Wild Love: Chapter 39

Does it make me a dick that I’m grinning over Rosie’s slip of the tongue?

Maybe. But I made peace with who I am a long time ago.

She’s got her head held high, the light shimmering on her collarbones as she walks at my side, refusing to make eye contact.

I think the most satisfying part is that for all her sass and confidence, it’s something as simple as implying we’re together that has her freaked out.

That’s my move. I’m the one who blurts things out and then has to retreat awkwardly or say something mean to cover for it. So I’m not sure what she’s all stressed about.

It’s almost like she hasn’t been paying attention.

If she had been, she’d know I’ve wanted this for a long fucking time. Wanted her for a long fucking time. So, yeah, she can bet her sweet ass we’re together.

I slide my hand over her silk dress, savoring the feel of her lower back and lack of panty lines, before I slip it over her hip possessively as we follow the red carpet around the corner toward the courtyard. It’s a sweeping paved area on the lake with twinkle lights strung through the palm trees that aren’t remotely indigenous to the area. Set back is a pair of big sliding glass doors that open into the ballroom.

I’m about to direct us off this over-the-top red carpet when a bright flash stops us in our tracks.

I hate having my picture taken without permission. It’s an intrusion I’ve faced my entire life. My dad did his best to keep Willa and me out of the spotlight, but the success rate wasn’t one hundred percent.

But I also know how to play nice in front of the media. Learned that from my dad too. My fingers dig into Rosie’s hip, so she turns toward me. Her hand slides up over my chest until she’s clinging to me. And I just hold her against me tighter.

The photographer smiles at us, and a blond woman wearing a sequined red dress with a recording device pops up from behind him. “Ford Grant, what a treat to have you here tonight supporting the Emerald Lake Wildfire Recovery.”

I give her a thin, practiced smile. “It’s a pleasure to be here. Or it was until they photographed us without permission.”

The woman blanches but swiftly regains her composure. “I’m so sorry. Would you like me to have the photo deleted?” Rosie’s fingers circle at my chest, a warning to be nice, I’m sure. But she knows better. I am nice; I just don’t come off that way sometimes. I can practically feel her rolling her eyes at me. She’d say I’m being a dick.

“No, I’d just like to be asked first.”

That strikes everyone silent while the woman works her head around how to proceed. “Can we get a photo of you for the paper?”

Rosie starts to cover for me. “Oh, that’s not necessary⁠—”

“That would be lovely.” I give her a real smile.

The woman counts down, and this time, we’re facing the camera, Rosie still tucked tight against my side.

The photographer turns to show us the shot on the screen, and we look so damn good together that I swallow, covering the emotion that swells in my chest.

“And who are you out with tonight? We’ll add it to the description.”

Rosie goes stiff. I don’t know what she’s expecting me to say, but something tells me it’s not, “Oh, this is my girlfriend—Rosalie Belmont.”

I walk into the party with a speechless girlfriend on my arm.

And I’ve never liked having my photo taken more.

The night wears on in a blur of boring conversation and forced enthusiasm. I think that’s what I hate the most about any of these events. Everyone is so fake. They all have their own agenda. The vast majority of them couldn’t care less about rebuilding after a devastating fire.

The lives upended.

The insurance claims denied.

The livestock lost.

The effect on the environment.

The list goes on, and the more I think about it, the more the tragedy of it drains me. The more the ass-kissing and lobbying bugs me. Because this event is for lobbyists. City contractors. Construction moguls.

This isn’t about the fire—it’s about their best interests. It’s what everything tied to money becomes. It’s exactly what happened at Gramophone. A bunch of men in suits around a table deciding to cut the rate they pay artists to give a little extra to shareholders.

I’m bitter and disillusioned by it all.

It’s why I disappeared into the mountains. To Rose Hill.

To Rosie.

The only bright spot of the night is watching her work the room with such… aplomb. She smiles, and it’s genuine. She laughs, and it makes everyone nearby smile.

Even though we haven’t addressed it between us, I introduce her to people as my girlfriend, and she presses closer every time.

