Page 11 of Roses are Royal

“The basement,” I say with a smirk. I get some satisfaction knowing the thoughts in her brain that must be swirling with my vague response. And even more satisfaction that she might be thinking about me sleeping.

“Oh.”

Have I finally stunned this woman into silence? That would be quite a feat, considering she seems to constantly offer a stream of thoughts without fully processing them first.

“I didn’t realize you had a basement. I mean, I saw it on the building plans and final blueprints for the permits, but you didn’t cover it during our walkthrough, so I figured it was left unfinished. Can I see it? Will I need to provide furnishings for that area as well? Where is the door to the basement? I don’t have it marked on my updated layout. Luca didn’t know much about it either. Not that I asked Luca about it.” Her eyes widen slightly, knowing she is oversharing but can’t seem to stop. “He just mentioned it and that you did the majority of the work for it. Not that we talked about you. I only asked how you were to work with because you can be a bit intimidating. Not that I’m intimidated by you. I’m shutting up now.”

Her words come faster with every realization she shares, as if she can erase them by adding more. That’s my little flower, letting me hear all of her internal thoughts she can’t seem to keep in her head. Interesting to know that she and Luca spoke about me. I had thought they would have spent their time catching up, but instead, she asked about me. I smile with that final thought.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I’m only interested for purely professional reasons.”

“Hmm.” The sound I make conveys my skepticism but also my willingness to let go of her admission.

“Well, I think that is everything I needed to cover for today. I’ll send over the final timelines for your review and approval.” Rose slowly backs out of the kitchen and inches toward the entryway as I remain standing in the spot behind the stool she just occupied. “Thank you again for trusting me with this project. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

“See you later, Rose.” I plan on seeing her sooner than she thinks. With that dismissal, she turns and leaves through the front door, gently closing it behind her. With her absence, I feel the sense of quiet and calm that I used to crave for myself but am starting to doubt is what I actually need or want anymore.

Instead of addressing those thoughts any further tonight, I decide it’s best to monitor Rose and ensure she makes it back to her room. This town is seemingly safe, but you can never be too cautious.

Settling into my office chair in front of my monitors, I press the space bar on my keyboard once to light up the screens and input my encryption key and passcode. I’m tempted to immediately pull up the feed from Rose’s vehicle, but I want to give her some privacy, so I settle for tracking her progress on GPS. In less than fifteen minutes, she is back at the motel near town, and I can see her phone moving toward her room. I tell myself I will only check the cameras I put in her room to ensure she makes it in safely and locks the door behind her, but my skin starts to crawl when I don’t have eyes on her for an extended period. And apparently that time period has now shrunk to under fifteen minutes. I feel pathetic as I pull up the appropriate surveillance feeds, shaking my head at how whipped I am for this woman, when the image of her typically brings a smile to my face. The scene on my screen in front of me drains all the blood from my body and replaces it with ice. I’m reaching for my phone and dialing Rose’s number before I can even blink.

The first time the call goes to voicemail, I grab my keys and head up the stairs to my car, calling her phone again with no response. “Rose, now is not the time to ignore me!” I yell into the surrounding forest, not out of anger but another emotion: fear.

14

ROSE

Can I not go one moment in Dante’s presence without making a fool of myself? Apparently not. I have spent two days with him and have put my foot in my mouth more times than I have with any other client.

Now I need to figure out where to ship all my deliveries and come to terms with having to spend more nights in this godforsaken motel room. Maybe I could work from the diner until they close so I can prolong returning to my musty, dimly lit motel room that smells of cigarettes and old fast food.

I’d better go talk to the motel manager first about extending my stay, and then I can head to the diner for a late dinner and get some of the smaller orders placed that can be delivered to the local post office.

When I pull into the empty parking lot in front of my room, I immediately notice the door to my room is open. I quickly look around to see if there is a cleaning cart or maid in sight to explain why the door to my room would be open, but no one is around. There’s not even another vehicle parked in the small lot. Should I get the manager and have him take a look, or should I just go in by myself? Did I maybe leave it unlocked when I left this morning, and the wind or something caused the door to swing open? I definitely wasn’t in the right headspace, so it’s possible but unlikely.

I grew up in New York City, and one thing you never do is leave your door open, let alone unlocked. I can do this—just push the door all the way open and take a quick look inside. You got this. Okay, not my brightest idea, but I’d rather not have to drag the manager into this if I just left it unlocked. Maybe I should call Dante? No. Why would I even think that? He’s my client, and I don’t need him to come save me. It’s probably nothing anyway.

Walking up to the door to get a better look, it’s obvious someone forced their way into my room based on the cracked doorframe and the handle hanging off the door. What do they think I have in there? We are in the middle of BFE at the shittiest motel in history! Stay calm, Ro. You need to go in there and take pictures so you can call the police to file a report just in case something was stolen. Luckily, I only kept some clothes and toiletries in the room while I was gone, and I have all my electronics and design gear in my car.

As I push the door fully open, my eyes scan over the small room, taking in the destruction. There is no other way to describe what I’m looking at. The sheets have been ripped from the bed and scattered all over the floor. The mattress looks like someone had a personal vendetta against it because it has several long gashes all the way through to the springs, which I’m guessing were made by some kind of knife. Every drawer from the small dresser has been removed, and the clothes I did have stored in them have been torn to shreds and left on the stained carpet.

It’s like a train wreck you can’t look away from. That has to be the only reason I continue to walk across the room like I’m in a trance to the bathroom instead of running outside and immediately calling the police. The bathroom is small enough that I can quickly take in the entire scene in front of me. All my makeup and toiletries have been smashed and tossed on the ground. The mirror has a splintered indent in the middle that looks suspiciously like a fist slammed into it, and two words are written on the mirror in my favorite red lipstick: “Hello, Princess.”

Now that gets my feet moving. This was clearly intended to send some kind of message, and they just got the wrong room. Running out of the room, I make my way to the front desk and crash through the door. The manager looks up with annoyance at my abrupt entrance, but I don’t care.

“We need to call the police! Someone broke into my room!” I shout, out of breath from running and the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The manager just simply quirks a brow at me like I’m crazy. Is this dude high? How is that his response to what I just said? Does he not notice my clear distress?

“Are you sure you didn’t leave your door open?”

Is this psycho for real?

“Can you at least come and see what they did? I can’t stay in there tonight!”

“Fine. But if there is any damage to the room, you’re responsible for it.”

“You can’t be serious! My belongings have been violated, and I’m telling you someone broke into my room and that’s all you have to say?”

“I don't know what kind of people you associate with, and the agreement you signed for the room states you are responsible for all damages.”