27. Rosenna
Chapter twenty-seven
Rosenna
I t was the following day, and I had finished getting dressed after my shower. Dressed in a sleeveless maroon blouse and a pair of cream-white pants, I was currently brushing my hair in Beckham’s bathroom.
As I pulled it into a low ponytail, I looked in the mirror behind me to see him staring at me in the doorway. I couldn’t describe the way he looked at me. For a man who doesn’t have emotions on hand to share with the world, his gaze most definitely told a different story.
He seemed poised, but his eyes were taking me in possessively.
“Don’t you have better things to do, Mr. Garcia?” I asked playfully as he slowly entered the bathroom.
He didn’t reciprocate the playful tone as he spoke, his voice lowering in his sweet seductive tone.
“I’m trying to figure out why he doesn’t see you as absolute perfection.”
I averted my eyes from him sheepishly as I did some finishing touches. Beckham slowly began approaching me, and my breath hitched slightly as he pushed a flyaway back to preserve the sleek look of my ponytail.
Trying to calm my growing nerves at our proximity, I watched silently as he grabbed my clutch and phone from the counter and held his hand out for me to take. Slowly, I slipped my hand into his, and he led me out of the bathroom silently. It was probably for the better, as his words remained in a loop in my mind.
As we reached the bottom of the steps, I placed my heels on as he lowered himself to assist me with no resistance. Walking me out to his car, I took a seat in the front after he opened the door for me.
After he was settled, we were off to my first errand, which consisted of visiting the galleries to go over a few things as I waited for Kira to kick me out. Then, after going to the post office to send a few last-minute contracts for overnight shipping, we made our way to the museum I’d been dying to visit again.
All the while, Beckham was patient and interested in each thing I did. And because he was patient and I had reluctantly enjoyed his company, I allowed his hand to rest in mine and on my lower back occasionally as I found myself wanting to be in his embrace, to feel his warmth… even if it was just for today.
As we stepped inside the lovely building, I was immediately recognized by the woman who ran the place. Her bright smile and tired eyes reminding me of how much effort it takes to run an establishment like this. Especially alone.
“Rosenna, how are you?” she asked, walking over, and I was somewhat taken aback by the fact that she remembered my name.
“Helen, it’s good to see you. I’m well, how are you?” I asked.
Helen gave me a tired smile. “Pushing through. My husband hasn’t been feeling all that well lately, but he’s recovering day by day.”
“Hopefully he’ll recover soon,” I said genuinely.
Helen nodded. “Wanting to take a look around today?”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Of course.” I smiled, and she went behind the desk as she glanced at Beckham.
“I see you’ve brought your husband with you as well.” She beamed.
I cleared my throat at my thumb immediately toyed with my ring. It was perfectly my size. However, the more time I spent with Beckham, the looser it became. Beckham, like always, noticed my fidgeting as I shook my head politely.
“Oh, no. He’s a client of mine… Just wanted to visit other galleries and museums in the neighborhood.”
Helen nodded wordlessly as she handed us two tickets.
I went to open my clutch to pay the fee. However, she shook her head.
“It’s on the house. Feel free to roam and do as you please.”
I thanked her before walking toward the grand steps. Beckham followed swiftly, and I blushed as his hand found my upper back. I looked over my shoulder to see Helen had gone into her office, but Beckham didn’t seem to notice or mind if anyone was looking at us.
As we walked around, I took note of the beautiful structure of the museum’s interior as well as the space that held so much potential with the right marketing, artists, and vision. Beckham watched me as I roamed, trailing behind me silently.
Entering a section for modern art, I heard him speak.
“Why do you care about artistry so much?”
I turned to look at him as he stood in the center of the room.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“What’s your drive, your passion for making artists feel seen?”
I shrugged as my eyes drifted around the room, a sad smile coming to my face.
“Everyone has a voice… Everyone deserves to feel recognized, to have their talents appreciated… But just because everyone deserves to be recognized and appreciated doesn’t mean the world and those in it feel the same.” Beckham continued to listen while he approached me slowly. “I always loved art and its history. Believe it or not, I once considered pursuing some form of art, but…” I began.
Beckham placed his hand against the side of my face as he caressed my cheek with his thumb. “But you were silenced…” he muttered.
I nodded. I always attempted to keep the painful memories of being silenced tucked away under my assertiveness and confidence, but some people knew my breaking points. They knew how to make me feel worthless or useless, and in the end, I’d given in.