I find it impossible to take my eyes off of her. The shimmer of the pale pink silk sliding over her skin mesmerizes me. It’s borderline sensual the way her painted lips press against the edge of a champagne glass and the way her throat bobs as she swallows it is enough to make me blush as I’m transported back to that morning in the paint.

Needless to say, she glows, and everyone sees it. Everyone is drawn to her, just like they always have been.

Rosie at a lake party. Rosie playing beach volleyball. Rosie hiking. Rosie at the fucking grocery store. I’ve watched her effortlessly draw attention for most of her life, and I’m not even sure she realizes how organically she does it.

“Rosie, is that you?” a woman’s voice says, filtering in from our right.

I turn, and Rosie’s hand glides across my back as she steps in front of me while keeping as close as possible.

“Faye?” Her eyes light up when she takes in the dark haired woman, who appears to be a bit younger. “Hi!” She almost squeals as she wraps her free arm around the woman’s neck. I press my lips together to cover the smile because I have a feeling the champagne is affecting her volume control.

Gin did the same thing to her when she was younger.

Rosie holds her back. “How are you? What are you doing here?”

“I quit working at Apex and came out here to do my master’s. Journalism. Just here putting some time in at a local paper before classes start in the fall.” She holds up the press pass lanyard around her neck with a grin.

Rosie smiles the most genuine smile in the room as she holds the woman back to look at her. “Good for you. Oh, this is…” Rosie peers back at me, lips twitching in a mirror image of my own because I’ve been the one saying this out loud all night. And now it’s her turn. “This is my boyfriend, Ford.”

Faye’s eyes move to mine and bulge a little. “Nice to meet you,” she says demurely, reaching forward to shake my hand.

“Likewise.” I try to smile, but I’ll never be good at events like these or pretending small talk invigorates me.

Her gaze turns back to Rosie, and she clears her throat. “I have to get this off my chest. I’m just so sorry about what happened.” Her hand waves between them. “At the office. With Stan.”

Rosie’s smile dims. “Yeah, me too.”

“It’s like everyone speculates about what went down, but they’re too scared to say or do anything beyond gossip at the water cooler.”

I feel Rosie tense and my molars clamp as the woman rambles on.

“If it’s any consolation, that place is in shambles. Most likely going to go under. Shit was spiraling alarmingly fast when I got out.”

Now I stiffen.

“What a shame,” Rosie deadpans.

A few beats of silence hang in the air, chatter around us rising to the forefront, then both women burst into a fit of giggles.

“What was happening?” Rosie asks, while dabbing at the edges of her eyes.

Faye steps closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. “They kept having to move offices. I don’t know if it was a money thing or what. They got an immediate eviction notice and sent everyone to work from home while they sorted stuff out. Then they moved to a whole new building and got evicted again. Rinse and repeat. I’m sure it was draining the coffers.”

Rosie’s mouth falls open, and she blinks a few times. “I mean, there must be contracts in place to prevent that?”

My jaw pops and I try to act casual as I glance around the room.

Faye shrugs. “I think so, but even legal costs can add up. It was all very mysterious. Nobody knows why. Heard through the grapevine tonight that it just happened again.”

Rosie’s posture is straight and stiff as her head turns to me, slicing me with a scathing look. One that stills me.

Rosalie Belmont is smart as a whip.

Smart enough to figure me out. I just stand by and watch her solve the puzzle at hyper-speed.

“Shit. That’s…” She shakes her head and looks back at Faye, recovering quickly. “Well, Stan’s empire falling apart… couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.”

They both laugh while my heart thuds heavily in my sinking stomach.

The two women laugh and play catch-up for the next few minutes. And when Faye finally leaves us, Rosie returns to my side, slides her fingers through mine, and grits out, “Time for you and me to have a chat.”

“About?”

“In private,” is all she says as she leads me out of the room, finally wearing a smile that matches the fakeness of all the other vipers slithering around us.

And even though I don’t wear a fake smile, I realize I might be one of them after all.