Chapter Thirty-Three – Rose #2
I held my hand up to shelter my eyes from the hot sun. “Yes, because that’s exactly what you want in this weather. Hot gloves.”
She shuddered as she put her hand in. “Oh, dear. You’re right. And they’re covered in his fur.”
“That’s just his glitter,” George said.
“Why don’t you take this glitter for me, then?”
“Get rid of it yourself, woman. I’m not your slave.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page. By the way, I still want that pre-nup.”
I looked between the two of them. “Pre-nup? What do you want a pre-nup for? Is George secretly a millionaire?”
Susan blinked at me. “I know he fancies my Shirley Temple. I must retain custody of my plants.”
“Oh, perfectly understandable.” I unlocked my shed from the key on my spare set and opened the door, a waft of heat washing over me. “George, give the woman her pre-nup.”
“I only want a cutting of it,” he muttered.
“You can’t make peonies flower to save your life,” Susan retorted. “I am not letting you desecrate Shirley just to see her child never bloom.”
“But you’ll be there, Susie. You can do it for me.”
Susie?
Susie?
“Remember when I said I’d miss your flirting? I take it back.” I put the keys on the side and stepped out, giving my gloves a shake. “Do you reckon I’ll get these tomatoes in time?”
The two of them shared a look, and something I didn’t quite catch passed between them.
“Stop flirting like that,” I said, bending down to check them. “There are children present.”
“You’re not a child,” Isadora said, jingling my keys as she appeared at my gate. “Here. Where’s mine?”
I caught the keys she tossed at me and nodded towards the shed. “In there.”
“All right, thanks. Feeling any better?”
I nodded as she retrieved her keys. “I had a good cry, a good whine to myself, plotted approximately seventeen different ways of torture, researched the feasibility of six of them, and realised he isn’t worth the jail time.”
“Time well spent.” She perched on the edge of the one of the bed.
“Mind my courgettes.”
She peeked under the leaves and rescued one that grown too big for its boots. “George, this one is trying to grow bigger schlongs than you.”
“Damn it, Rose!”
I turned around and caught sight of the one she was holding. It was huge. “Ah. Where was that bugger hiding?”
“Under the leaves. Tucked against the side,” she answered. “Want me to get it for you?”
I nodded and handed her the snips from my bag. “Watch the little—”
“Motherfucker!” she hissed, sucking her finger. “Are these stems coated with poison or something?”
“—Hairs on the stems, they’re sharp,” I finished dryly.
“Thanks for the warning.” She glared at me and handed me the marrow. “Your schlong, babe.”
I took the marrow from her. I could barely wrap my hand around it, and I tilted my head to the side. “You know what, I think this has just put me off some romance books.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Well, some of them say the guy’s tallywhacker is so big they can barely get their hand around it.” I held up the marrow and showed her where my fingers and thumb couldn’t quite meet. “This would absolutely decimate a vagina.”
She took it back and tried to grab it herself, moving her hand up and down it. “Huh. You have a point. How would you even get it in your mouth?” She opened her mouth as wide as she could, but the smaller end didn’t even look like it would go in.
“Exactly.” I took it back and examined it. “That’s just not comfortable. A penis of this size isn’t giving you an orgasm—it’s giving you a day trip to A&E.”
“Probably even an overnight stay,” she mused. “Huh. Well, if nothing else, I’m glad to see that you’re the same Rose as always. I thought I might find you huddled in your cucumbers, crying to yourself.”
“Rose Matthews does not cry,” I replied.
“Really?” Susan asked, plucking pods off her pea plants. “Then what were you doing last night?”
I paused. “That was hay fever, Susan.”
“That has magically disappeared this morning.”
“What is this, an interrogation? Gosh.” I sniffled and put the marrow down.
She smiled at me, paused, then quickly turned away. I looked in the direction that had caught her attention and froze.
Oh, no.
Absolutely not.
What was that bastard doing here?
I slowly got to my feet as he approached my plot. His steps were almost hesitant, as if he were afraid to come close to me.
If he wasn’t, then more fool him.
Because Oliver de Havilland was the last person I wanted to see today.
On the other hand, he looked as awful as I did.
His hair wasn’t styled as perfectly as usual.
It was mussed, as if he’d run his hands through it fifty times this morning.
The usual brightness that made his blue eyes so enrapturing had dulled, and that went as far as the light shadows under his eyes.
God only knew why he looked so terrible.
He’d gotten exactly what he wanted.
I swallowed the thick lump in my throat. It tasted like everything I hated—salty tears, longing, and heartbreak. “Your Grace.”
