Stealing Rose (The Fowler Sisters 2)

“You’re a fucking prick, Caden Kingsley! I hope you get an STD and your dick falls off,” she yells, making Mitchell laugh.

I send him a look and start for the foyer. “I’m out,” I tell him, giving him the finger as I stride toward the door, stopping in my tracks when I see who’s standing there as still as a statue, watching me.

Rose.

My heart thundering, I take a step toward her and then stop. She looks … cold. Empty. How much did she see? How much did she hear? Having her show up here is like my two worlds colliding, and I’m not sure I’m prepared for the fallout.

“Baby.” I pause, shocked at how she doesn’t so much as move an inch, how … plastic her expression is. “What are you doing here?”

Rose studies me for so long I’m afraid she’s not going to answer. “I guess I should be asking you the same thing,” she finally says coldly, folding her arms in front of herself. “Considering Whitney’s hanging all over you.”

So she saw Whitney touching me. Great. “She’s drunk. High. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

“Don’t make excuses for her.” Rose’s eyes flash with anger.

Fuck. I start to approach her, but the look on her face tells me I need to stay back. “How did you find this place?”

“Whitney.” Rose spits her name out. “She invited Violet and Ryder to come by after work. Nice, huh? Fun little party I supposedly knew nothing about?”

“I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you,” I explain. “I told you I was going to see my friend.”

“Whatever.” She waves a hand, her lip curling in disgust. “I pulled one over on Whitney anyway. She didn’t know that when she was texting Violet the directions to this place, it was me that was asking for them.” She comes down the short steps of the foyer, heading straight for me. Her posture is perfect, her head lifted, but I see the sadness in her gaze. And the anger. “I had an interesting conversation with Violet earlier.”

“Yeah?” I scratch the back of my neck, wishing like hell I could pull her into my arms, but she looks ready to scratch my face off.

“Yes.” She stops directly in front of me. So close I can smell her, feel her warmth, and I curl my hands into fists so I don’t touch her. “It was about you.”

I glance over my shoulder, thankful no one is paying us any attention. The music has been turned back up and Whitney is standing on the coffee table, doing a little bump and grind. I turn back to Rose to find her still glaring at me. “Can we talk about this later? When we get back to the hotel?” Avoidance is my specialty. It should be my middle name.

But of course, I should have known Rose wouldn’t let me get away with it.

“No,” she says firmly, shaking her head. “I need to talk about this with you now, Caden. It’s eating me up inside, what Violet told me.”

Shit. I’m fucked. Reaching out, I take her arm, my touch gentle, my fingers itching to caress and soothe. I’d probably get a fistful of knuckles in my teeth if I tried at this moment. Rose looks ready to destroy me. “Let’s go upstairs, then,” I tell her softly. “We’ll find a room so we can have some privacy.” May as well get this over with. Find out if I’m doomed forever without Rose.

I already know the answer. I’m fucked regardless of what I tell her. Maybe it’s better she found out now versus later. Then we can be good and done with it by the time I head back home.

The thought isn’t as reassuring as I’d hoped.

“I don’t know if I want to go anywhere alone with you.” She tries to escape my grip, but I won’t let her go.

I can’t let her go. She belongs to me. Doesn’t she see it? Doesn’t she feel it?

“Hey, hey, who’s the pretty lady?” It’s Mitchell. Irritation rolls through me.

We both turn and Mitchell’s eyes widen when he sees who’s with me. “Rose Fowler?” He slides a look to me, surprise in his eyes. “For reals, Kingsley? Nice catch.”

“Fuck off,” I tell him, grabbing her hand and leading her up the stairs. She doesn’t protest, doesn’t say a word, and I’m thankful for her acquiescence. I need to be alone with her so I can possibly rectify this real-life nightmare I’m experiencing.

But I’m pretty sure it’s already too far gone to fix.

“Don’t you dare fuck her on my parents’ bed,” Mitchell calls after us, then yelps. “Ow, Whitney, fucking get your hands off me, you jealous cow!”

I feel Rose stiffen next to me but I don’t acknowledge it. I don’t need this drama from Whitney and Mitchell or anyone else. Not Violet, either. Walking down the hall, looking for an empty room, I feel like I’m being led to my death. To the gallows, ready to face my execution.

More than anything, I’m scared. Afraid of what Rose is going to say, how she’s going to react, how I’m going to react. I’ve never faced my truth before. No one has ever called me out on it. I just do what I do and skate by, always getting by. Always getting away with it.

Rose is about to make me face my reality. I know it. And I’m not ready. Not by a long shot.

The bedroom at the end of the hall is huge and I can only assume it’s the master. Rose and I walk inside and I close the door, turning the lock on the knob as I watch her go to a chair near the window and sit in it. She looks perfectly composed, perfectly beautiful in the black dress I zipped her up in only a few hours ago, when life was still relatively normal and I hadn’t been laid out bare, confronting my fears.