Chapter 9 Rosalie
ROSALIE
I’ve watched this film dozens of times and could recite each scene word-for-word. By now, I should be immune to the emotional pull of this story. But it’s quite the opposite, and when the camera closes in to capture Matthew Macfadyen clench and unclench his fist, I let out an audible sigh.
“Fuck me,” Jackson whispers reverently.
“Right?”
I could tell he wasn’t into the movie when it first started.
I’d bet money on the fact that there weren’t a lot of period dramas viewed in the ranching family of all boys except for Maeve.
But he’s totally sucked in now, and I somehow feel vindicated.
Everyone should have more Jane Austin in their lives.
“These two better end up together or I’m gonna be pissed,” Jackson mutters.
I grin. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
“Oh!” He points at the screen. “Drink!”
We empty our shot glasses. The burn of the tequila holds less power with each shot, and for once I’m thankful the end of the movie is around the corner. My liver couldn’t survive this game if we were watching the BBC version.
There’s a warmth that swirls inside my body as the effects of our little drinking game take effect.
My mind wanders, and I find myself watching Jackson instead of the film.
He is quite the opposite of Mr. Darcy. He wears his emotions without inhibition.
I admire that. I’m even a tad jealous. What would it feel like to not hold back before speaking or laughing?
To smile simply for the sake of smiling?
And he has such a nice smile. He radiates a warmth that draws people in. That draws me in.
“I knew it!” Jackson pumps his fist in the air.
On screen, Mr. Darcy confesses his feelings to Lizzy, the most grumpy, authentic confession of love there ever was. My heart hammers in my chest and a smile takes over my face. This. This right here is the kind of romantic gesture I live for.
“They belong together.”
“Fucking Mr. Darcy almost dropped the ball, though. Good thing he finally got his shit together.”
I almost laugh at the way Jackson raises his voice to the TV. His tone is more reminiscent of a fan yelling at their favorite sporting event.
When the credits roll, I lower the volume and turn toward him. “So, you liked it?”
“It was better than I expected.”
“It’s my favorite film.”
“Oh, yeah?” He leans in. “I couldn’t tell.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes. At least, that’s what I intend. But a second later, Jackson’s fingertips brush against my cheekbone and my eyelids flutter shut.
Jackson brushes a strand of my hair back, tucking it behind my ear, and my brain short circuits. It’s the barest of touches and yet, I haven’t been touched intimately since last year. This simple gesture feels more sensual than it should.
My pulse races. My skin feels warm. My breath catches in my throat as I brace for him to lean closer or pull away. Against my better judgment, I ache for him to close the space between us and just kiss me already.
“Rosalie?” Jackson whispers, his breath close enough I feel it on my skin.
My gaze lifts, and I’m met with the intensity of his stare.
We’re barely a breath away, and all it would take is for one of us to lean closer to break through the invisible line separating our bodies.
I lick my lips, wishing and wanting him to do that.
For him to kiss me. For everything but this moment to slip away.
Ring. Ring.
A familiar melody plays from across the room. My phone!
“Edward.” I rear back, my eyes frantically searching for my cell phone.
Jackson’s across the room and back to my side, retrieving it before I can stand.
Pushing to my feet, I take the phone from him. Shooting him an apologetic glance, I slide my finger across the screen to answer and lift the device to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mama!” Edward’s jovial delight calms my momentary panic and soberingly drops me back into reality. Even still, I can’t shake the frustration that courses through my veins. I was seconds away from doing something stupid. I was seconds away from kissing Jackson.
I should be relieved. But I’m not.
Jackson nods, giving me a polite smile as he takes our empty glasses into the kitchen. If he’s disappointed it doesn’t show, and that somehow makes me feel worse. Did he not want to kiss me the way I wanted to kiss him?
“Mama? Are you there?”
“Hi, baby,” I force myself to enunciate every syllable so my words don’t slur. “Tell me about your day.”
“I’m not a baby.” Edward huffs, making me smile despite the confusing feelings swirling in my mind. I slump back into the sofa to concentrate on my call with Edward, but from the corner of my vision I’m still able to observe Jackson.
“You’re right, you’re practically a grown-up. How was your day today?”
“Good.”
“Good. What did you do?”