He winced. “Rose—”
“Is there something I can help you with?”
Oliver closed his eyes. Maybe it was the coldness of my tone, or maybe it was that he could feel just how much I hated him right now, but he looked almost ashamed to even be standing in front of me.
“No? Then if you’ll excuse me, I’m a bit busy.” I walked over to the courgettes and began searching for any other stragglers.
“Rose, we need to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
He unlatched the gate and let himself in, and I jumped back from the vegetable bed, holding my snips close to me, the sharp end pointed in his direction.
His eyes widened slightly when he saw them, and Isa opened her mouth. Susan shook her head at her, and my best friend stilled, pressing her lips together in a flat line.
What was that?
Did they know he was coming?
Was there a conspiracy afoot? Conspiracies were banned unless I was the one conspiring.
Oliver held out a white envelope. “This will explain everything.”
“There isn’t a single explanation I want from you,” I replied. “We have nothing more to say to each other, so please leave.”
“Rose—”
“For the next three weeks and four days, I am still a rent-paying tenant of this plot. While you may come for an impromptu inspection, it is still mine, and if I ask you to leave, you must leave,” I said tightly, turning away from him.
He reached out, grabbing my wrist. “Will you just—”
“No!” I snatched my arm out of his hand and ran to my shed. I slammed the door behind me and locked it, covering my ears with my hands.
What could he explain?
What could he possibly say that would make my heart stop hurting?
I didn’t even want to hear his voice right now, because every word he spoke tugged at a deep part of me.
A part that wanted to hear him out.
That stupid, idiotic part of me that wanted to trust him.
“Rose, for God’s sake.” He thumped the door. “Do I have to shout through the door at you?”
“No, because I’m not listening!” I shouted back. “Go away! Go away, you big, stupid, potato!”
“Please.” He hit the door twice, followed by a third thump that sounded suspiciously like his head. “Don’t make me talk through the door at you. It’s not what you think.”
Not what I think?
Oh, I knew what I thought.
I knew what I knew .
I glanced around for the nearest thing I could use as a weapon and grabbed hold of Bertha, yanking her off the side with a ‘pop’ as the suction broke.
“We have to talk. Please. Just hear me out and I’ll explain, and—”
I quickly unlocked the door, yanking it open.
“Are you—”
“No!” I stabbed Bertha the Girthy towards him, and he flinched, staggering back a few steps. “Away with you! Go away! I’ve had it! Haven’t you broken my heart enough?” I thumped him on the arm with Bertha, beating his bicep with her three times.
He reached to grab her, but I snatched her out of his reach and hit the other arm.
“Ow, ow, she hurts!”
“Good! Feel my pain, you boarding school educated but emotionally stunted swine!”
“Jesus Christ, what is that thing made—ow!—of?”
“My hatred!” I shouted, giving him one last hit for good measure before turning around. I darted across my plot and hopped onto the side of my vegetable bed, then leapt over the fence into George’s plot.
“Watch me sprouts!” he shouted from the other side of it. “Rose!”
“Sorry, George, sorry!” I called back, heading for his gate. It was already unlatched, so I zoomed through it, clutching Bertha tightly. “I owe you!”
“Rose! Fuck me , woman!” Oliver hollered, followed by the sound of my gate.
“No! Never again!”
Whoops.
Guess that cat was out of the bag.
“She’s running awaaaaaaay!” Isadora yelled at the top of her voice. “Catch her!”
“What?” I almost tripped over a stone, but quickly recovered, still sprinting down the path.
What did she mean, catch me?
Who was she trying to tell that I was running?
“Rose!”
“No!” I shouted back at Oliver. “Leave me alone!”
I needed something to throw at him. Hit him, make him trip… Anything so I could get away. I had Ramona’s keys in my pocket, so I could make an escape if only I could reach her in time.
Ah.
I had Bertha.
“Go, Bertha! I choose you!”
I choose you?
Fuck me, it was a dildo, not a Pokémon.
What was I doing?
My aim was shit, and Bertha sailed right past him and landed in a birdbath with a splash, giving a magpie the fright of its life.
Good. He was a strawberry-thieving little bastard.
“What is it with you and that dildo?” Oliver shouted, a little out of breath.
“Shaun!” I yelled at him as soon as he appeared. “Help me!”
He looked at me, then behind me at Oliver. “Ah.”
“Help!”
He grabbed me, and instead of running, he wrapped his arms around me, pinning me against his body. “Sorry. This is for your own good.”