Disarranged, Page 2

  Her foot inches up my leg, presses against my inner thigh, and rests on my crotch. Between the dress pants and her rubbing, I’m involuntarily hard in seconds. Even if I hate her, we were together for a while. She knows exactly which buttons to push to turn me on, and it sickens me. My reactions to her come-ons sicken me. I try to control it – push out the image of her face leering across the table. Any other man would die to be in this position; she’s had the male attention of the entire restaurant the moment we walked in. But I know who she really is. I know the heartless child under her perfect façade of tanned, rich-girl brand names. She doesn’t want a relationship, or a boyfriend. She wants a toy. And I’m just the toy she’s figured out how to play with for a long time without breaking it.

  I’ll never break. Not as long as I’m protecting someone.

  Kiera’s foot moves faster, in circles, and I clutch my fork with white knuckles and clench my thighs together to stop her movements.

  “Cut it out.”

  She smiles. “I want to see you lose it, Lee. Right here, right now. And if you ask me to stop again, I know a girl who could use a mystery stalker harassing her. I have so many willing criminals my father got out of jail, which one would be best for her, do you think? There’s a very sweet suspected rapist who got out recently. Ex-military. I think he’d be wonderful.”

  I slam my fist on the table. It makes the people around us look. Kiera only smiles wider. Everything in me burns to lurch across the table and shake her. She wouldn’t dare. But the glint in her eyes says she would. She would definitely dare to do that to Rose if it made me squirm, if it punished me. And it would punish me like no hellfire ever could. Slowly, guiltily, I unclench my thighs.

  “That’s a good boy.”

  I want to sneer at her, to keep my face blank and rob her of the pleasure of seeing me ashamed. I focus on the space over her shoulder, to where people go in and out of the restaurant. Focus. Don’t let her win. Don’t show any emotion.

  In the restaurant doorway, I see something that punches the air out of me.

  Dirty blonde hair. A slender, tall frame, a gentle face with long-lashed eyes and a happy smile on her face. She’s smiling. Suddenly everything in me warms, the bitter ice of Kiera’s ministrations fading. Her smile melts my façade so easily, but panic quickly rises in my chest.

  Rose is here.

  It’s simultaneously the thing I dreaded and the thing I burned for.

  She’s here, in the same room as me. It’s been months. The sweater she’s wearing hugs her chest and her jeans cling to every curve, every curve I memorized, every curve I try to remember in my dreams, every curve I try to replace Kiera’s with when she’s under me, writhing.

  I keep a straight face as Kiera’s rubbing grows faster. But my eyes are locked on Rose. Rose’s hair. Rose’s eyes. The way she smiles as she looks up at the chandelier, enchanted.

  Rose.

  I pretend it’s Rose, and give in to the pleasure.

  ***

  ROSE

  ***

  The clinking of the restaurant’s silverware and glasses grows louder as I round the corner. The smell of lamb and vegetable stew tantalizes my nose. The low, constant murmur of French is becoming a soothing sort of lullaby, and makes walking around really nice. No one stares, or even glances my way twice. I might as well not exist, and that’s exactly what I need right now – peace and quiet and not-existing.

  My nap was refreshing, and cleared nearly all the dark clouds of sadness out of my head. My stomach growls and my nose leads me to the restaurant, Jacques. It’s all fancy tables and tiny candles flickering on top of flawless white tablecloths. The people dining look more like movie stars than casual tourists – all dolled up. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, dripping with crystal teardrops that reflect the bright golden light. I feel a smile crack my face. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  The hostess at the podium gives a small ‘ahem’, and I quickly realize I must look like an idiot, gaping up at the ceiling. I close my mouth and flush a bright red.

  “Um. Hi. B-Bonjour.”

  “Good evening, miss,” The host’s English is perfect, with a rich French accent. “How may I help you?”

  “I have a reservation? Under, um, Grace. Grace Montenegro.”

  She looks down the list and flashes a smile at me. “Right this way.”

