Chapter Nineteen
Rose
I had a girls' night out. An actual girls' night, which I have never once done in my life. There was always a deposition, a crisis, a brother, some very important reason I couldn't spend an entire evening getting pampered and drunk with other women.
This time there was a spa, pedicures, and dinner at Grato, where I arm-wrestled the bartender and won us free appetizers.
Jade demanded a rematch on my behalf just to watch him lose twice, which I found both supportive and deeply satisfying.
I laughed until my ribs ached, drank too much wine, and somewhere in the middle of all of it realized I was having the kind of night other women had been having their entire adult lives. I'd simply never let myself have one.
Well, fuck. I've been missing out.
I invited Macy and finally introduced her to Jade, which turned out to be a spectacular decision on my part because holy fucking hell.
The chemistry between those two made my thighs clench, and I wasn't even involved.
Jade has always been fluid in her sexuality and unapologetically so, and Macy reminded me of her from the beginning.
I think that's half of why I gravitated toward her on the island.
They're both gorgeous, bold, a little inappropriate, and entirely too comfortable asking questions that are none of their fucking business.
Naturally, they loved each other.
They exchanged Rose stories for well over an hour, which was horrifying because neither of them believes in confidentiality, and by the time the night was winding down, I walked into the bathroom and found Jade with her hand up Macy's skirt.
Like the voyeur I am, I watched till the end credits and nearly came in my panties. Sue me, it was fucking hot.
I've also seen Michael every single day.
We've caught up on everything. The business, the baby prep, the year I missed, all the little pieces of his life I used to know before they happened. And the more time I spend with him, the more I realize my baby brother grew the fuck up while I was gone.
Like, really grew up.
He's settled now. He thinks before he reacts, which is new and frankly suspicious. He doesn't need me to clean up after him. He asks for my opinion without treating it like an instruction manual, and when I give it, sometimes he doesn't take it.
The audacity.
But I'm proud of him. So fucking proud of him.
And there's a harder truth sitting underneath that pride that I've had to deal with all week: I don't think he would've grown this much if I'd stayed.
I spent most of his life making sure there was always a net underneath him.
Every bad decision, every crisis, every time he fucked up badly enough to scare himself, there I was.
Big sister. Attorney. Fixer. General pain in his ass.
I told myself I was making sure he never fell too far, and I was, but I also never gave him much opportunity to find out whether he could get himself back up.
Then I left, and he had to.
Turns out he could.
There's some guilt in realizing that. There's also relief, and pride, and a little grief for all the years I thought loving him meant carrying things he was perfectly capable of carrying himself.
I'm trying not to turn any of those feelings into a reason to beat the shit out of myself, which is harder than it sounds.
Self-flagellation has been one of my more consistent hobbies.
I still haven't told him about James.
I plan to. I just need to tell James first, and the how of that conversation has been sitting in my stomach all week. Every time I think about actually saying the words to him, my intestines attempt to resign.
I should have Pepto on tap at this point.
If I've been anxious about anything, it's that.
That, and Jackson.
I haven't seen him since he walked away from my hotel room a week ago, which is probably for the best. The few minutes we spent alone together were enough to confirm that a year of therapy did not magically remove Marcus Jackson from my nervous system.
Rude, honestly. For what I've paid those people, I expected better.
Yesterday he was photographed stepping into a charity gala with Rian on his arm.
Local celebrities. The power couple of real estate.
She looked perfect, naturally. Tall, blonde, beautiful, wrapped around the arm of the man I'm still trying very hard not to think of as mine.
His hand was resting at the small of her back, and I stared at it long enough to remember exactly how that hand feels against my skin.
Then I closed the app.
That part matters.
I closed it, put my phone down, and got on with my evening. No spiral. No three-day disappearance into my bed. No emergency therapy session. It hurt like a motherfucker, and I kept going because I know how to do that now.
Yay fucking me.
Tonight is family and friends' night at Noctra.
It'll be the first time I've seen Samson and the family since my return, and the first time I've walked into that restaurant as a woman who isn't just there to watch from a corner table anymore.
