Chapter 4
four
Rosalie
It’s funny the things that make you afraid and the things that don’t.
I was afraid the night my grandmother died. I was eighteen, so it’s not as though I needed her to take care of me, but she was all the family I had.
I was scared the morning my label dropped me because they didn’t approve of the tracks on my sophomore album. I thought if they didn’t like my music, nobody would.
I’ve had stalkers and deranged fans and one close call that makes it harder to sleep than usual. Those things make me afraid.
And I’ve spent my relationship with Chip walking on glass, worried that too heavy or careless a step would shatter everything I built. I wasn’t anxious and oversensitive, like Chip always said. I was afraid of him.
But I’ve never feared stepping out onto a stage. I’ve never been scared to put my truth into my music, because being vulnerable is the only way I know to connect with people. And I’m not afraid now.
Maybe I should be. Maybe I’ve ignored my instincts so long that they no longer work the way they’re supposed to, but right or wrong, Finn makes me feel safe.
It was like this last year when he was my bodyguard on tour.
He walked into the room and my world shifted, and I never wanted him to walk out again.
It’s a relief to discover his energy is exactly as I remembered.
I don’t want to think about what I might have done if I’d driven all this way only to find out Finn isn’t the man I needed him to be.
Would I have returned to Chip? I don’t have the strength to give that any thought.
“You want me to undress you?” he asks flatly, and I meet his cognac stare.
Don’t get me wrong. Everything about Finn gives me butterflies.
His size. His determination. His attitude.
He’s hard and immovable, but that also makes him steady and dependable.
Being near him makes me feel warm and alive, like falling asleep in the sunshine or writing a song without having to stretch for the melody. He feels right.
I spin around and sweep my hair over one shoulder. “You need to undo the row of buttons down my back. They’re small and delicate, so go slow.”
Finn is still for so long that I wonder if he’s going to refuse, but then a floorboard creaks. He gets close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his body, and then his warm exhalation hits the exposed nape of my neck. I close my eyes and wish away the goose bumps.
He’s surprisingly gentle and his movements are slow, but with the release of only the first few pearl buttons, the pressure around my ribs eases.
I inhale deeply for the first time in hours and hold my hands to the front of the dress to keep the bodice in place as the fastenings pull free.
The rise and fall of my chest are shallow and measured, patient and composed—until the first brush of Finn’s fingertips against my back. After that, I barely breathe at all.
I close my eyes as his touch ghosts over me and my imagination runs wild.
Is he really tracing the contours of my shoulder blades, the dip of my lower back, the curve of my hip, or do I only wish he would?
The contact between us is there and gone so fast I can’t be sure I feel it, so I keep my eyes closed and pay attention, anticipating the places he might explore next.
Minutes pass, and afternoon is edging into early evening by the time my dress is completely undone.
I clutch the corset tighter against my chest, a warm flush creeping up my neck and a shiver cascading to my toes as the fabric parts and bares my back completely.
Finn gently tugs on the corset to loosen it the last inch.
When he’s done, a single finger traces an unmistakable line along my spine, and my breath shakes.
He moves closer, enough that I feel his quiet rumble in my chest. “That’s all of them.”
His hand falls and he steps back, and although I’m disappointed at the distance he puts between us, I’m relieved to finally fill my lungs.
“Thank you,” I say over my shoulder.
Finn clears his throat. “No problem. I’ll be out on the porch—”
“Wait. We’re not done.” I turn to face him, bodice clutched to my front. “I need help with the sleeves.”
The way he nods is too patient and too accommodating, like he’s determined to suffer whatever torment I inflict, but at his side, his right hand opens and closes, fingers flexing once before he relaxes.
“All right,” he says. “What do you need?”
I glance around for the shirt he offered me earlier, swipe it from the back of the sofa, and clumsily hang it from my shoulders so it covers my breasts. Then I extend one arm and awkwardly shift the hand still holding my dress to stop it from slipping.
“Take a firm but gentle hold of the lace at my wrists,” I direct, “and kind of pull? Go slow or you might tear the fabric.”
Finn does as I ask, peeling one sleeve and then the other from my arms and letting them fall at my sides. One deep, heaving inhale later, the dress slips from my body and pools in a cloud around my feet.
