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“The woman died of a drug overdose. She did one good thing; she never married the devil. One day, I got a chance and sneaked into his office, where there was the only phone in the house, and I called the police. They sent us to a boys’ home, and the rest is history.”
I’m relieved that it’s finally over.
“The devil?”
“Died.”
“The woman’s name was Rose.” It’s not a question but a statement. I’m relieved that Marr didn’t refer to her with the M word. She looks at me with so much agony—it’s not pity but grief in her eyes. If there’s someone who can understand my suffering, it’s her.
Several minutes pass by without a word. We let everything sink in, every fucking fucked-up thing. I hate to see the remorse on her face. I tell her more, not wanting her to think that I have no happy memory of her name.
“Before all hell broke loose, there were some happy moments in my childhood. My father made the most beautiful garden in the country. There were… roses”—I shiver saying the dreaded word—“of every kind, every color. He became so popular that we had press at our doorstep to cover the story of the amazing roses that bloomed all year round. It was a magical place, my home.”
I reminisce about those few happy days. I don’t do that often, as Zach and Zane have wiped out any memory of our life before Beast. I would also love to do the same, if I didn’t have these few moments with my father holding me back.
“The entire neighborhood smelled of roses. On Valentine’s Day, people would stop by and my father would sell one rose for one love story.” I smile. “He was a sucker for love stories. I asked him once why he didn’t sell the flowers for money, at least on Valentine’s Day. He said, ‘You can buy anything but love in this world. Remember that, my boy. When those people share their stories, they share their love, their heart, with us. No money can compare to it.’”
I remember my father’s words. How he nipped every rose carefully and tied a ribbon around it, listening to his customers with great attention. “My father even taught me how to plant hybrid roses.”
“I’m so sorry, Zander. I’m so sorry for everything you and your brothers faced. I’m… so sorry for making this much harder for you than it already is,” she says, pulling me into her soft arms.
“No, Marr. You make everything beautiful. You make this hell of a life worth living. As paradoxical as it may sound, you replace those old, dark memories with newer, brighter ones. You make everything endurable. You—”
“I love you.” Her admission stops me mid-sentence.
I wrench her away from my chest and peer into her eyes. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Zander,” she says without hesitation. “There are so few things I am certain about in this life and falling in love with you is one of them. I’m not expecting anything in return; I know I’m not an easy person—”
I don’t let her finish whatever silly reasoning she’s concocted in her brain and ravish her lips. “I love you, Marr. So much.” I seize her lips again.
My mind becomes unfettered, and I bathe in the euphoria of passion. My hands get lost in her hair as I rub her silky strands between my fingers. I grab the back of her neck and tilt her head so that my intruding tongue has better access to her sweet mouth. She mewls against my lips as my hands descend to her shoulders and lower. I hate the feeling of the bathrobe. I want her naked. While my lips continue seducing her, I pull on her belt. Breaking our contact, I look down at the most exquisite body.
Last night, I got a glimpse of her under the low light of the laptop screen. But today in my arms, I savor her beauty. She’s wearing a sea blue lace bra with a small white bow in the middle. It’s swanky yet modest. It covers most of the swell of her breasts, showing only her cleavage—a perfect tease. I chuckle.
“What?” She looks at me, puzzled.
“You are an anomaly, Marr. What is this, some Victoria Secret’s piece?” I ask, tugging on the small bow.
“Actually, it is,” she says, feigning pride beneath her blushing self.
“Then let’s take a look at the complete set.” I take a chance and glide my hands over her soft naked stomach. But when she doesn’t protest, I continue.
Holding her gaze, I tug on the elastic of her underwear, and when it hits her stomach, she gasps. Consumed by the need to see her, all of her, I carry her in my arms. After throwing the bathrobe on the couch, I place her on the middle of the bed.
Fucking hell!
A similar bow sits in the middle of the waistband of her panties. I place one knee on the bed. Hovering over her, I take in the beauty of her smooth skin shining under the glow of soft light. Her damp hair spreads out on the pillow, and her hands rest awkwardly, as if she doesn’t know what to do with them. She blushes so deep that her neck and ears turn scarlet. Her legs are tightly closed, highlighting the sexy V of her sex.
“Zander.” She rolls on her back in embarrassment, but it makes my view fucking better.
My eyes scan her toned legs and her partly covered soft butt cheeks. As I progress further up, I halt at the sight of scars marring her back. That night in the hotel room, I just had a glimpse, but now I see them clearly. Deep marks on her entire back. I bend down and kiss the one closest to her waist.
“Crab!” She turns around fast, looking shocked. “I’m… sorry.”
“What is it?” I crouch, bringing my face closer to hers.
“Nothing. For a moment… I forgot,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not a sight you want to see.”