  She leads me past tables and to a booth in the very back. I thank her and order a root beer, and she leaves me with the menus. Grace said she’d be back in time for dinner, but I still look kind of pathetic at this booth, alone. Not that I mind. It gives me a few minutes to compose myself, to dredge up topics to discuss with Grace. When I flip open the menu my eyes nearly bug out – everything is so expensive. I close it quickly and sip my water. Maybe I’ll just have a drink for dinner, instead. Or bread. That sounds much better than a forty dollar steak. I’m still a student – every little expensive thing I see I calculate into my student loans, even if they are mostly paid thanks to Grandpa’s will.

  I smile and stir my ice. Grandpa would’ve liked it here.

  Over the heads of the dining crowd, I see a familiar face. She looks at me for a moment, all bright blonde hair and sparkling eyes. She smiles. And that's when everything in my stomach revolts. I'm not hungry at all anymore. The root beer the waitress brings looks like sludge and tastes like ash. She asks if I'm ready to order but all I can manage is a dry, hoarse 'in a while'. The waitress nods and leaves me to crumble.

  Kiera is here.

  She looks as beautiful as ever - maybe even more so. The cruel glint in her eye as she looks my way again doesn't make her any less pretty. I want to throw up but there's nothing to throw up into. I breathe slow, deep, the memories of last Christmas burning hot against the back of my eyelids. I can't go there. I'm better, now. This is a vacation.

  Kiera gets up to use the restroom. I watch her go out of the corner of my eye.

  My nausea gets even worse when I see who's sitting across from her.

  A young man in a fitting, expensive-looking suit, with amber skin and hazel irises stares at me. His hair is as messy as ever. My heart contorts when I see the shadows under his eyes and the faint frown lines around his mouth.

  Lee.

  He's tired. He's tired and worried and skinnier than I've ever seen him. And he's staring at me like he's seen a ghost.

  My brain screams at me to play it cool, to remember he's engaged to a beautiful girl he obviously loves a lot. My heart cries out to run to him, to wrap my arms around him and never let go again. My two conflicting sides wrestle for mere seconds before reaching a tortured compromise - I raise my hand and wave. I even manage to put on a semi-convincing smile. Or at least I hope it's convincing. I can't tell, because all Lee does is nod, stiffly, back at me. The balloon of conflicted joy in my chest nearly punctures with that one movement. He didn't even smile. His eyes flickered for one moment, but I could've just been imagining it.

  He doesn't care about me, anymore.

  I tighten my grip on my root beer, the coldness seeping into my palm almost painfully. I should've expected this. It's okay. It's natural. He's engaged. You don't get engaged to someone when you care about someone else. Your feelings for everyone else cool in comparison to your feelings for your fiancé. Maybe he does still care about me, but it's muted, now. And that's fine. That's how it should be!

  I keep saying it's fine in my head, but every time I try to reassure myself I just feel more and more like throwing up.

  I grip the straw with shaking fingers and sip. I glance at the menu, pretending to be interested in what I want to eat. I can feel Lee's eyes on me, like two lasers piercing through my layers of clothes and down to my very skin. We haven't seen each other in months. That gap in time looms before us - a huge wall I have no right to climb, and one he obviously wants to stay behind.

  The waitress comes back, and I offhandedly order a salad. Nothing solid. If I eat anything too solid it'll just be harder to
throw back up, and I feel like I'm going to throw up any second. I won't risk it. Lee stares at me the whole time I'm ordering, and finally I muster up the courage to look at him again. His expression has changed. It's soft, now, the corners of his eyes turned down and his mouth open just a little, like he's about to say something -

  "Fancy seeing you here, Rose!"

  Kiera's voice booms, and I look up. She slides into the seat opposite me in the booth and smiles. I don't smile back. Part of me, the polite part, says I should. The part of me that still cares about Lee says I definitely should - she's the one he picked to marry. She'll be Lee's wife this coming fall. But the part of me that was back-stabbed, double-crossed, and played by her knows better. So I settle for smiling with my mouth, but not my eyes, just to let her know I mean business.

  "Hi. What are you doing here?"

  "Lee and I are on vacation," she says, twirling an extra napkin in her manicured fingers. "You?"

  'Lee and I'. The words hit hard, and close to home, but I suck it up and smile brighter.

  "I'm here with Grace for vacation. You know her, right? Lee's sister."

