Chapter 7 #3
I roll my eyes and mutter under my breath, “Never make an assumption because men are asses?” I know he’s in too good of a mood to correct my sass.
He wipes tears from his eyes, throws a heavy arm over my shoulders. “Rockland always did have a bit of a prankster side to him, didn’t he?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Though he does love to tease me. Mercilessly.” I remember the ongoing banter that ran between us when he was living under my roof. I’d never had that with anyone before and I’d loved every minute of our verbal sparring.
My gaze travels to the building. Now that we are closer, more of it is exposed. I can see that the three-story beauty is made of stone. Has verandas overlooking the ocean on every level. And huge walls of windows facing the water.
It’s fit for a king.
The words slip from my mouth before I can think them, “Don’t tell me that’s Rockland’s… house—”
“Oh, yes. That’s his little hut. But don’t be expecting running water or electricity on the island.”
I give him a side glance. He’s trying to keep a straight face. “Ha ha. You got me good. I guess I may have stereotyped the islanders, just a bit. A little New York City snobbery might be deeply ingrained in my blood.”
John’s collected himself now and he’s able to carry on a conversation once more. “Don’t feel bad, Tess. I think showing up in that outfit is penance enough.”
I groan. I’d forgotten my ensemble. “What am I going to do? I look ridiculous!”
“I’m sure the Beauties have something you can borrow.”
“They call themselves Beauties? I thought that was just a nickname Paige brought with her when she came to the Village.”
“Mary and Sasha brought the name with them on one of their visits and it stuck.”
“Sasha’s been here too! Am I the only one who hasn’t been extended the invitation—”
John interrupts my rant by pointing over my shoulder at the island. “Look, we’re here.”
The boat glides up to a pristine wooden dock. The crew busily docks the boat, anchoring it and tying ropes to metal fasteners.
I stare past them.
It’s nothing like I imagined.
White sand beaches. Children playing on the shore, running and chasing, their skin brown from the sun.
White smiles gleaming. Laugher pealing as they splash and play in the shallow water.
The mothers dot the sand. All dressed in elegant lightly colored loose clothing.
Linen and silk billowing behind them in the breeze as they talk and laugh while watching the children adoringly.
My gaze rises and I see Rockland’s home.
It’s even more breathtaking up close. There’s a terracotta-colored patio dotted with black metal bistro tables much like those we have at the Village.
The woman are serving dishes, the men standing and watching them as they chat with one another over drinks.
I feel a pang in my heart for my own Village.
I scan the crowd, desperately searching for Rockland.
Dante comes to me, offering me his hand and helping me off the boat and onto the dock. I wait, wringing my hands, for John to come escort me to the house.
I can’t speak. I can’t think. Suddenly, my knees are jelly. My face feels hot, but my hands and feet are icy. I look to John, my bottom lip trembling.
He reads my face, his gaze soft. He takes my hand in his. “Come on, honey. Let’s go on and find him. The anticipation is the worst part. Once you see him…” His words trail off and he gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
I take a deep breath. Though I’m nervous, I’m ready to see him.
As we approach, there are stares. I seem to be the only redhead in the group.
I fear the sun is reflecting off my pale skin blinding everyone.
I try to paste a friendly smile on my face but the crowd of eyes is too overwhelming.
I decide to focus on the houses instead.
They are all beautiful. Similar style of white stone with big windows and verandas.
All facing the ocean. But each having its own details, much like we do at home.
One has a red roof. Another one, black shutters and colorful flowers in wooden window boxes.
Another, several trikes and bikes parked haphazardly before it.
Too soon we have arrived at the patio of Rockland’s home. Curious eyes begin to lock on me but before anyone can call out a greeting, Dante quickly makes his way over to the group of brothers. After a few whispered words from him, all attention seems to be off me.
I shoot him a grateful smile. John leads me to a side door.
We enter a black and white tiled foyer. Beyond it is a large room with a tall black fountain in the center of it.
I stand in place. Look around. Gaze over dozens of people.
