Page 39 of Roses are Royal

I could listen to him read the phone book with how sultry his voice gets at night. The dim mood lighting and the two glasses of whiskey definitely don’t hurt either. Damn, I really nailed this sitting room. It’s exactly the vibe I had envisioned for my own sitting room once upon a time, down to the record collection. But sitting here with Dante makes me want to know about him and maybe even open up a little more about myself. I noticed he said “his daughter” and didn’t refer to the woman who was killed as his sister. Maybe they only share a dad and weren’t that close?

“Dante, I am so sorry to hear about your dad. I can’t imagine the stress you are under. And the pain of unresolved loss must be excruciating.”

“Technically, Angelo isn’t my father by blood, but I do consider him the only family I recognize. I only met his daughter a few times when I was very young before she passed, but she essentially saved my life.”

“What do you mean?” I don’t know if I’m referring to Angelo not being his father or this woman saving his life somehow. The layers to this man are unending.

“Since it’s getting late, I will try to make a long story short. I didn’t have the best home life as a child growing up in the city, so I spent most of my time, when I wasn’t in school, outside in our neighborhood. It wasn’t the safest area, and one day, I saw something I shouldn’t have, and typically, that was a death sentence in my neighborhood. Luckily, Angelo’s daughter was there to intervene. I remember her being so warm and kind to me, so I went with her, and she brought me to her father, Angelo. And I guess you could say the rest is history.”

“Wow, I wish I had someone like Angelo in my life growing up. My childhood might’ve turned out very differently. What was his daughter’s name?”

“Liliana. She went by Lily.”

“Beautiful,” is the only response I can manage after hearing Dante’s story.

“Yes,” Dante says in response while looking directly into my eyes, and for some reason, I don’t think he’s referring to Lily’s name.

46

DANTE

Carrying Rose upstairs to the guest bedroom after bearing my secret wounds to her is the only thing keeping me sane and reminds me why I am here. To protect her, even if it’s from me.

She didn’t even stir when I scooped her off the velvet sofa after she fell asleep as we listened to another record after I told her about my childhood. Whether it was from her long day or the whiskey, I am thankful to have this uninterrupted moment to study her face so close up. Her delicate features soften with sleep, and I can almost imagine being greeted by this version of Rose every morning in bed.

Before I can carefully set her down in bed and excuse myself from her room, she lets out a small sigh and her hand that was lightly resting against my chest slowly makes a small fist like she is holding on to me. If only that were the case.

Instead of doing something epically stupid like lying down in bed with her and holding her all night, I gently place her sleeping body on the bed and uncurl her fingers from my shirt. She stirs briefly before rolling over and pressing her face into her pillow. I stand there like a statue watching her until her breathing deepens and I can tell she won’t wake, and then I back out of the room, keeping my eyes trained on her the entire time until I can no longer see her as I close the door with a soft click, locking it behind me.

47

ROSE

God, what is that incessant buzzing? And why does it feel like it’s coming from inside my skull? As I slowly peel my eyes open and look around through squinted eyes, I can see I am in Dante’s guest room, but I definitely don’t remember coming up here last night.

The last thing I remember was listening to another classical album that Dante selected after he told me about his childhood and then…nothing. Why is my head still buzzing? Oh shit, my alarm! What time is it? Rolling over, I grab my phone off the bedside table. Thankfully, I must’ve had the foresight to plug it in last night before going to sleep because it’s fully charged, but it’s not my alarm. It’s a phone call from an unknown number. I am too hungover for that right now, so hopefully they just leave a message.

Now that I’ve declined the call, I am greeted with the time: ten o’clock a…m… How did I oversleep? I always set several alarms because I am not a morning person, but when I open my alarm app, it shows all three alarms I have set have been turned off. Did drunk Ro try to help morning Ro, and I just don’t remember? Just like I don’t remember coming upstairs from the sitting room? I wish Dante had cameras or something so I could see what I did without having to ask Dante, which I will not be doing. I seem to always make a fool of myself when I’m around him.

Luckily, I don’t have any deliveries today, but I did want to get a jump on putting together a recap for this project to provide to Dante at the end of the contract. Ideally, he will approve several of the photos I’ve taken and allow me to use them in my portfolio to pitch future clients. Speaking of future clients, I need to respond to the inquiries I’ve recently received and see if I can set up my next project. This one will be coming to an end in a few weeks, and it would be nice to roll into something as quickly as possible. Maybe I can see if Luca has any clients looking for a designer. Or maybe not. I don’t know if I want to cross that bridge just yet because that would be fully welcoming him back into my circle, and we still have things to clear up before I can totally put my guard back down between us. First things first, though—a hot shower and food, oh, and caffeine, lots and lots of caffeine.

Making my way downstairs and into the kitchen to make myself a to-go coffee in my travel mug, I snag my gaze on a folded piece of paper on the kitchen island, identical to the one Dante left for me yesterday morning. Was that only yesterday morning? It feels like I’ve lived a different life since then. As I get closer, I can see my name printed on the outside of the folded paper in Dante’s neat handwriting. Without hesitation, I pick it up and unfold the paper to read what it says inside.

Rose,

I will be out of the house again today but would like to cook you dinner this evening. Please let me know if you will be available and if you have any requests. I will pick up ingredients while I’m out.

Yours, Dante

Yours, Dante? Mine? Wait, is that how he signed his first note, or am I tripping? There is no way I wouldn’t have caught that on his first note. Maybe that’s just how he signs off? I’m sure I’m just reading into it since my brain is still foggy from the whiskey last night. Shaking off my minor panic, I decide that if he wants to cook me dinner, then who am I to decline? His cooking is delicious, and it would be nice to spend more time with him to see if last night’s version of Dante was a fluke or not. Before I can second-guess myself, I pull my phone out of my purse and pull up Dante’s contact information. I am not in the headspace for a phone call, so I click the message icon to start a new text thread with him.

Me: 11:03 a.m.

Hey Dante, I got your note. Dinner tonight sounds great. No specific requests. Let me know if I can pick up anything for tonight. I will be out today as well. Does 7 p.m. work?

Dante (client): 11:04 a.m.

7 p.m. works.