14. Rosenna
Chapter fourteen
Rosenna
I didn’t say anything as I ate the rest of my dinner. I couldn’t. Caught between wanting to smash Gavin’s head against his mother’s and sobbing in the corner by myself, I forced myself to swallow my food, my throat tight with anger.
When I was done, I stood with my plate in hand and walked straight to the kitchen sink.
It was utterly silent, and I genuinely didn’t care.
I didn’t care if I was being rude
I didn’t care that I was ignoring them.
Because I was fucking pissed .
More than I usually am with Gavin and his parents. More than I’ve probably ever been. No, I was beyond livid .
For as long as I have asked Gavin for a child, for as long as I tried to plan for one, imagined one, longed for one, he fought me, told me we weren’t ready.
And yet he’d spun the narrative, the lie so perfectly that his parents… his judgmental, condescending, self-righteous, misogynistic parents believed I was the one depriving him.
At the sink, scrubbing plates, I held myself back from throwing it on the fucking ground in anger, wanting to shatter it to pieces.
Because I was about to shatter, to break .
As if he’s not the one who cursed me out years ago, demanding that I let go of the subject.
He doesn’t even fucking touch me. He won’t look at me long enough to even think about sex.
It was ludicrous and almost disgusting with the way he threw me under the fucking bus for something he fought me over and didn’t want.
But because he’s their golden child, it’s okay for him to lie through his teeth so his bitchy, lazy, and inconsistent wife takes the blame.
I heard the witch speak from the dining room. “Is she all right? Was it something I said?”
I had half a mind to storm back in and hurl the plate I was scrubbing right into her fucking face.
“Was it something I said?”
You did a lot more than just speak.
After I forced myself to finish the dishes, I grabbed my laptop, planner, and phone, my hands moving on autopilot as my pulse roared in my ears.
I walked past them without a word.
Gavin stood abruptly, following behind me in haste.
“Rose... please, let’s just finish the night—”
I shot him a glare, so sharp his pleas died.
I ascended the stairs, drowning out his mother’s bitchy words about how I should’ve cleaned off the whole table and continued the conversation.
I walked into the bedroom, slammed the door shut behind me, and let out a shaky breath.
Too much.
It was all too fucking much.
I felt overwhelmed, sweaty, exhausted. Tired from cooking at the stove for an hour only to feel under fire for the rest of the night.
Tearing off my clothes, I stepped into the shower.
The moment the hot water hit my skin, the sobs finally escaped.
My tears mixed in with the water as I let it flow through my hair. I just wanted a minute to calm down… to compose myself. To think .
It’s bad enough that I have to deal with Gavin and his nature, but the addition of his condescending mother and judgmental father, not to mention Beckham’s overwhelming presence in my mind, it was all going to drive me crazy .
I braced my hands against the cold tile, my forehead pressing against the wall as the water pounded down on me. Breathe. Just breathe.
My chest was too tight, my throat burned, and I hated that I was crying over them. Over him.
But no matter how hot the water was, it didn’t wash away the humiliation. Or the anger. Or the crushing, fucking loneliness.
He told them I refused. Like I was some selfish wife, like I was depriving him , like I hadn’t spent years making sure I was enough for him.
Stepping out of the shower, I threw on a pair of grey sweats with a gray shirt and my cardigan while my wet hair dripped onto my shoulders. My eyes were almost bloodshot red, swollen, the weight of the lids growing heavier by the second.
As I finished putting on my eucalyptus stress relief lotion in the hopes that it would work to calm and soothe me, Gavin walked into the bedroom.
“They just left. Mom was absolutely livid.” He said it like an observation, like I was supposed to care.
I didn’t look at him, just kept tidying up as he stood there, arms crossed, voice carrying that irate tone he always had when he knew he fucked up but refused to acknowledge it.
He leaned his head back in annoyance before he continued like an idiot. “She wants an apology the next time she comes by.”
My voice was calm. “Tell her she won’t be getting one.”
He approached before leaning on the bathroom frame, rubbing his temples.
I had yet to make direct eye contact with him, so I was sure he hadn’t known the extent of my tears.
“Do you have to make things so difficult? All they wanted was to have dinner and spend the afternoon with us. You stormed out—”
I turned so sharply, with such venom in my face that Gavin took a step backward.