Crane my neck. Rockland is nowhere to be found.
Maybe my impromptu visit was a bad idea.
Maybe I should have called before I invited myself to his home, trekked halfway across the world in my—what did John call it?
Safari Barbie getup and fire engine red braid and—
There he is.
My breath leaves my body like a child who’s had the wind knocked out of them at the playground. I want to crumble to the floor but John’s arm locks tightly around me.
I can’t believe what I am seeing. My heart falls to the bottom of my heavy soled hiking books. The words come out in a desperate, wounded tangle. “What… is t-th-that?”
John’s muscles tense beside me. “I—ah, I’m not sure.”
We’re hidden in the shadows of the foyer.
Rockland doesn’t see us. He’s standing so casually, no tension in his shoulders, or that jaw so notorious for being locked tight.
Dressed in tan pants and a white linen shirt, only halfway buttoned, showing his tattoo.
The sleeves rolled casually to his elbows.
A drink in his hand. A laugh rumbling from him. A wide grin on his face.
And next to him. The thing extracting that gorgeous smile from him. Making him laugh that infectious laugh…
An Amazonian goddess.
She’s five foot ten at least, and half of that height is long, willowy legs.
Jet black hair as shiny and soft looking as silk runs down her back.
She gives her mane an expert flip over her shoulders with her long, perfect fingers.
The bone structure of her face is that of a Madonna.
Dark perfectly arched brows, cheekbones to the high heavens, gliding down to draw attention to her red, full lips. Her regal posture draped in white silk.
A classic beauty. The perfect woman.
And he’s enthralled with her.
She makes another charming witty comment, drawing another laugh from him and as she does, she puts her hand on his shoulder in such a way that I know she is familiar with him—a way that rips my gut from my stomach.
I fear I’ll retch and before I can think it through, I’ve untangled myself from John and am tearing out of the building.
I’m running as fast and hard as my stumpy little white legs can carry me.
My breaths come heavy and fast in my chest as my boots slam against the ground.
I’ve passed through the cleared yard, reaching the tangle of forest behind it.
I’m tripping over roots and brush. I’ve no idea where I’m going.
I can’t think clearly. All I can seem to see is that image that’s been burned into my brain.
Not just her perfection. Not just her beauty that I can never compare with.
It was the happiness on his face. Put there by another woman. Devastating me. Making me run harder, faster.
And seeing him happy with someone else made me realize the truth of what I’ve been feeling for him. It’s not lust. It’s not infatuation. This is no schoolgirl crush.
I’m madly in love with Rockland Bachman.
And he, with another.
The woods are growing thicker, branches snapping at my face and scratching up my arms. My long braid becomes tangled and I tug it free, losing a few strands as I do. Frantically I look to my right, my left but there’s no path. I can’t seem to stop running.
There’s a bit of a path now, and I’m going so fast, I feel as if I’m flying.
For a moment I forget my sorrow and think that all that jogging with Rockland paid off but then the thought of him makes my eyes squeeze shut tightly in pain.
The toe of my boot hooks into the root of one of the beautiful tangling trees and I go crashing to the ground.
My hands fly forward to break my fall but I’m too late and my head hits something hard.
I gasp in shock from the pain.
Blackness.
Rockland
Unbelievable.
She comes here to profess her love for me and then takes off running through the woods and winds up with a concussion? If I wasn’t so worried about her, I’d flip her over on that bed and spank her ass into consciousness.
Damn.
We still don’t know what set her off. John thinks it was the fountain that stands in the center of the receiving room.
It’s tall and black and has a few gargoyles on it.
It’s new since John’s last visit and when she asked him what it was, he said, “I’m not sure,” then the next thing John knew she was tearing off into the woods.
I know Tess better than to think some gremlin statues scared her off. It had to be something else. John says she came to tell me how she feels about me. Maybe that had something to do with her hellcat tear away into the forest. Maybe she saw me… and got cold feet.
Ice forms in the pit of my stomach at the thought and I push it from my mind.