Page 43 of My Rose

“Father won’t be back for another few days. He left for Amsterdam,” Briggs said. Rhonda sighed deeply as I turned my gaze away from the door and back to them.

“Right. Well, dinner will be ready in an hour. Is Rose dining with you tonight?”

Briggs angled his head, waiting for me to answer. I mentally added that to the growing list of things I liked about him—he didn’t try to take my voice from me. “Yeah, that would be great. Thank you,Rhonda.” Rhonda disappeared down one of the halls, and I turned to face him. “She’s nice. I like her.”

“Yeah, she’s one of the good ones.” He took my hand in his. “Should I start downstairs or take you directly to my room?” His smirk faded as I took my hand from his and crossed my arms.

“I believe you said you’d tell me more about that.” I waved a hand, gesturing to his side before letting both arms fall to my side. “And then a tour would be kind of awesome. How do you find your way around this place?” I had no idea where to begin—between the scaffolded ceiling, the giant chandelier, and the hallways I could barely see beyond the sweeping staircase—it felt like being in a museum. It didn’t feel like a home, even though museums usually did for me.

He reached for my hand again and I let him have it. “To my room, it is, then.” I opened my mouth to protest but stopped as he said, “To explain. Promise.”

“No matter what I said, you were taking me there first, weren’t you?”

“If it had been up to me, we’d be at your house. Not mine. But since we’re here, my room is definitely where I prefer you.”

He led me down one hallway, then another, ending in a room that smelled just like him, prompting me to look for the hidden orange grove the second we stepped inside. Instead, I found a black chair in front of heavy curtains, a four-post bed with a thin, dark grey blanket on top, two pillows against the headboard, and a deep mahogany dresser across from it. His was the only room I’d seen so far that looked lived in. That felt like it could be home.He unlinked our fingers, watching me roam around his room as he leaned against the door frame.

Briggs cleared his throat after several minutes, drawing my gaze back to him. “Like the room?” he asked, that sinful, beautiful smirk back in place.

“It’s…huge,” I whispered.

He chuckled, his eyes like fire on my skin as he moved them slowly down my body. “It is.”

I tried to ignore that and turned my back to him, walking over to a built-in bookcase that filled the same wall the doors to his room were on. “You read?”

“Yes…when I have the time to.” He looked amused at my question.

I pulled one of the books from the shelf. The spine was broken, and the front cover was worn. “Reading is one thing…but, Ovid?”

“Coming from an art history major, I should be getting your approval.” The corner of his mouth quirked up to one side, changing his cocky smirk to a smile.Had I told him that was my major?Perhaps I had during one of the car rides or maybe at the diner while talking to Jasmine. I put the book back on the shelf full of ancient poetry—stories about the gods and war, but above all, love.

“Haven’t read much of his work, honestly.” Countless people transcribed Ovid’s work from Latin throughout the years, but Briggs’ edition looked centuries old. I was almost surprised he didn’t lunge forward and rip it from my hands—a book like that would be costly. I let my finger slide across the shelf. “It’s really clean in here.”

“I like cleanliness.”

His eyes watched me as I moved into his bathroom, where he followed me and propped against the door frame of his en-suite. I should have asked before going in, but his closet was calling to me—where the citrus and a slight musky smell threatened to devour me whole.

To say I liked the way he smelled was putting it lightly. Maybe that was because my memory so frequently went to the scent of ash and smoke that clouded my lungs years ago and made me suffocate over and over again in my nightmares, and the scent he gave off was breathing new life into me. Being around him made me realize I wasn’t trapped in a fire. I was safe—which sounded ridiculous even in my head, but I couldn’t help it.

He winced again as he pushed off the doorframe, and I pointed to his ribs. “Alright, I’m done looking. Explain. Who did that to you? And why?” My voice cracked at the last word because I couldn’t imagine anyone hurting someone like him. It made me angry.

His head went over his shoulder before he turned to close the en-suite door. Reaching an arm over the back of his head, he removed his shirt and then tossed it to the floor. It would have made my stomach do the thing it had been doing a lot lately whenever I thought about the way his body felt pressed into mine the night of the bonfire, but instead, my attention fell to the bruise that spread across his side, and my body reacted as if I were the one in pain, not him.

My feet felt like hollow weights as I strode up to him. “Who hurt you like this?” I let my fingers trace the ridges of his muscles as gently as I could, careful not to make him twinge under my touch.

“You remember when I told you about my brother?”

“Yes, of course I do,” I whispered.

He smiled down at me, one that didn’t reach his eyes. It was the same distant look he gave me at the gas station. “My brother was the one who was supposed to take over the family business. It was never supposed to be me. But after he…” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he broke eye contact for a brief moment. When his eyes fell back to mine, he continued. “After Beck died, that title fell to me. Thatburdenfell to me.” The realization of just who did that hit me in the chest.

It couldn’t be. He couldn’t mean…

He continued while my fingers stayed frozen against his warm skin. “You remember how I stopped going to school?” I nodded, remembering the few months when I sat behind a quiet boy with a clock tattoo until he just never showed again. “My father pulled me and made me complete my courses at home with a private tutor who saw to it that I’d graduate that same year. Ever since Beck died, my life has been the VanAndrews company.”

“Your…your father—he…he did this to you?” He didn’t respond immediately, but he didn’t have to, and my soul was crushed under the weight of it. I laid my head on his chest, tears rising to the surface that I couldn’t suppress.

“Shhh, Rose. It’s okay. Really.” His heartbeat told me otherwise. It was thundering out of control beneath my ear.

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