  "Of course!" Kiera laughs. "Of course I know her. Model girl. Really gorgeous."

  "Ooh, are we talking about me? That's my favorite subject," Grace's voice reverberates. She walks over, her makeup photoshoot-flawless and her jacket still dusted with snow. She takes it off to reveal a slim red dress, and sits beside me. Kiera's eyes narrow.

  "We were talking about you!" Kiera's smile looks forced, but her voice is perfectly natural. She's still the best actress I've ever met. "I had no idea you'd be here, Grace, or I'd have invited you to dinner with Lee and I. I should get to know my future sister-in-law, after all."

  Grace laughs, but nothing about the sound is pleasant. It's bitter, rough around the edges.

  "I'm sure you're very excited to get to know a sister-in-law who hates you."

  Kiera freezes touching a spoon. Grace just smiles wider. Lee is watching us intently, his eyes riveted to me.

  "That's right. You heard me. Get out of here, and never speak to me again."

  Kiera flinches, glares at me, and then composes herself all in one expert instant.

  "Let me know if you change your mind. I think you'll find me better company than that thing."

  Kiera sneers in my direction. I almost shrink back, but Grace's courage and the months I spent healing strengthen me. Lee's watching, too. I can't afford to look weak. All thoughts of being nice to Kiera just because he chose her fly out the window as I frown.

  "Grace and I are friends," I say. "And we're having dinner together right now. So you need to leave."

  Kiera curls her lip and stands. "I had no idea you were capable of growing a backbone."

  "I had no idea you were capable of looking so ugly," I fire back.

  Grace makes a giggle-snort beside me. Kiera goes red down to her roots, grabs her purse and storms back to Lee's table. She snaps something at him, and marches out of the restaurant. Grace gives me a light victory punch on the shoulder, and I smile. The breath I'd been holding in around Kiera puffs out of me. I feel so much lighter. But then I meet Lee's eyes again, and the weight descends heavier than ever. But his gaze has changed. Where it once was stony it's now warm, the deep, joyous twinkle I remember so fondly lighting his eyes from within even as Kiera fumes at him, snaps something I can't hear to him, and stomps out of the restaurant. There's a tense sort of quiet as Lee and I look at each other. Finally, Grace stands and walks over to his table, pulling him up by the arm and leading him to ours. With every step they get closer, and the sound of my beating heart in my ears gets louder.

  Grace sits him next to me, and sits across from us. His body heat sears into my left side, and the spicy-aftershave smell of him wafts up from his collar. He's so close. He's real and close and right next to me after months of nothingness. I clutch my napkin in my fingers and pick at it to distract myself from the ghostly friction flying between us.

  The waitress comes up and Grace orders gnocchi.

  "And you, miss?" The waitress asks me. I start in my seat and browse the menu quickly, frantically.

  "I-I'll have the asparagus alfredo."

  "One asparagus alfredo. And you, sir?"

  Lee clears his throat. "I'm fine."

  Grace pouts. "C'mon, Lee! You weren't eating anything! I saw you pushing your food around. Now that she's gone you can properly eat. So order!"

  "Just the caprese salad will be fine," he says. When the waitress is gone, Grace sits up straighter and smiles.

  "So, Lee. You didn't tell me you and your fiancé were coming here."

  "I didn't know until yesterday," he says. His voice is lower than I remember, softer.

  "Ah, a spur of the moment kind of trip, huh?"

  "How's Jen?" He changes the subject.

  "Playing some sweet LA gigs. Recording stuff. Hates your guts. Same as ever. Can't say I blame her, though."

  Grace's gaze flickers to me, and I rivet my eyes to the ice in my root beer, stirring it with the straw instead of meeting her glance.

  "You remember Rose, of course," Grace says. I tense up. Lee keeps staring straight ahead at Grace instead of looking at me.

  "It's nice to see you again," he says stiffly.

  "You too," I say as enthusiastically as I can. "You - You look well."

  "You don't."

  Grace raises an eyebrow. I feel like someone's dumped a bucket of ice into my stomach. Lee takes a sip of water, never taking his eyes off the space above Grace's head as he speaks.

  "You look thinner. Have you been eating?"

