Chapter 15 Rosalie
ROSALIE
The next day, my phone pings from across the room with the alert of an incoming text. I close my laptop and stretch my arms overhead, my gaze drifting to the clock on the oven. It’s already ten after one. Damn! Where did the time go?
When I woke up this morning with my body sore in the best way, the impulse to write was almost overwhelming. If anything could inspire me to open my manuscript, it would be memories from last night.
However, when I opened the document and stared at the blinking cursor, I wasn’t confident I’d add much of anything. An extreme drought of creativity has kept me from writing for almost eight years. Today probably wouldn’t be much different.
Boy, was I wrong.
Because almost four hours later, my book contains thousands of brand new words and a sex scene that’d make my own toes curl if I didn’t write it myself. God, this feels incredible. My brain is radiating with ideas, along with a newfound motivation to finally finish this book.
Is it any good? Maybe. I’m still not sure. There’s so much work to be done, and the chapter I just wrote needs a heavy edit and polish before I’ll let anyone read it.
This is part of my problem. I haven’t let anyone read my work since grad school, and this manuscript needs feedback.
Hell, even a cheerleading squad would help.
The issue is that my friends will be too nice, and while I crave positive feedback, I need it to be genuine.
If I ask my book club, I know they would read it.
But if I feel for a second they’re only positive because they don’t want to hurt my feelings, I’ll want to disappear from sheer embarrassment.
What if I give this to Jackson?
The idea hits me with a rush of delight. I wouldn’t even need to tell him I wrote it. He isn’t as critical a reader as the other trusted people in my life. Plus, he wouldn’t pretend to love it if it sucks. This could be perfect.
My phone pings again, pulling me back into the present, reminding me why I stopped writing to begin with. I push to my feet and walk into the living room where my cell is plugged into my charger.
My book club group chat fires off messages faster than I can read them. I scroll back to the top to catch up.
Jamie: Okay, who all is coming to my house on Friday?
It’s her week to host book club, though our book club is more of a food and drink club. I’m not sure anyone reads the assigned books but me.
Maeve: You know I’ll be there!
Liv: Me too! And guess what?!? I actually read the book!
Maeve: Summer Liv is so productive!
Liv: Amazing what happens when I’m not responsible for the education of young and impressionable minds.
Jamie: You’re a saint, Liv.
Sarah: Seriously, I only have two teens. I don’t know how you deal with classrooms of them!
Asher: Can’t make it this week, ladies. Have fun without me!
Maeve: Asher’s out? Who will play bartender?
Val: I mix a mean drink. I’ll cover for him. Don’t forget, Rosalie is out of town. She’ll miss Friday, too.
Maeve: Oh, that’s right! Rosalie, how’s your trip going? Where did you say you were again?
I have an airtight alibi, along with some photos as evidence to back up my lie. Still, my gut twists, a familiar knot of betrayal taking root when I think of misleading my friends.
Me: I’m in San Diego. Sitting by the beach now.
I include a photo of my toes in the sand with the shoreline in the background. They don’t need to know the original was taken over ten years ago. Thankfully, feet don’t gain wrinkles, stretch marks, or laugh lines like the rest of my body.
Asher: JEALOUS.
Bernadette: I love San Diego! Have a blast. You deserve this! Can’t wait to hear all about your trip next week.
Maeve: Yes, I want ALL the details.
Uneasiness twists my stomach. Maeve couldn’t possibly know I’m here. Could she? Jackson would have told me. I exit out of the text thread and find a message waiting from Jackson. I didn’t notice it before. My heart skips a beat as I press his name and read.
Jackson: I can’t stop thinking about last night.
Jackson: And this book isn’t helping. I can’t wait to do all of this with you.
The idea of acting out one of the scenes sends a thrill down my spine. I’ve never been with a partner who was open to role play—or anything outside of vanilla, really. Jackson is pretty much the opposite of everyone I’ve ever been with.
Me: Even the threesome?
Jackson: Spoiler alert! I’m not there yet.
Me: You’re in for a treat.
Jackson: Just to be clear, when I said I’d be up for reenacting any of these scenes, that did not include other partners. I’m not sharing you with anyone.
Me: Would you share me with Mr. Darcy?
Jackson: The guy from the movie?
Me: My dildo.
Jackson: Fucking hell, woman.
Me: Is that a yes?
Jackson: I’ll make an exception for cocks of the silicone variety.
A chuckle escapes my lips.
Me: That’s so generous.
Jackson: You haven’t seen generous yet.
Jackson: I’m gonna give your book boyfriends a run for their money.
Me: Impossible.
Jackson: I’m looking forward to changing your mind.
My thighs press together and my fingers hover over the screen as I think of a witty comeback. I’m grinning at our flirty text exchange when my phone begins to ring. My stomach drops and my body goes cold at the caller ID.
Edward! Something is wrong. It has to be for Beckett to call in the middle of the day. All amusement drains from my body as I swipe my finger across the screen to answer the call.
“Hello?”
“Rosalie, hi.” His tone doesn’t hold any panic or fear, and my body relaxes slightly.
“Is everything okay? How’s Edward?”
“Calm down. He’s fine.” He sighs, and I picture his exasperated frown. “I’ve raised three children, Rosalie.”
Like I could’ve forgotten about his family. “Okay, so what can I help you with?”
“I’m calling now so you can talk with Edward. We won’t be available tonight.”
I should be grateful he’s checking in daily as agreed. But instead, I wonder why he can’t call later. “What’s happening tonight?”
