I let out a huff of laughter at that. She’d never called me by my last name before.
“I missed you,” I said.
She blinked at me. “Youmissedme? You fuckingmissed me,so you decided to stalk me? Do you even fucking hear yourself right now?—”
“Hey, wait,” I said, frowning. “Why do you think I’m your stalker?”
She gestured around. “Well, you did break into my hotel room, knock out Ryder, bust down the doors, fight me, drug me, and bring me to your fucking holding cell!”
I scoffed. “Rosebud, please. This place is immaculate. Did you see it has an automatic bubble bath dispenser at the tub?—”
She grabbed a throw pillow and caught me hard in the face with it.
“Asshole! Fucking asshole! Let me go!”
“I’m not your stalker!” I shouted over her angry curses. “Rosalie. I’m not. I took you to prove how easy it was to get to you. I wanted everyone to see you weren’t safe!”
Her chest heaved as she glared at me. “So your little science experiment worked. Great. Why the hell am I still here then?”
“I-I’m trying to protect you.”
She widened her eyes at me. “By-byCole-napping me?” She let out an incredulous snort. “You’re insane. You know that? They told me you got crazier. They were right.”
“Who the hell told you that? They’re lying?—”
“Cole, look around you! You fuckingkidnapped me! You’re literally holding me hostage! You don’t think that’s crazy? Not even a little bit?”
“I may have overreacted,” I said delicately, “But I had good intentions. A-And I even tried to fix your cuts.” I winced. I’d bandaged and stitched the ones that needed it. I was confident she wouldn’t scar because I was a bit of a pro at it.
OK. So maybe I did sound crazy. I hadn’t anticipated her fighting me and busting through a glass door, though.
She shook her head. “Let me go home.”
“No,” I said softly. “I want to talk to you.”
“I’m not a fucking stray cat, Cole. I’m a real person. I have a career. A family?—”
“You have fucking Anson,” I snapped at her, my heart aching. “You married that prick.”
“Oh, that reminds me. Give me back my rings!” She plowed on, ignoring my words.
“No.” I shook my head. “Not happening.”
“Cole—”
“No,” I repeated. “I’m not giving them back. In fact, you’re getting a divorce.”
She laughed wildly at me. I watched as she held her stomach, her laugh so loud and genuine that one would think I’d told a joke of the year.
“I am not divorcing my husband. Get real.”
“You are.” I pulled the divorce papers from my hoodie pocket. “Here. Sign these.”
“I would sooner shit in my hands and clap than sign those,” she snarled at me.
“Jesus, Rosalie. What the fuck?”
“Try me, Scott,” she challenged. “I am. Not. Signing. Them.”