“I played with my toys. And we worked on a puzzle. It has one thousand pieces. A thousand! Can you believe that?”
“Wow. That’s amazing.”
“It’ll probably take us the whole week to finish it.”
“That’s good you have the whole week, then.” It’s a relief to hear the joy in my son’s voice. All the anxiety and worry I held inside leading up to this week wasn’t for me—it was for him.
“Mama, what did you do today?” my thoughtful boy asks.
“Would you believe I caught my first crawdad?”
“You did?” The shock of his reaction firmly plants a smile on my face.
“I sure did. Maybe when I get back, we can do that together.”
“Really? Ari always brags about catching the biggest crawdads. He even brought one to show and tell last year.”
“Well, maybe we’ll have to catch one bigger.”
“Yay!” He cheers through the line. There’s a pause, and I hear a voice in the background, though I can’t make out his words. “Uncle Beckett says I have to say good night now.”
“Yes.” I glance at the clock, appreciative he’s sticking to Edward’s usual schedule. “Good night, Edward. Sweet dreams.”
“’Night, Mama.”
Jackson’s still in the kitchen when I end the call.
I consider slipping upstairs unnoticed while I can.
Hell, I should keep my distance from Jackson.
The more time we spend together, the more I feel my control slip.
It’s bad enough there’s an underlying crackle of tension whenever we’re in the same room.
It wouldn’t take much for that energy to burst into flame.
It’s the same desire that made me abandon my rules for a few hours of fun one year ago. And okay, we made it through without collateral damage. But if we cross that line again, would we be tempting fate? I’m not sure I can risk the possibility.
Jackson walks out of the kitchen with a glass of water in his hand. “Take these.” He holds out two pills and hands over the glass. “And drink this.”
“Bossy,” I grumble, but do as he says, drinking the entire glass. It’s been years since I’ve done shots. Tomorrow would have brought a painful hangover without his foresight. I try not to read into the thoughtfulness of his actions.
He stares in a way that makes me question whether he can read my thoughts. I pray he can’t.
“What?” I ask self-consciously as I hand back the now-empty water glass.
“You know, you’re not how I thought you’d be.”
My body warms at his observation. I don’t exactly understand what he means by that, but he’s not how I thought he’d be, either.
“You’re a good mom.” His gaze is sincere. Unwavering. I can’t will myself to look away.
“You thought I was a bad mom?”
“No. That’s not . . . It’s just, I see how much you’re sacrificing, and it’s pretty damn admirable.” He doesn’t know the half of it. If he did, would he feel the same? He clears his throat and glances around the room. “I should probably turn in soon. Early wake-up call.”
Of course. The living room is where he’s sleeping. He’s politely asking me to leave. Embarrassment washes over me as I turn to grab my book and head for the stairs.
“You don’t have to rush off.” He says, a hint of humor in his tone. “I still have to get ready for bed.”
I picture him wearing fewer clothes.
Lord help me. I need to get upstairs before I say or do something I’ll regret.
“Rosalie?”
“Yeah?” My heart hammers in my chest as my gaze holds his.
“The book.” He drops his stare to the one I’m holding. “Let me know when you’re done so I can start reading.”
He wants to read my book. My body warms and my heart skips a beat. He mentioned it today, but I didn’t think he was serious. Maybe he’s a man whose words match his actions? I can’t help but smile. I’m done reading this one, so I set it down on the closest end table.
“It’s all yours.”
“Thanks.”
His gaze follows me as I turn away again, and his expression almost appears disappointed.
I wonder if he’s as reluctant as I am for this day to end?
Does he want me to stay? No, I’m projecting.
If he wanted me to stay downstairs, he’d ask.
Jackson isn’t afraid of speaking what’s on his mind. That’s me.
“Good night, Jackson.” I pause at the foot of the stairs and turn back to find him still watching me from across the room. “Thank you for today. I needed this.”
“You’re welcome.”
Lowering my gaze, I turn and slip upstairs before I’m tempted to do something foolish like invite him to join me.
I meant what I said, though. Today was everything I needed.
I didn’t miss Edward, not in the painful way I would have if Jackson hadn’t provided a constant distraction.
Since I stepped foot in his house, he’s made the time away from my son more bearable.
I didn’t think anyone was capable of that.