Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Romeo
After dinner was over, I finally realized what had been bothering me all damn day.
I sat on the edge of my bed with Fiona’s text thread open, trying to decide whether asking the question rattling around in my head would make me sound curious or completely fucking insane.
Saturday was prom.
Josie had mentioned it the week before—something about every high school girl in Rosewood losing her mind over dresses and dates. At the time, I hadn’t thought much about it.
Then I’d thought about Fiona.
Was she going?
Had someone asked her?
That possibility had lasted about three seconds before I decided I hated whatever imaginary teenage bastard might be taking her.
Then reality stepped in.
Fiona didn’t talk about school dances. She rarely mentioned parties or football games. Most afternoons she went to the Creamery, and when she wasn’t working, she studied or spent time with Granny and her family.
That didn’t mean she didn’t want those things. It only meant she’d gotten used to living without them. I looked at her name on the screen and typed.
Me: What are you doing Saturday night?
Ma Belle: Probably working.
I frowned.
Me: Probably?
Ma Belle: Sugar said I could have the night off, but there isn’t much reason to take it.
Me: No plans?
Ma Belle: It’s prom.
There it was. Two words that somehow said a hell of a lot more than two words should.
Me: Ah.
Ma Belle: That sounded very interested
A smile tugged at my mouth. She’d caught me thinking.
Me: I’m trying to remember whether prom is supposed to be important.
Ma Belle: It isn’t.
The answer came fast. Way too fast.
Me: Good.
Ma Belle: Good?
Me: Means you’re not missing anything.
Ma Belle: Exactly.
I leaned back against the headboard.
I’d learned Fiona’s patterns by obsessively rereading her texts. Give her something light and she’d write paragraphs. Ask about something that mattered and suddenly the answers shrank.
Maybe I was reading too much into it.
Wouldn’t be the first time when it came to her.
Me: Expensive clothes. Bad music. Sweaty teenagers stepping on each other.
Ma Belle: You make it sound magical
Me: I’m told there’s usually terrible punch.
Ma Belle: See? Nothing worth attending.
There was humor in that one, but not much.
Me: You don’t sound convinced.
Ma Belle: I am.
Me: Fiona.
Ma Belle: What?
Me: You use shorter answers when you’re pretending something doesn’t bother you.
The dots appeared and disappeared as I waited for her to respond.
Ma Belle: I don’t care about prom.
I stared at the words. Maybe she believed that or maybe she wanted to.
Me: Then you won’t mind spending Saturday at home.
Ma Belle: I said I might work.
Me: Don’t.
Ma Belle: Why?
Me: Because you work too much.
Ma Belle: You say that about everything.
She wasn’t wrong. The girl was entirely too serious, too focused on the future.
Me: Stay home. Let Granny feed you. Watch a terrible movie.
Ma Belle: That’s your advice?
I smiled faintly. Not even close.
Me: Prom is one night, Cher. It doesn’t decide whether anyone wants you.
Ma Belle: I know that.
Me: Do you?
Ma Belle: I’m trying to.
That one hit me somewhere deep. The rest of the conversation disappeared for a second while I stared at those three words.
I’m trying to.
Fiona had spent too much of her life learning lessons nobody should’ve taught her. People left. People changed their minds. Being wanted today didn’t guarantee being wanted tomorrow.
I couldn’t erase that with a text message.
Me: Good. Keep trying.
Ma Belle: You’re not very comforting tonight.
Me: I’m excellent at comforting.
Ma Belle: Evidence says otherwise
Me: Comfort is overrated.
Ma Belle: Convenient answer
Me: Accurate one.
Her response didn’t come right away. When it finally did, I wished I’d handled the whole damn conversation differently.
Ma Belle: Goodnight, Romeo.
Romeo.
Not Jasper.
She almost never called me that.
I’d noticed the difference weeks ago. Jasper was the man she talked to when she let herself relax. Romeo came out whenever she remembered all the reasons she should be careful with me.
Tonight, I’d managed to put the distance back between us without moving an inch.
Me: Goodnight, Cher. Get some sleep.
I set the phone beside me.
Well done, asshole.
She wanted to go. I didn’t need her to spell it out. The question was whether she wanted the dance itself or what it represented.
Probably both.
One ordinary night.
A dress.
Music.
Somebody waiting at the door because they’d chosen her.
How many ordinary teenage experiences had Fiona missed because she’d been too busy surviving things most grown adults couldn’t handle?
I stood and paced toward the window.
Prom was stupid. I hadn’t suddenly developed strong feelings about balloons hanging from gym rafters or teenagers dancing badly under rented lights.
But Fiona cared.
That made it matter.
My phone was back in my hand before I’d fully made the decision. I found Josie’s number and called; she answered on the second ring.
“Romeo? It’s late. What’s wrong?”
