24. Graham
Chapter twenty-fou r
Graham
I ’ve died and gone to heaven, and by that, I mean I’m more relaxed than I’ve ever been, with the woman of my dreams—or nightmares depending on the day—wrapped in my arms, sated in naked bliss. Rosay curls into my side, her leg thrown over mine, fingers dancing around my belly button.
“I have a surprise for you,” she says.
Her pink hair fans out over my chest, and I twirl a piece of it around my finger, letting a smile tug at my cheek. In this moment, everything is perfect. My girl is back in all her pink glory, she’s finally in my arms, and now I just need to convince her that’s where she belongs.
“If it’s another round of what just happened, I’m down,” I say.
She playfully pinches my nipple. “Not quite, killer. We do unfortunately have to leave the bed and get dressed at some point.”
“Then we have time,” I reply, pulling her fully on top of me, catching her pert nipple between my teeth.
She tugs on my hair, commandeering my gaze. “Not if we want dinner.”
I groan as she shimmies her naked body off mine. “There’s only one thing I’m hungry for, and I can have it right here in this bed.”
A shirt hits me in the face, followed by my boxers and pants.
Rosay slips into the bathroom and locks the door before I have a chance to retaliate by throwing her back onto the bed and paying homage to her body like it deserves.
Like a child, I pout the entire time I’m putting on my black slacks and the crisp white button down she picked out.
“Where are we going?” I sit at the edge of the bed and slip my feet into my Oxfords. “Something for the wedding?”
The door creaks as it opens, and like a marionette on a string, my head lifts to where Rosay stands in the doorway of the bathroom in a leopard print dress.
I suck in a sharp breath, acutely aware of my rapid pulse as my heart tries to throw itself out of my body.
It’s tight, accentuating her hourglass curves and ample breasts, and the straps make an intricate pattern across her collarbone, tempting me to rip through them like a lion claiming his prey.
Wisps of pink hair are scattered around her face, and my mouth waters looking at her glossy pink, fuckable lips.
“God, I love y—” I bite down on my knuckle, stopping the words from slipping from my lips and scaring her off. The statement would be true in all its facets, but I’m not sure she’s ready to hear it. “I love that dress on you.”
She prowls toward me in sleek black heels, stopping just out of reach. “Thanks. I stole it back from Winnie’s closet.”
I rise from the bed and pull her toward me, delighting in her small yelp as I squeeze her ass. “This dress was made for you.” And so was I.
“The sooner we eat dinner, the sooner you can have dessert,” she says, barely grazing her lips across mine before she backs away and heads downstairs.
I stand at the top of the stairs and watch her for a moment.
The Rosay who walked through the rental door a few days ago was somber, nervous, and unsure of herself, a woman who just needed to be seen and valued for the person she is, not the person she thought everyone wanted her to be.
The woman now standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring at me with a co me hither look on her face, is full of fire and passion, with a straight spine and confidence to boot.
“Do you have the directions?” I ask.
“I doubt I’ll manage to get lost.” She grabs her purse and slips out the front door.
As we walk hand in hand, it slowly dawns on me that we’re not leaving the property.
A few twists and turns later we approach the main winery building.
Solar flowers line the sidewalk, illuminating the beautiful rose bushes butted up against the bay window.
While Winnie’s wedding might be Christmas focused, the rest of the winery is decorated for fall.
Pumpkins in varying shades of cream and orange are stacked in the doorway with beautiful red and yellow flower bouquets surrounding the hostess stand, and soft instrumental music plays, echoing against the vaulted wooden ceilings.
I’m in awe at the wine barrels lining the wall, stacked five high beneath a curtain of twinkling lights.
“Where is everyone?” I follow her past empty tables covered in blue linens with glass vases filled with corks. Every part of this winery is elegant yet rustic, inviting to all types of people.
“Kieran closed the winery early so any last-minute things for the wedding could be handled without disturbing any guests.” The hostess leads us to a candlelit table overlooking the terrace and vineyards. “Plus, I asked him if we could have a private dinner tonight.”