Other than a fancy new chandelier and outdoor seating, nothing much has changed.
Same low lighting, same hum of conversation, same smell coming from the kitchen that immediately reminds me I should've eaten less before I came.
I spot Samson and Lauren across the room, and I'm on my feet before I can give myself time to overthink it.
The shock on their faces isn't because I'm here. They've seen me here plenty of times.
It's because I'm walking toward them.
All these years of nods across a dining room, of keeping the distance clean and manageable, and tonight I finally close it.
"Rosie," Samson whispers, and pulls me into his burly arms.
I rest my cheek against his chest and inhale sawdust and aftershave, and my throat tightens so fast it pisses me off.
Lauren's hand finds my back, then smooths down the back of my head the way mothers do when they're trying not to cry, which naturally makes me want to cry harder.
Then she's pulling me into her own arms, and because she's shorter than Samson, I can actually hug her properly instead of being folded into somebody's sternum.
"It's time?" she asks, tears already standing in her eyes.
"Yeah. Is that okay?"
The second it leaves my mouth, the lawyer in me starts throwing objections. I never consulted them. Never prepared them. Never asked how they felt about me deciding that tonight, after fifteen years, might be the night I finally tell James who I am.
"I mean, I'd understand if you wanted me to wait, or if you think he needs some warning first. I probably should've called. I definitely should've called."
"Rosie." Samson cuts me off with a gentle hand against my face. "It was always okay, sweetheart. Take your time. There's no rush. Whenever you're ready, we'll be here for both of you on the other side."
Well.
That shuts the whole internal legal department down.
"I love you both so much I can't put it into words."
"And we love you, Rosie." Lauren wipes a tear off my cheek with her thumb. "Go sit. Get some food in you. Whatever you need tonight, okay?"
I nod because speaking again feels risky, and make my way back to my table on legs that feel a little unreliable. I place my order with the waitress, take a drink of water, and try not to stare across the room every five seconds.
It doesn't take long before I see James.
I've spent the entire week sick over this. I've imagined every version of the conversation, from him crying to him getting angry to him asking why I stayed away so long, and at least one scenario where I throw up directly onto the table before I get through the first sentence.
But the second I actually see him, most of that noise dies down.
He's got a box tucked under one arm, laughing with one of his siblings about something, and he just looks like James. Happy. Busy. Entirely unaware that I've spent fifteen years turning this moment into the scariest meeting of my life.
Maybe that's why I finally feel ready.
Not calm. Let's not get ridiculous.
Just ready.
He's passing things out to the tables with his little sister following behind him like his tiny assistant, and I watch them make their way closer. When he finally starts toward mine, his steps falter.
His head tips to the side while he looks at me, quick and curious, like he's trying to place something.
Huh.
I'm filing that away for later because I currently have enough shit on the agenda.
Then he recovers and stops in front of me.
"Hi." He smiles. "You haven't come back for a while."
My heart trips over itself. "You remember me?"
"Yeah. Friend of my dad's, right?"
"That's right. Whatcha got there for me? What's tonight's event?"
He sets the box on a vacant chair, pulls a packet from it, and drops into the seat across from me like we're old colleagues.
"Okay, so, I stole a bunch of Dad's stuff from around the house, and we're having a scavenger hunt.
You pick a partner, and the team that finds the most stuff wins.
You only get thirty minutes once the buzzer sounds. "
He's all smiles and energetic hands as he lays out the rules, and I can't stop watching him.
He's funny and animated and clearly enjoying the tiny amount of authority this box has granted him.
This whole, generous person sitting across from me came out of the worst day of my life and the best decision I made afterward.
I used to be terrified that giving him away would be the thing I regretted most. Sitting here looking at him now, I know I gave him exactly what I wanted him to have.
"Do you have a partner? I didn't help hide the stuff, so it wouldn't be cheating if you wanted me to be yours."
His eyes dart up to my hair, and then his hand rises almost unconsciously to touch his own white streak.
Well, shit.