“I need your help.”
Josie paused, and I heard the hesitation in her voice. Knew it for what it was. “With what?”
“Fiona.”
Another pause, longer this time. She might have said she’d watch out for Fiona, might have even understood the La Croix curse better than most, but she was still hesitant, still protective. “What about Fiona?”
“Prom is Saturday night.”
“I know.”
“She’s not going.”
“I know that too.” Josie’s voice changed, careful now. “She doesn’t have anyone to go with, Romeo. And she’s not the kind of girl who goes to dances alone.”
“She should go.”
“I agree. But—”
“I’m gonna take her.”
Silence. Then, “You’re going to what?”
“I’m taking her to prom.” Saying it out loud settled something in me. “I’m gonna surprise her. Show up at her house Saturday night and take her.”
“Romeo.” Josie went quiet for a second. “That’s... that’s a big gesture.”
“She deserves it.”
“I know she does. But—”
“She’s been texting me all night, Josie. Pretending she doesn’t care. Using short answers because she doesn’t want me to know it bothers her.” I looked at Fiona’s last message again. Goodnight, Romeo. “She wants to go. She just won’t admit it.”
Josie was quiet long enough that I wondered whether she was about to tell me I’d finally lost my mind. Instead, she asked, “What do you need me to do?”
Relief loosened something in my chest. Something that had grabbed hold of me when I read the heartache in Fiona’s words.
“I need you to help me plan it. Make sure she has everything she needs. A dress. Shoes. Hair. Makeup. Whatever the hell girls need for prom.”
“That’s a lot to coordinate in three days.”
“I know.”
“And you want it to be a surprise?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She sighed. “You’re asking me to pull off a miracle, Romeo.”
“I’m asking you to help me give her something she’s never had.” I sat on the edge of the bed again. “She’s missed enough, Josie. I want her to have one night where she doesn’t have to think about any of that. One night where she just gets to be eighteen.”
Another pause, then, “I’ll get Sugar to help.”
I frowned. “Sugar?”
“She owns the Creamery. She knows Fiona’s size, her style, what she likes. And she’s got connections in town. Between the two of us, we can get a dress, shoes, everything she needs without making her suspicious.”
“You think she’ll do it?”
“For Fiona? Absolutely. Sugar loves that girl. She’ll move heaven and earth to make this happen.”
“Good.” I exhaled. “I’ll leave that part to you and Sugar. Just make sure she has everything she needs. I’ll handle the rest.”
“What about Georgie?”
I paused. “What about him?”
“He’s not going to be thrilled about you showing up to take Fiona to prom.”
“Georgie can deal with it.”
“Romeo.”
“I’m not asking his permission, Josie.” I kept my voice level. “Fiona is eighteen. If she wants to go with me, that’s her choice. Not his.”
Josie sighed. “You’re going to give that man a heart attack.”
“He’ll survive.”
“You’re lucky I love you both,” she muttered. “Fine. I’ll talk to Sugar tomorrow. We’ll get everything ready. But, Romeo?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t spoil the surprise. Don’t text her about it. Don’t hint. Let her think she’s staying home Saturday night.”
“I won’t say a word.”
“Good.” The smile had returned to Josie’s voice. “She’s going to remember this for the rest of her life.”
I looked toward the dark window. That was exactly what I wanted.
“Thanks, Josie.”
“Anytime. Now get some sleep. I’ve got a prom to plan.”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“I need Martha’s number,” I said almost in a whisper.
Silence.
Then, “Martha Cohen?”
“Granny, Josie. I need to talk to Granny.”
“Oh.” Another pause. “OH.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“No,” I admitted, dragging a hand through my hair. “But my mama would kick my ass if I didn’t talk to hers first.”
Josie laughed softly. “You know what? That’s actually the smartest thing you’ve said all night. Hold on.”
She rattled off the number, and I grabbed a pen from the nightstand and wrote it across my palm.
“This is the right move, Rome,” she said. “She’ll respect you for it.”
“Or she’ll tell me to stay the hell away from her granddaughter.”
“That’s also possible.”
“Helpful.”
“Good luck.”
The call ended, and I sat staring at the number written across my hand. I’d faced armed men without getting this nervous. I’d walked into places where there was a decent chance I wasn’t walking back out.
Calling Martha Steiner was somehow worse.
I dialed anyway.
She answered after two rings.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Steiner?” I sat a little straighter without knowing why. “This is Jasper DuBois. Josie’s cousin.”
“I know who you are.” Her tone gave me absolutely nothing. “It’s late, Mr. DuBois. What can I do for you?”
Mr. DuBois.
Fantastic.
“I apologize for calling so late, ma’am. I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t important.”
“Go on.”
I took a breath. “I’m calling to ask your permission to take Fiona to her senior prom Saturday night.”
Silence.
Not confused silence.