“I don’t need to clear our schedule with you, Rosalie.
That’s not part of our agreement.” His annoyance quickly blooms to genuine malice, and I feel his distaste through the line.
“Do you think I’d do anything to hurt him?
Do you think I’m an incapable guardian? Me?
I think I can handle playing sitter for a few days; I have a doctorate. Or did you forget about that too?”
I know better than to question his authority. It’ll only put him in a bad mood, and I can’t chance that he’ll take out his frustration on Edward.
“Sorry, that’s not what I meant.”
“You should be grateful I comply with your little list of demands. You should be grateful I take care of you both so well. You should be thanking me for allowing you to raise him, when his rightful place is in my home. He’s mine, Rosalie. No matter what we agreed to, he’s mine.”
He’s mine.
The warning reverberates through my body and incites a new sense of panic. Beckett has the money to come after full custody. Connections too.
“Yes, I’m sorry, Beckett.” I know better than to start an argument with him. Still, the apology tastes sour on my lips. “You’re right.”
“You’d do well to remember your place in all this. Especially if you want this life I provide to continue.”
He’s always held more power in our relationship.
First as my professor. Then, as the aristocrat with millions compared to my empty bank account and non-existent support system.
As Edward got older, I could sense a real interest from Beckett to get to know his son.
I assumed the one week a year arrangement would be enough, but what if it’s not? What if he tries to take him from me?
What if, after everything I agreed to, he changes his mind and pushes me out of Edward’s life? I won’t survive it.
Fear tightens my chest, like a band growing tighter and tighter to the point I can hardly breathe, let alone speak.
“I don’t know how you do it, living in this godforsaken town. There’s nothing here. No culture. No arts. Even your library is lacking the most basic of necessities.” Beckett scoffs. “You could have picked anywhere in this state. You still can.”
The invitation is clear. He wants us closer. Closer to control. Close enough to steal every bit of peace in my life.
“I like it here.”
Yeah, it was an adjustment at first, but this is my home now. And this place is not uncultured or simple. Not the way he implies. The people of this town are honest, hard-working, and intelligent too.
“I don’t believe that for a second.” His laugh is patronizing and mean, and it takes every effort not to respond. Silence fills the line, and thankfully he gives up waiting for a reply.
“Here’s Edward.”
“Hello?” My son’s voice brings tears to my eyes, for no other reason than I miss him.
“Edward.” I blink away the moisture and hide the longing from my voice. “How are you? Tell me what you’ve done today.”
“Uncle Beck is taking me to an observatory!”
So, that’s where they’re going. The knot of worry in my gut releases slightly.
“That sounds so fun!”
“They have a huge telescope there! Bigger than the one I got for Christmas last year.”
“That’s amazing. You’ll have to tell me all about it.”
“We even get to stay overnight.”
“Oh, wow!”
That’s a big deal. Edward is reliant on our routines, and admittedly, I haven’t done much travelling with him. He’s not used to sleeping anywhere but his bedroom.
“I’m not scared, Mama.”
“My brave boy.” I hold back my sigh. “But it’s okay to feel scared sometimes. Even if it’s about something exciting. Maybe bring Mr. Bunny?” A beloved stuffed rabbit he insists he’s outgrown but somehow ends up in his bedding every night. “I bet he would like to come on your trip.”
“Mom . . .” Edward laughs. “He’s just a toy.”
“I know.”
“I’m too big to play with toys.”
“No one is too old to play with toys. And I know you’re growing up, but even Mama likes to bring her favorite toys on vacation.”
I almost laugh out loud thinking about the sex toys in my suitcase. I packed every one that I own, more so Beckett wouldn’t find them.
“You do?”
“Of course.” I hope he can hear the earnestness in my words. “Even adults need something to remind them of home.”
“Maybe I’ll bring Mr. Bunny.” He sighs. “I wish you could come with us.”
“I know, baby.”
“How many days until you come home?”
“Three more sleeps. That’s not so bad, right?”
“Yeah.” Maybe I imagine it, but I swear there’s a quaver in his voice and it breaks my heart. This is the longest we’ve been away from each other. In all the other times Beckett has visited, I’ve stayed at the house too.
Beckett must say something, but he’s too far from the phone for me to make it out.
“Mama, I have to go.”
“Okay, I love you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Have the best time, okay?”
“Okay, Mama.”
“Love you.”
“Love you. Bye!”
I hear him mutter something as he must hand the phone back to Beckett.
I quickly end the call before Beckett speaks into the line.
Yes, it’s immature and rude on my part. I should have waited to see if he had anything else to say.
He’ll probably be offended I didn’t. I don’t care, though.
I’d rather do anything else in this world than spend another minute speaking to that man.
The blinking cursor in my document brings me back to the task at hand. But the desire to write has been chased away by the ghosts of my past.
This is what you’re writing?
You should be writing a real book. One with substance. One that matters.
Rosalie, you’re better than this.
The crushing words of my then professor ring in my ears and eat away at my confidence. They don’t hold the same weight they once did, but my self-doubt comes crashing back into my mind, and my own self-criticisms are enough to make me close out of the document.
Writing might have been a possibility at one point in my life, but I have to be realistic.
I’m a mother now, a single parent, and I have a full-time job.
Those are my priorities. There’s no time to pursue this dream.
When this week is over, I have to go back to my real life, and focus all my energy on what really matters—Edward.
I can’t afford anything or anyone that distracts from protecting him and giving him the best life I can.