, and then I almost told him I loved him, and...he was so mad. I’ve never seen a man be so enraged at the idea of love. It hurts to know that the thought of me loving him pisses him off.
Ever since my almost confession, one I’m certain he understood, he’s retreated. Before then, we’d been living in a bubble where our names didn’t matter and the past didn’t exist. That illusion violently bursts, and there’s no going back to fantasyland. My stomach aches, mourning the loss of that version of us.
Dare still has the weapon that could send me to prison. He might enjoy my body, but love? Maybe my dad was right. Fairy tales and love—none of it is real. The thought pierces my heart, and I rub at my chest.
Staring at the shadows and light playing across the ceiling of the bedroom while Dare showers, I lie on the bed and wonder what my life would’ve been like if I weren’t Joseph Miller’s daughter. Would love be easier?
It wouldn’t be nearly as complicated as my current situation.
Dare’s phone chirps twice in a row on the nightstand. Then once again. I roll over, glancing at the screen, which displays a preview of the texts.
Unknown
Hey! I miss you!
I wish we could spend the holidays together. Can you sneak away for Christmas?
The last message stabs through my heart.
I love you so much, Dare. When will I see you again?
Jealousy sings through my system. Who the fuck is this?
The phone starts to vibrate with a call from what I assume is the same number. Three texts and a phone call? Whoever this is, they have to know he’s married now, right? Anyone who’s anyone knows who married who, simply because the money follows. The thought of Dare being with anyone else turns my vision red.
I’m going to find out who you are and pay you a little visit.
Before I talk myself out of it, I grab my phone and take a picture of the number before the call ends, sending it to Orion from my JD Miller & Co email account, intent on figuring out exactly who is sending my husband love notes, so I can hunt them down and introduce myself. Rage swirls in my gut, but until I know who it is and what they mean to Dare, I can’t bring it up.
It could be nothing. Or maybe he’s been playing me for a fool this entire time.
I numbly put the phone back on the nightstand as the shower turns off in the en suite. I lie down, pretending to be asleep. The plush blankets aren’t soft anymore and rub against me like sandpaper. Or perhaps that’s the betrayal, tightening my skin like a harsh sunburn. Nothing but time can soothe the sting.
Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.
Maybe it’s someone he dated before.
Orion had sent a few names of women Dare dated. Honestly, at the time, I didn’t give a crap about who he was dating, but now, I wish I would have spent more time memorizing their names. Orion can help me track the number down. Once I know exactly who is texting him and what, if anything, she means to Dare, I’ll make a plan.
A fragile part of me is desperate for the messages to mean nothing.
Dare’s steps are soft as he exits the bathroom. He stops at the bedside table and grabs his phone. The sound of his camera snapping a picture fills the air, but I keep my breathing even and my eyes closed for a few more seconds. Then, when I hear his fingers tapping on the screen, I peek up at him.
A giant smile is on his face, one I’ve never seen before. Bile rises in my throat and doubt after doubt swirls in my mind. Is Dare still playing games with me? The way he’s grinning right now is so affectionate. So full of love, and it’s all directed at those stupid messages.
It probably was dumb to forget myself, but I really thought we were setting aside our differences. I thought he was serious about me. Maybe I was wrong. I foolishly let myself fall for the man who swore he hated me.
He sees me awake, and his smile changes, but it’s nothing like the one he wore seconds ago. This smile is guarded. “How was your nap?”
“Good,” I say, eyeing the phone. “Who’s that?”
The grin falls away and his eyebrows draw down ever so slightly. “No one,” he lies, locking the device and putting it on the table. Water drips down his abs, but I’m too uneasy to appreciate his body. Dare climbs onto the bed, oblivious to my inner turmoil, and straddles my hips.
He’s hard as a rock.
Because of me or because of the text?
“You’re trapped, Rose,” he whispers, pinning my hands above my head.
Before, I would have embraced the role of his submissive wife, but right now, I can’t even bring myself to look him in the eye. My chest aches so hard, I’m scared it might crack open.
Dare searches my face. “What’s wrong?”
I gave him so much power. I let him in, and now he can pick me apart. One squeeze of his hand and my heart could be crushed. What if it’s not what I think it is, though? What if it’s nothing and he really is the man I’ve gotten to know over the past weeks?
Fairy tales aren’t real, Rosalynn. There is no happily ever after in real life.
My dad’s words slice through my mind, shredding the last of my sanity. My throat constricts and my stomach lurches. It’s been years since anxiety has made me sick, but I recognize all the signs. Pounding pulse. Heaving chest. Tight throat. Blood simmering in my veins.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I tell him.
Dare slips off of me, and I roll off the bed, racing to the bathroom and slamming the door. I don’t hear it shut because I barely make it to the toilet before I lose the contents of my stomach. A sob rips free from my throat and my gut heaves again.
Strong hands wrap around my hair and hold it back.
Another cruel kindness.
Another game?
Or is it real?
My head is so fucked, I can’t tell the difference, but I’m not stupid enough to forget that Dare has the power to destroy me. He outmaneuvered me, and I was stupid.
These past months, I’ve proved my dad right about one thing—emotions do make you weak. They make you vulnerable, easy to hurt. If I hadn’t been so desperate for attention, I could have saved myself the embarrassment of almost telling Dare that I love him and the pain of realizing this marriage might’ve been my only shot at love, because whenever this is said and done, I won’t try again.
“Maybe we should head home,” Dare murmurs, holding my hair as I lose myself in a spiral of doubt.
What is home?