“You think I was trying to put on a fucking show for you? I stormed out because you let her belittle and humiliate me. You let that woman say whatever she pleased to me and didn’t stand up for me once!”
“I did stand up for you!”
“Oh, you mean when you told her you were just giving me a quick hand after I cooked the fucking dinner for the last hour? Let’s not forget you laughed off her comment about it being my job to serve you. Worst part is you probably agree with her.”
I shouldered past. Gavin’s eyes narrowed, watching me go over to grab my laptop and planner. At this point, I was ready to sprint to the guest bedroom.
“God, you are so sensitive. She didn’t mean any harm. You are blowing this out of proportion. You always do this. You always take things too far, making everything some big fucking deal when it’s not. Just stop overreacting so we can—”
“Oh. So I’m overreacting? I’m taking things too far? I’m not the one who threw a damn tantrum because your wife of three years at the time simply asked when you think we’d be ready for a baby. You didn’t even support me for that, either. Instead, you threw me under the bus and let your mother’s words and father’s disapproving gaze reprimand me for something you weren’t ready for!”
“I didn’t want to disappoint her. She asked, and I panicked! What else do you want from me!?”
“I want a husband who will listen and understand his wife’s wants, concerns, and needs, not push them to the side and ignore them to please himself and his misogynistic parents,” I spat.
“How do you think I feel?” His voice rose, his tone sharper now. “I want a wife who will listen to her husband and put aside her businesses for a second so we can actually work on our marriage.”
I could only scoff. The nerve of this man.
“So it comes back to this then, huh? You’re still upset that I won’t sell my properties and be your perfect little housewife? That I won’t drop everything just to cater to your every need?”
His eyes darkened, his frustration cracking through. “Of course I am! You’ve put everything before our relationship.”
“But at least I try, Gavin!” My voice broke, my chest heaving. “You want me to compromise everything I’ve built just to fit into your narrow, selfish idea of what a wife should be.”
He pinched this bridge of his nose in anger. “Is it too much to ask you to be home and present every once in a while? For you to learn when you’ve taken on too much and learn to limit yourself?”
I looked at him with wide eyes. Has he absolutely lost his mind?
“Do you even hear how insane you sound?!”
“What’s more insane is that you don’t know how to listen to your husband!”
“And you don’t know how to take care of your wife.” I grabbed my phone, keys, and wallet before storming out of the room, shoving past him.
He followed. “Where are you going, Rosenna?”
“To get the hell away from you,” I seethed as I descended the stairs.
“Don’t be like that. We haven’t finished talking.”
“Oh no… you’ve said plenty.”
I slipped on my shoes, my eyes burning with tears. But before I could yank the door open and leave, Gavin muscled into my way, blocking the exit.
“Gavin, I’m going for a drive. Move .”
I thought he wouldn’t. But there must’ve been something in my eyes that said I meant business, because after a second’s hesitation, he reluctantly moved, and I ripped open the door and slipped away.
Opening my car door, I entered, started the engine, and swerved out into the street. Then I floored the gas pedal, leaving Gavin on the porch watching the smoke from the exhaust as I left.
Drive .
That’s all I did. I drove for at least an hour around the city, in the suburbs, everywhere almost. I just wanted to clear my mind, to think —to feel like I was okay even though I knew I wasn’t.
Darkness fell, and finally I parked. My face was wet with tears. I smeared them away, blinking blurred streetlights back into form.
I wanted to speak to Kira… get all my frustration out, and share how I’d been feeling.
Exiting the car, I walked up to the door and knocked lightly as I waited patiently, my fingers trembling slightly. Hearing footsteps, I continued to wipe my tears away as it opened.
I wanted to speak to Kira.
That’s what I wanted to do.
Beckham’s dark eyes met mine, his gaze settling on me like a heavy brick, scanning my face, taking in my red-rimmed eyes, the damp strands of hair clinging to my neck.
I sniffled softly and his lips parted, like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He just stepped closer.
He smelled like dried paint, leather, mahogany and something deeper— something dark. Something I shouldn’t want right now.
I wanted to speak to Kira. Speaking to her would have been the smart choice… but I didn’t always make the best decisions, did I?