“I wanted to study art. I wanted to create. But I went to business school instead.” I let out a quiet sigh. “My father thought it was the smarter choice: more stable, more promising, reliable. And maybe he was right.” A small, bittersweet smile pulled at my lips. “I don’t resent him for it. Not really. But I wonder... sometimes.” I felt Beckham watching me, but I kept my gaze on the artwork in front of me. “Now, I do what I can. I help those who feel unseen, who’ve been told their work… their voice doesn’t matter, who’ve been silenced. I give them a space to exist… to be seen, to make themselves known through their art.”
Beckham stared at me, almost as if he’d finally understood a part of me.
I guess I could argue that I understood a part of him too. I knew he viewed his art in a way I’d probably never understand. I knew it was his way of communicating, his way of being, his way not to feel silenced .
Looking into his eyes, his dangerous, mysterious, understanding eyes, I felt indifferent. Torn between my rational, judgmental thoughts that scolded me for being here and the growing feelings that had begun accumulating for the troubled artist.
Giving into temptation was scary, allowing for one’s deepest desires, thoughts, and feelings to surface as we explored the danger we craved. It was also exhilarating. It made us more alive. It contributed to our purpose for simply being. It ignited the flame inside us that was put out by others in our lives.
I guess that’s why a hint of discretion is always needed: to keep the tempting thoughts, desires, and feelings a secret.
Voices signaled other patrons’ approach, so I pulled away from Beckham and took in a deep breath. He lowered his hand but didn’t say anything, almost as if he was contemplating our unconventional relationship in his mind just as I was.
“I’m just going to step outside for a bit,” I muttered. Trying to soothe my own shaky hands, I left the room and descended the grand steps to go towards the front door.
As I exited, I did my best to control my breathing. I couldn’t admit my emotions for Beckham were growing. Not when I was cheating on my first love, not when he wouldn’t be able to reciprocate the feelings, not when I was still drowning in debt and stress. I felt like I was going to lose it.
Now standing at the bottom of the steps by the main street sidewalk, I was silently going through my racing thoughts. The battling thoughts in my mind, however, were all of a sudden silenced as I heard a familiar voice.
“Rosenna?” I heard beside me, and my eyes widened as I slowly looked over to see Brent, my loan shark and Gavin’s good friend, staring directly at me. My heart raced in my chest as I cleared my throat and tried to smile through the growing anxiety that began to fill me.
“Brent… Hi. I thought you and the guys had an important business trip in Chicago?” I asked as my hands rubbed my waist almost nervously. However, I did my best to remain impassive as he chuckled.
“Had some business matters to come back and attend to. I thought it was you that I noticed coming down the steps. Wanted to be sure.” His gaze lingered for a moment before he looked away. “Not to bring up business or anything, but I see you’ve made another payment. The galleries must be doing pretty well these days, huh?”
I gave a tight-lipped smile as I nodded. “We’re doing all right,” I simply responded, not wanting to give too much information to the man I owed a few million dollars. Speaking to my loan shark about finances would probably not do me much good in the long run, not when he was essentially in control of my financial future.
“By the way, I do apologize for raising the interest. You know how it is…” he muttered.
I simply nodded as my eyes glanced to the entrance of the museum to look for signs of Beckham. Part of me wished he would appear to take me away from this conversation. The other part begged him to stay inside so we wouldn’t look suspicious.
“God, I can only imagine how much you must hate me,” Brent uttered.
I shook my head with a small smile. “I don’t hate you, Brent. It’s just business.”
“Business... right. It’s just that I know you’ve been working endlessly to make the payments, and I understand how frustrating it may be, handling everything on your own.”
His voice was low, laced with concern, understanding almost and something I couldn’t quite pinpoint. I almost felt my heart skip a beat as he approached and rested a hand softly on my upper back.
Looking up at him, my mouth went dry as he gazed down at me. A small shiver ran down my back as his eyes held a rather… indistinguishable emotion.
“Really, Brent, I’m fine,” I replied, trying to hide my growing confusion and hesitation.
He hummed. “That’s what I told Gavin. Landing Garcia’s son as a client will surely put you in a better financial situation. Regardless, if there’s anything you need, anything at all… remember you can always call me. I may be your lender, but I hope you’ll still consider us friends.”