With my hands clasping Finn’s shirt to my chest, and otherwise naked but for a simple cotton thong, I step out of the dress in one long stride. I almost lose my balance, but Finn’s hand shoots out to cup my elbow with a confident grip so unlike his uncertain touch.
“Oh my God,” I sigh. “It feels so good to be free.”
I’m talking about the dress, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know they mean more than that. I’m free.
Finn clears his throat again, then drops his eyes as his hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “You want to put that shirt on?”
Is that irritation edging his tone? I tilt my head with an insolent grin and twist a hip to give him a better look at my ass. “You don’t think you deserve a little payback for taking off your clothes earlier?”
Finn is stoic, even when I pretend to fumble the shirt and nearly flash a boob.
“Oops.” I readjust the fabric over my shoulders, casting him a sideways glance to see if that broke him. “Misjudged the juggle there.”
He crosses his arms like he’s about to tell me off, but then he just shakes his head and walks across the open-concept space to the small kitchen.
“Go ahead,” he says mildly before he sticks his head in the refrigerator. “Get dressed. I promise not to look.”
I believe him, but I still turn around as I shrug into his shirt.
The hem brushes my knees, there’s loads of room around the middle, and the sleeves flop over my hands, so I roll them up.
Once I’ve carefully arranged my wedding dress over the back of an armchair, I join Finn in the kitchen, sliding onto one of the two dining chairs at the little round table.
Dakota lurches from the sofa, pads over, and curls herself around my feet.
I wiggle my toes in thanks for the warmth.
“I’m decent,” I say. “It’s safe to come out now.”
Finn raises a thick eyebrow at me as he straightens from the refrigerator and swings the door closed. “Define safe.”
I hold up my palms in surrender. “No more nakedness. I promise.”
He grunts quietly. “About dinner. I don’t have much that isn’t gluten or dairy or meat, but I could whip up an acceptable omelet in less than ten minutes.”
My stomach rumbles, and I remember I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. I also haven’t eaten anything not pre-approved by a nutritionist in the last six years.
“You know what?” I reply. “I could really go for a cheeseburger.”
His jaw actually drops. It’s cute. “Are you serious?”
My stomach growls again and my mouth starts to water. “Oh yeah. A big one. And I don’t suppose you’ve got the fixings for a strawberry shake?”
He gives me a curious half-smile as he retrieves a carton of milk from the fridge and a tub of strawberry ice cream from the freezer. “Thought I was the only person over the age of twelve who still liked these things.”
There’s nothing halved about the grin I give him in return. “Looks like there are at least two of us.”
I offer to help him cook, but Finn insists on doing everything himself, so while I sit there and sip on a frothy pink milkshake that may just be the best I’ve had in my entire life, I try to carry the conversation.
“Your place is nice,” I say. “Comfortable. Kind of… small? I don’t mean that as a judgment. More of an observation. Like it was only ever intended for one person.”
“Two,” Finn says as he flips the burgers, and then transfers two golden buns from the toaster to plates.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s small because it was built for two people. It belonged to my mom and dad.”
I wait for him to elaborate while he assembles the burgers and carries them to the table, but when he takes a seat and then a bite, and it’s obvious he’s not going to volunteer more, I risk a little nudge.
“So… your parents,” I begin as I pick up my burger. Oh Lord. It smells so good. “What are they like?”
I almost abandon any care I ever had about Finn’s personal life as the first mouthful of beef and cheese hits my tongue.
And the bread. Oh my God. Bread. The second, third, and fourth bites follow in quick succession, and I think I might have actually moaned by the entertained look Finn’s sending my way.
He hands me a napkin, and I wipe the grease from my fingers.
“They were the best,” he says, and I have to think back through my food-induced ecstasy to remember my question. “But they passed a long time ago. Mom eleven years. Dad nearly two years after that.”
“Oh, Finn.” I set what’s left of my burger back on its plate. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“And this place? It was theirs?”
“You’re full of questions, aren’t you?”
“Honestly?” I pick at the last mouthful of my dinner, first sneaking the remains of the burger to the drooling Labrador under the table, then popping the last scrap of bread into my mouth.
“I’m tired of talking about myself. I’ll have to do a lot of it over the next few weeks, if not for the rest of my life. I could do with a night off.”