Chapter 7 #2
“After that, all the reasons Chip couldn’t tour with me miraculously disappeared,” I go on.
“He followed me around the world for the next four months, and I let him. It was all I could do to finish the tour, and by the time it was done, I had a diamond on my finger and a wedding date on the books. If I’m being perfectly honest, I don’t remember saying yes to either of those things, but I also don’t remember saying no. My therapist called it disassociation.”
“Oh, Rosalie. I’m so proud of you for finding a way out of that situation, but… how?” Violet narrows her eyes as she studies my face. “Something changed yesterday, didn’t it? At my studio.”
Movement at the window catches our attention, and we look over to see Finn staring in through the glass. His eyes are on me and me alone. Steady. Certain. Determined.
“The picture of Finn on my wall,” Violet guesses with sudden understanding. “That’s what changed. You saw Finn in that photograph, and you ran straight to him.”
Through the window looking out onto the porch, I meet Finn’s unwavering gaze. His lips move in conversation with whoever’s on the other end of the phone. “I saw him and remembered how I felt for those two months he was in my life.”
Violet glances at Finn again. “And how was that?” she asks quietly.
“In control,” I reflect quietly. “Strong. Safe. Like I knew myself again.”
On the porch, Finn ends his call and heads straight for the door. Violet is on her feet before the timber swings open, and I jump up beside her, nerves making my stomach pitch in a queasy swoop.
“I should go,” Violet says, lifting my wedding dress from the armchair and arranging it carefully over her arms. “Do you have any instructions for what I should do with your gown?”
I reach over and brush the fabric with the tips of my fingers. “Archive it. I’ll never be able to look at it without seeing Chip.” I drop my hand with a sigh. “And if that wasn’t bad enough, do you know what’s worse?”
Violet tilts her head, her expression empathetic, as an invitation to continue. Even Finn seems invested in my answer.
“You made me the perfect dress,” I say. “What happens if one day I meet a man I do want to marry? Nothing will ever be as exquisite as this, and it breaks my heart.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Violet hikes the dress in her arms, adjusting the bulk and weight for better balance, and gives me a comforting wink.
“It’s beautiful, yes, but when the time comes, I’ll make you something so divine you’ll wonder how you ever believed this was the dress of your dreams.”
I laugh a little at her confidence, hope flickering at the idea of falling in love again—with a better man and a better dress. “You promise?”
“Absolutely.”
“I appreciate that,” I say. “As much as the clothes and you taking the time to check up on me. Thank you.”
While Finn walks Violet out onto the porch and they exchange a few quiet words, I drop onto the sofa again, apprehension a corkscrew in my stomach, and wait.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” I ask when he returns. “Whatever you found out on the phone just now. It’s bad.”
Finn takes a seat opposite me and sets his elbows on his knees. He means business, and I swallow hard.
“How much do you want to know?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean do you want to know everything, or do you want to know only as much as you need to know?”
I think about what he’s asking and what he’s not, and the implication that whatever he’s going to share has the potential to rattle me.
It’s tempting to keep my head in the sand, but I never want to be in the position of letting a man make my decisions again.
If I want to take back my life, I have to take back all of it.
The good and the bad. The beautiful and the terrifying.
“I want to know it all,” I tell him with conviction.
His nod has an air of approval about it, and I don’t know why that makes me feel good, but it does, even when he delays our conversation long enough to pour me a glass of water. I accept the drink when he offers it, then focus on the sensation of smooth glass between my palms. Bracing myself.
“Stanley Lowe. The man who almost got to you last year in New Orleans. We can’t find him.”
My body stiffens and I set the glass on the coffee table before it slips from my hand.
From the far side of the room, like she has some kind of sixth sense, Dakota trots over, launches herself up onto the sofa beside me, and wriggles her head into position on my lap.
Her warmth and weight ground me, and I gratefully thread my fingers into her coat.
“He…” I take a moment to remember that I’m safe. “He’s supposed to be in jail.”
Finn grimaces. “He got released, and by your reaction, I assume your security team wasn’t aware of it.”
I shake my head. “No, or if they were, they didn’t think it necessary to tell me.”
Finn’s nostrils flare with disapproval. “I’m sorry, Rosie, but without reliable protection in place, I’m not comfortable sending you back to LA.
You’re safest here, where nobody can find you, while I put together a new team, but I don’t know how long that will take. A few days, at least. Maybe a week.”
There’s that word again. Safe. Somehow, it’s easier to believe when Finn says it than when it comes from the stricken voice inside my head, and my heart rate slows.
I glance around the tiny bungalow, at the Labrador beside me, at the great big man within arm’s reach who watches me with eyes that have witnessed much worse than a young woman terrorized by a psychotic stalker.
I know why he’s doing this. It’s the same reason he didn’t send me home last night.
Finn has an acute sense of right and wrong, and if it’s wrong to send me out into the world under these conditions, then he simply won’t do it.
He might care about me, he might not, but emotional investment is irrelevant to a man like Finn.
Duty and honor come first, and I bet he’s been torn between his head and his heart.
“A week is a long time,” I say quietly, wanting so badly to stay where I feel protected but compelled to give Finn a chance to change his mind. “Are you sure I won’t be in the way? You must have work to do. Plans. Commitments.”
Finn runs a hand through his hair and the tilt to his mouth is self-mocking. “Nothing I can’t delay for a few days.”
I wonder what it is Finn does all day and add it to the long list of things I’ll never know about him. “Okay,” I agree. “If that’s what you recommend, then I’ll stay.”
Finn’s nod is short, but the hint of approval passes his brow. “Good. In that case, I’ve got work to do.”
Finn retrieves a laptop from atop a stack of books in the living room, then sets it up on the dining table.
I let myself be soothed by his presence, watching him for a while as he taps at the keyboard.
He does a good impression of pretending he doesn’t have an audience, and soon I let my gaze wander to the window instead.
Outside, the sky is clear and blue beyond the redwoods, and something occurs to me with sudden clarity.
For the first time since I was child, I’m not only invisible, but someone I trust is willing to carry my worries so I don’t have to.
Something precious breaks open in my chest, and I’m flooded with emotion.
Relief. Release. Peace. My fingers twitch to strum a note on my six-string or spend a night with my piano, but they’re both out of reach for now.
Instead, I pick up the notepad Finn used for our gin rummy last night, settle a pencil between my fingers, and write.