I swallowed, the polite smile frozen on my lips. “Brent... you don’t need to—” My breath hitched as he rubbed his hand on my back, cutting my words off.
“I insist.” The gesture was friendly… It had to be. Yet the way his eyes narrowed in on me, his proximity, his way with words… it left an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach.
The hand on my back lingered for…just a second too long. His fingers barely pressed into my spine, his touch light, almost absentminded, like he wasn’t even thinking about it.
Sure, he was a “friend.” I’d known him for years. But before I would consider him my acquaintance or buddy, I knew his loyalty was to Gavin first. Something felt off.
“Rosenna…” a voice cut through the silence beside us, and the hairs on my neck stood as Brent’s hand from my back lowered. His footsteps approached us, and I gulped softly as he came into view.
“Brent... it’s good to see you,” Beckham said with a smile, and another shiver ran down my back as it sent a feeling of fear within me.
Brent smiled in return as he shook Beckham’s hand.
I felt utterly sandwiched between the two of them. What… what was happening?
“Same here, Garcia… Bit of a coincidence running into you here as well.”
“Somewhat. Rosenna was just showing me another property she’s interested in,” Beckham replied.
My face immediately contorted as Brent looked down at me with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes like it did when we were alone.
“Another property?” he asked.
I breathed in deeply as I forced a grin. “Just looking around. Nothing too serious.”
But Beckham obviously wasn’t too pleased with my answer as he put his own two cents in. “I’d say it was pretty serious, Rose. Your eyes lit up the entire time inside.”
Fuck .
“If you’re serious about this, you know I’m always available to lend you assistance, Rosenna,” Brent assured.
Before I could even utter a word, Beckham spoke for me. “Something tells me she won’t be needing it.”
I immediately felt like grabbing a trashcan to throw up in.
The silence that ensued was deafening. I had to be in a dream… maybe a nightmare as they stared each other down. I was used to this behavior from Beckham… I expected it even . But from Brent? This didn’t seem in character at all.
Brent glanced down at his watch as he cleared his throat, the fabricated smile making its way back to his lips. “Gotta run. We’ll catch up soon, Garcia… and I’ll be seeing you later, Rosenna.”
I waved goodbye to him as my hands virtually trembled. Beckham bid him goodbye as I stormed toward the car, with him following hot on my trail.
Entering the car, I slammed the door shut as he got in the driver’s seat.
“What the hell was that?” I snapped.
His jaw flexed. “You tell me.”
I scoffed as I looked over to see him clenching the steering wheel, his knuckles growing a shade lighter. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you really pulling the jealousy card right now?”
“I don’t like him.”
“He’s my loan shark, Beckham. You’re not supposed to like him.”
He looked over at me for a moment before glancing back to the street ahead.
“And I don’t trust him, either.”
I crossed my arms. “Trust has nothing to do with it, Beckham.”
All of a sudden my heart raced as I reached into my bag to grab my phone. “Wait. Wait. What if Gavin’s back from the trip, too?! What if Brent was going to tell him we were together?”
“He won’t,” Beckham muttered. For some reason, he sounded incredibly certain of that. And sure enough, I opened my phone to see no missed messages or calls from Gavin, at least so far.
I wanted to release a breath of relief, but I couldn’t. It felt choked up in my throat, my head beginning to pound as my hands continued to tremble. I tried to steady them, but it was no use.
What if all of this was a mistake? I slept with him again. I gave into temptation.. I gave in to him . Brent saw us together. Nothing too inappropriate, but together while Gavin is out of state. He was acting different than he normally did. Was it all an act? Did he know about Beckham and me? He almost caught us together before. Why was he so concerned today? Empathetic, almost. But his eyes held another emotion, one I wasn’t familiar with. Was I missing something?
Panic spiraled.
Brent knows. He has to know now. He saw us together. He’s going to tell Gavin.
My hands went numb and my breaths became more labored as my stomach twisted. Beckham took my chin firmly in his hand as he forced me to look at him.
“Stop. Don’t panic,” he ordered, and I breathed in deeply as my hands still shook.
The phone buzzed in my lap, and my eyes quickly darted to it, then back to Beckham’s eyes. He reluctantly let go of my chin and picked up my phone. He paused for a second to read, then handed the phone back to me, shifted the car into drive and set off.
Staring straight ahead, he growled, “Gavin just wanted to check-in. Says he’ll be coming home tomorrow.”