12
DALLAS
The urge to flee to Chapel Falls electrified my heels.
Who cares if I caused a scandal?
The word had long lost its meaning since Daddy used it to describe everything. From the flan incident to that thing with the family Aspen trip.
Really, if he wanted me to take him seriously, he needed to be more selective in his application.
Then I remembered my sister and mother.
Icould suffer if it meant they didn’t.
Nestled in a luxurious four-poster bed, I tossed and turned for hours until my once-fluffy duvet pancaked beneath me.
Alone, in a room that smelled different and looked different and felt different, a breakdown should’ve been inevitable.
But I never cried.
According to Momma, I’d left her womb without a single tear, not even when the nurse pinched me.
I missed Frankie, and Momma, and—pathetically—even my poor excuse for a father. So much so that my lungs felt as if they’d warped into a pinball machine, each breath bouncing off them with a sharp pang.
Left. Right.
Left. Right.
And still, I couldn’t cry.
The clock on the nightstand read half past noon.
I’d been in bed since Romeo left me on his doorstep and I stormed straight to the second floor, choosing the room furthest from the master.
I couldn’t even bear sharing a zip code with him, but this would have to do.
Eyes pinched shut, I counted sheep.
When that didn’t work, I counted the ways I’d make Romeo pay.
Finally, I drifted into a peaceful slumber.
Bullets poured from the jaw of a machine gun, rattling the air.
Boom.
Boom, boom.
Breath baited, I waited for one to reach its intended destination. The withered heart of the beast who had captured me.
Boom.
Boom, boom.
My eyes shot open, sweat slicking my temples. White stars cartwheeled across my vision.
The clock on the nightstand read half past noon. Seconds passed before I realized I’d slept through an entire day.
I glowered at the door as if it would reveal the culprit that had awakened me before the best part of my dream.
Another knock shook its frame.
Hazy afternoon light trickled through the burgundy curtains of my new room, warming my skin.
“Come in.” I pulled the blanket to my chin.
A weathered man in muddy clothes waddled inside. Dirt streaked his cheek, a shock of white hair sprouting from his scalp in every direction.
He wore the easy, genuine smile of someone who harbored no ulterior motives.
“Hello, my dear. I’m Vernon.” He stopped by the foot of my bed. “Don’t be afraid. I have a grandchild about your age. I couldn’t bear thinking she feared me.”
I hiked the cover further up. “Why’re you here?”
“I’m Mr. Costa’s groundskeeper.” He eyed me with unabashed interest. “Thought I’d introduce myself, since our paths will cross. There’s dinner in the kitchen. Hettie prepares three meals a day. Snacks, too.”
“Thank you.”
Vernon still didn’t move.
I still didn’t show my face.
Surely, he’d realized something was amiss. That I wasn’t here of my own free will.
“Romeo is misunderstood, but quite the phenomenal man.” He bit his lip. “A beautiful, complicated soul. Once he opens up.”
“I have no intention of opening him up.”
Unless he meant carving him with a steak knife.
Vernon hesitated.
Finally, he produced a plain white rose from his back pocket, setting it on my nightstand. Dirt caked his fingernails, too. I found this small detail oddly reassuring.
“Do you know Venus et Fleur?”
I nodded. “It’s a type of rose that lasts a year.”
Momma loved them. Every holiday, she’d gift them to neighbors, family, and friends.
Vernon’s face lit up. “A rose can live up to thirty-five years with the right care and weather condition. Do you ever think how sad it is that most don’t last through the winter?”
I shook my head.
I’m more worried I won’t last through fall.
Sensing he’d lost my attention, Vernon cleared his throat. “I dabble in cross-breeding flowers. I managed to combine two rose species to create something pretty remarkable.”
I sat upright, plastering my back against the headboard. “Remarkable how?”
Poison?
The appeal of delivering slow, cadaverous revenge should have terrified me. I wasn’t normally this violent.
For Romeo, I’d make an exception.
“There she is.” A relieved smile spread across Vernon’s face. I had a feeling he wouldn’t be so happy if he had a direct line to my thoughts. “This rose can live for six months without an ounce of sunshine or warmth. Maybe even more. The perfect amount of time to fall in love.”
My excitement blew out of me, slumping my shoulders and clouding my face. “No one is falling in love in this place.”
“Just because you don’t plan on it doesn’t mean it won’t happen.” Vernon bowed his head. “Take my rose as an example. It can survive the roughest conditions and still flourish. Maybe you can, too.”
I held my tongue back.
No point in lashing out at the poor man.
Vernon stepped back without turning away. “Well, if Mr. Costa gives you trouble, you know where to find me. Take care of that rose for me, will you?”
When he left, I kicked the blanket off and snatched the rose, willing to snap it in half.
Fall in love, my butt.
I’d be lucky not to fall into depression.
It was only when my fingers wrapped around its delicate spine that I realized I wasn’t Romeo, who’d crushed a flower beneath his heel in the rose garden.
I didn’t want to kill something beautiful just because I could.
And the rose really was pretty. White as snow with sickle-shaped pricks adorning it.
“It’s not your fault.” I sighed, talking to the flower. “You’re right.”
With a frustrated groan, I tromped into the en suite bathroom, collected a Q-Tip container, and filled it with fresh water.
I stuck the rose in it, placing it on my nightstand.
The rose could live.
Even if my life had ended.