Again, the feeling of being very, very fucked hit me. Doing my best to ignore it, I shoved an apple in my mouth, biting down with more force than necessary.
“So, why did you get divorced?” Rose asked around a bite of apple.
It took me a moment to respond because not many people asked such a direct question. Well, that and the fact that she licked peanut butter off her finger. Jesus. “We weren’t compatible.”
She hummed and nodded. While she thought over my vague answer, I braced for more invasive questions, but as I was learning, Rose never did quite go in the direction I expected.
“She didn’t like me much,” she stated.
“No,” I laughed. “She didn’t.”
She hunched over, resting her elbow on the counter to support her chin on her hand. She looked to me with the sexiest pout and curiosity. I had to shove another apple in my mouth to keep my hand busy. Otherwise, I might have reached across the granite to run my thumb across her lips just to find out if they were as soft as they looked.
“Why not?” she asked, pulling me from my fantasy.
I remembered the way Juliette had looked her up and down on day one before plastering on her socialite smile. I remembered the way she huffed and stomped around our bedroom when I canceled plans in an attempt to stay home. She hated that I tried to change our lives to accommodate Rose.
“She probably felt threatened by someone else needing my attention. Also, you didn’t help your cause when she walked in on us.”
“I was mourning and angry, and she was a bitch,” Rose explained, shrugging her shoulder. “Besides, she should learn how to take a joke.”
I laughed softly, remembering the one-time Rose let me comfort her. I’d walked past her door when a muffled scream sent adrenaline through my veins and had me barging in ready for disaster. I’d found her on the floor, curled up against the bed with red-rimmed, wet eyes, clutching a pillow she just screamed into. I acted on instinct and fell down beside her to pull her into my arms. We didn’t talk as I held her tight, soaking up her tears into my thousand-dollar suit. I hadn’t known how long we sat there like that—long past her crying, but I continued to hold on. I think part of me needed it as much as she did. In the mess and chaos of Rose moving in, I’d shelved my own mourning. While I’d been so focused on Rose’s loss, I’d somehow forgotten to give myself time to mourn my mentor—my friend.
I’d assumed she fell asleep, except when Juliette stomped in, her head snapped up as quickly as mine. She’d taken one look at us and assumed the worst, demanding what the fuck was going on. Rose’s body tensed, and I rubbed her back, trying to assure her it was fine. I thought I had when I felt her muscles release under my hand. But then, a second later, her hand crept up my chest as she explained how I was helping her expend energy in such a difficult time. Of course, Juliette assumed the worst, storming out, demanding Rose be sent away.
I hadn’t even reprimanded Rose at the time, merely offered a disapproving glare. She responded with an unapologetic shrug and smiled. I’d been so shocked by how much she looked like Alec when she smiled that I let it slide and smiled back like an inside joke.
When I tried to explain it to Juliette that night, she refused to hear me.
“Fair enough,” I agreed. “She wasn’t the type of woman to appreciate a dry sense of humor.”
“That’s a shame.”
She shook her head, a long, wet chunk of her dark hair falling over her shoulder. My eyes glued to the way it clung to her chest and fell into the vee of the robe.
“Do you still talk to her?” she asked.
“No. Not if I don’t have to.”
She blamed Rose through every inch that grew between us, and while her arrival may have instigated the change, she wasn’t the cause. I’d been successful, and ready to start a family. Meanwhile, Juliette had wanted everything to stay the same. She wanted to go to social events and parties. While I was ready to settle in and create a family inside our home, she wanted to stay in the world around us. Her need for attention took up so much space, it didn’t leave much room for me. I’d tried to hold on to her through sex—to rekindle the connection that way, but even that had been dismissed.
“I don’t have time to play your sex games, Corbin. I have to get ready for dinner with the Masterson’s.”
“We can do dinner with them another night, Juliette,” I coaxed, gently collaring her neck. “It’s been so long since I’ve marked you—made you beg.”