  "Y-Yes," I say. Do I really look that underfed?

  "There's dark circles under your eyes," He continues. "You've been sleeping alright?"

  "You have them too," I counter. "Yours are way bigger than mine."

  Grace smothers a laugh behind a warm bread roll. Lee still doesn't look at me, but under the table I can see his fist clench on his thigh.

  "It doesn't matter what I have," He insists. "If you aren't sleeping well -"

  "You look like a zombie!" I raise my voice. A peal of Grace's laughter escapes from behind the bread. People from other tables turn and stare. Lee's so shocked he tilts his head and looks at me, but I falter under the intensity of his gaze and glance away.

  "A-A good-looking zombie," I correct myself. "But you just don't look very happy, I think. You...you should look happier. You're getting married soon. That's supposed to be one of the happiest times in your life, right?"

  Grace's giggling drops off suddenly. Lee's other hand forms a fist on his other leg. Somehow it feels like I've said something wrong. Maybe I have. But he doesn't look happy at all, and that's hurting me more than he can ever know.

  "I'm sorry," I stammer. "It's none of my business."

  Lee opens his mouth, but just then the waitress leans in with our food. Grace digs in, and Lee shoots me a look before taking a small bite of his. My stomach rumbles, and I devour the delicious alfredo quickly. Grace looks up halfway through her gnocchi.

  "How long are you two staying here?" She asks. Lee frowns.

  "Two weeks, I think."

  "That's about how long we're staying," Grace says. "We should do something together, provided you aren't tied down by that bitch."

  Lee's eyes get dark at the word. I swallow quickly.

  "She's not really - I mean," I try to make up for Grace's lack of tact. "She's mean, but she's important to you. So she's not a bitch. Not to me, anyway."

  "She's a bitch to you most of all," Lee murmurs. My eyes widen, and Grace makes a pleased humming noise in her throat. Before I can say anything, Lee puts his fork down and stands.

  "I'll pay you back later, Grace. I have to go."

  Grace waves it off. "Don't worry about it. See you around."

  Lee nods to me, and I return his nod softly. Saying 'goodbye' would feel too formal, and saying 'see you later' would seem too casual. Words between us still feel stiff, a little rusty.
/>
  I got to see him.

  The thing I'd wanted for months now just happened. He's here, for a few weeks, and so am I. I got what I wanted. I have the perfect chance in front of me - the perfect chance to say goodbye, properly.

  And that's all I can ask for.

  But if I can help it, I want to see Lee happier. That's Kiera's territory now, not mine, but if I can bring a little of his old smile back to him, that'd be the best goodbye present for him, and for me.

  Chapter Two

  In Which Rose Jensen Can’t Breathe

  ***

  LEE

  ***

  I slam the hotel door shut and lean against it, cradling my head in my hands. Every fiber in my body screams for me to go back out there, find Rose, and pull her into me. Sitting next to her had done things to my body I'd all but forgotten about - her smell, the way her skin looked under the low candlelight. I'm lucky I got out of there without going insane. The food had helped distract me, Grace's pointed comments had helped fill me with guilt, and that was distracting too. Guilt. More guilt. Rose's hurt expression had given me guilt, too, but it's better that way. The more guilt I feel, the more I can cover the burning flame of desire in the pit of my stomach. It douses it, keeps it cool when I can't possibly control it. I have to use it as a weapon, a shield, or else I'll touch Rose and there will be no stopping me from there.

  And I can't do that. I can't touch her at all. If I so much as look at her wrong, Kiera will let loose her hounds of debauched war. Her father's criminal clients would jump at any amount of money Kiera threw at them, and he'd be none the wiser.

  If I don't protect Rose by ignoring her, by stamping down the fire that burns for her in my body, Kiera will torture her, emotionally, psychologically, and physically.

  "Lee?" Kiera's voice filters in from the room. "There you are!"

  She storms up to me, in her pajamas and with minimal makeup. She never really takes her make up off, it just sort of downgrades depending on where she is. In the bedroom she wears a bit. In private she wears hardly any, but she still wears it. It's like her armor, her way of affirming her beauty over everyone else, even when she's alone. It's her vanity at its finest.