I pull out Rosay’s chair for her, taking the moment to kiss her softly on the lips and drape her napkin across her lap. Her brown eyes glitter in the light as she smiles at me, and I rub my hand against the fluttering in my chest as I sit.
“I figured we could have a nice dinner then I could give you a tour of the place.”
A sommeli er stops by the table and pours us a flight of wine Rosay pre-selected.
We consider the menu for a few moments, but all I can focus on is how Rosay keeps sliding her bare foot up and down my pant leg.
I glance over the menu at her, and as much as she’s pretending to be concentrated on her meal selection, I can see the hint of a smile on her face.
“What are you getting?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I can guess. Most of the options are pretty standard for a winery slash restaurant—grilled salmon and lemon chicken piccata—but one dish stands out from the rest. “I think I might try the Bacalao al Pil Pil.”
Rosay traps her bottom lip between her teeth, covering a smile. “I’m going to order the chimichurri lamb chops.”
We place our orders with the server, and Rosay launches into the story about how her parents decided to start a vineyard.
Her abuelo worked on one back in La Rioja, a city in Spain known for its wine production.
After becoming the head viticulturist, the owner gifted him a set of grape vines that later became the Esme line that her mother brought over when she married Reign and moved to the States.
“Did you enjoy living with your grandparents?” I ask, trying to give myself enough time to formulate the words I’ve been holding inside.
She spins the stem of her glass, ruminating on her words. “I did. They showed me how hard work and a strong sense of self can help you achieve any goal you set. They were almost eighty years old by the time they finally retired.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.”
She raises her hand like Vanna White and says, “All this wouldn’t be here without my grandparents’ tenacity and my parents’ business savvy.”
There’s a permanent smile on her face as she speaks about her family in Spain, and it makes me happy to know that she has good memories of her grand parents.
I wish I could relate to the joy she feels.
My dad’s parents died when I was young, and my mother was estranged from her family long before she ever met my dad.
“Do you keep in touch with any of your family from Spain?” I ask.
She nods. “I occasionally talk with my cousin Manuela, though she lives in Italy now. We got into a good bit of chaos when I lived there, but I eventually had to get back to reality and deal with everything back home.”
Her shoulders fall, and she clamps down on her lips as if to stop speaking.
With a mom who abandoned us, Dad taught me the value of having tough conversations rather than letting time fester.
I wish I could say that I kept that mindset into adulthood, but there were so many things I let slide between me and Bethany that could have been tackled with a simple conversation.
I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.
I want to know everything about Rosay so I can learn how best to love her, how best to communicate with her, so that when I tell her this is a forever thing for me, she won’t doubt my words.
“How was coming back home?”
She takes a long gulp of wine, and I watch her throat roll with the swallow.
“It was…difficult.” I give her space to find her words.
“So much had changed when I came back. Where there used to be just three of us, there were now six people, and none of them were my mom. She passed during those years where you’re finding yourself, and I was just…
lost. I didn’t hate Wendy or my siblings, but it didn’t feel like home anymore.
Or, it didn’t feel like there was space for me.
I was the one who couldn’t handle all the changes and refused to go to therapy, then I overheard my dad and Wendy talking about sending me to live with my abuela and I flipped out, said and did some stuff I wasn’t proud of. ”
“That ’s understandable,” I say. “That’s a lot for anyone to handle, especially a teenager.”
“Once I got to Spain, I realized Dad sent me there because my abuela needed me as much as I needed her. I never knew she and my mom talked every day while I was in school, or that my mom sent her all of my honor roll certificates and report cards. Abuela stepped in to handle what my dad and Wendy couldn’t because I needed a piece of my mom to heal, and that was my abuela. She made me into the woman I am today.”
“Tenacious, determined, persistent—”
“Stubborn,” she says.
“That, too.”
There’s a blip of easy silence between us, where I get to take in the moment for what it is.
Dinner with the woman who has quickly become everything to me.
I used to let Rosay’s candor and brazen attitude make me think I disliked her, but I’ve slowly started to realize that it’s an armor she wears to push people away before they do it to her.
“Enough about me,” she says. “What about you? Are you enjoying working for Thompson?”