Third Time's a Charm

Page 33

Drying her eyes, Rose pressed her mother for more answers. “But now you are? Does your suit have superpowers or something?”
“Only to make my assistant, Barney, cry in less than five seconds when I fuss at him for not recycling.” Azalea brushed a curl behind Rose’s ear. “So pretty. I always knew you’d be a stunner.” Her eyes dropped to Rose’s neck. “Why’d you run him off, sugar?”
Rose stepped back, bumping into her desk. “Stop it. I want you to answer my questions, not ask ones of your own.”
Azalea moved the desk chair from behind Rose, sat down and crossed her legs. “Fire away.”
For the life of her, Rose couldn’t come up with a single one.
“Why don’t I help you out?” Azalea leaned forward in her chair. “I’m not proud I did what I did. I chose to run off with one of my gentlemen friends, leaving you girls behind. Those were some dark years for me. I got caught up with the wrong people, filled my body with the wrong things.”
“I didn’t need that much information,” Rose muttered.
Azalea continued, “About four years ago, I met the nicest man…a rich one to boot. I tried every trick I knew to get him into bed, to get him really into me and wanting to spend some cash. But nothing worked. He wanted to get to know me.”
Rose crossed her arms. “Get to the point.”
“I’d hoped he would have made you smile more.” Azalea frowned, her perfect skin actually creasing. “Then again, I’m not sure how much a young man like him would have to smile about. Always having to follow the bidding of another.”
“How do you know about him?”
“I read Alexander’s horoscope this morning in The Gazette while having coffee with Jemma Leigh.”
Of course Jemma Leigh would tell Azalea everything she knew. No Holland hocus-pocus needed.
A little smile formed on her mother’s lips. “Is he as snazzy of a dresser as it said? Those things can be so moody. I really should have brought my charts with me, but I packed up in such a hurry to avoid rush hour. Traffic in Charlotte can be a real pain.”
Charlotte? “You’ve been there all this time,” Rose whispered. She sat down in a metal folding chair in the corner. Her mother had been only five hours away.
“Only for the past three years. I started Barbara’s Bugs in Concord, in Devlin’s basement.” Azalea picked up the manila folder and handed it to Rose. “This is my apology to you girls. I can’t go back and be your momma again. I’ve got two little ones to try to get it right with this time, and I’m a married woman now.”
Wordlessly, Rose took the folder, but didn’t open it. Her mother was someone else’s mother. Someone’s wife. Obviously Azalea didn’t want Rose or her sisters to be a part of her new life, because she hadn’t mentioned anything of coming to see her or meeting any new siblings. She hadn’t asked about Ivy either.
Azalea stood, smoothing the material of her skirt and hiking the straps of her purse higher on her shoulder. Diamond rings on her hands flashed at her. But on her right pointer finger, Azalea still wore the mood ring Rose, Summer and Skye had bought her for Mother’s Day.
“I’ve seen great things for you. We’re going to be business partners. Barbara’s Bugs has decided to invest in Carolina Dreams by providing you with capital to get Strawberry Grove’s forcing house rebuilt and the plants growing again. Check the cottage west of the house. All the backup jars, as my grandmother Poppy liked to call them, are in hidden under a trap door in the kitchen. You’ll know where, when you step on just the right place.”
Rose glanced down at the folder, then back up at her mother. “But it was auctioned off.”
“Wouldn’t you know it, but the owner of Strawberry Grove finally got word what was going on, and paid off the back taxes early this morning.” Azalea winked at her, then leaned down to press a cool kiss to Rose’s forehead. “And no more going down to Harrison’s office either, unless you feel like it.”
“But I have a loan with him,” Rose protested.
Azalea straightened. “You’re also owed eighteen years of back child support. Rather than go to court and drag this out, exposing his secrets; he agreed to my terms.”
Rose bit her bottom lip. “What about Poppy?”
“Oh, honey.” Her mother shook her head, closing her eyes. When they opened, they were shiny with tears. “I filled you and your sisters’ heads up with so much nonsense. There stopped being a Poppy Holland when my grandmother named my mother Lake and made sure everyone called her that. Sure we kept the name going by passing it down, but Poppy’s gone. People don’t believe in that stuff no how. It’s the reputation that gets remembered and kicked down the line.”
“But people need Poppy Holland. It’s our…my duty to give love advice.”
Azalea sighed and played with one of her many rings. “You’re giving a name too much power over you. There’s a time and place for tradition, but one that keeps a woman down ain’t it.”
“Easy for you to say; you left.” Rose stood, lifting her chin. “I stayed.”
Azalea made a noise of disapproval. “Look where it’s gotten you. You had the chance to leave with Alexander. To see the world and be a young woman for once.”
Growing up, she’d always believed in the magic of her mother, but after Azalea left, Rose had put away childish things. Or so she thought. There was no way her mother could know about Sasha’s offer. No one did.
Azalea nodded at the computer screen. “He’s the man in the picture?”
Rose’s eyes widened as she turned around. She’d forgotten about her ridiculous web-surfing. “I wasn’t looking for him. He kinda popped up on the screen.”
“Maybe he’s looking for you.”
“No, I made sure of that.”
“My stubborn child. That man loves you.” Her mother sounded so certain that Rose almost believed her. Almost.
Rose shook her head, then turned back to her mother. “No, he owes me.”
“What’s the harm in letting him pay you back?”
“I’m not you. I don’t use people.”
Azalea lifted a brow. “Not all of us are as strong as you, Rose. And some of us actually like men and having one around.”
The not-so-thinly veiled insult hit its mark. “I like men.” In fact she loved one and she wanted him around indefinitely, but it wasn’t meant to be. “And I respect them enough to treat them decently.” Like she had with Sasha? No, she’d let her pride get in the way. She’d let her fear color her words.
“Did you take Alexander to the spring?” A knowing look entered her mother’s eyes. “Share some strawberry wine with him…take him to your bed?”
Rose couldn’t have stopped the blush that flooded her face if she had tried. “That’s really none of your business.”
Azalea gave her a self-satisfied smile and reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “Let’s not fight, honey. One day you can introduce me to your man and I can give you some pointers.”
It was then Rose realized what a blessing in disguise it had been for her mother to leave. For all the good that her mother had done today, she was still selfish and self-centered. Women around here might have had a good reason not to like her family after all.
Still, this wasn’t the reunion she’d dreamed of. Her mother wouldn’t be in her life, not in the way she’d always hoped.
“I look forward to doing business with you, Barbara.” Rose managed to shake her mother’s hand and slip it out of her gasp.
Her mother’s face transformed into a cool business woman. “As do I, Ms. Holland.” Walking out the door, Azalea tossed over her shoulder, “There’s someone waiting out here for you.”
A familiar black streak of fur raced inside and jumped up into Rose’s arms. “Blackbeard, you bad kitty, where have you been?”
The cat meowed, then began purring.
“I missed you, too.” She buried her face in the cat’s fur.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After consulting world-renowned experts and all of them coming to the same consensus that no brain activity had been present for the past three weeks, Sasha had made the gut-wrenching decision to take his mother off of life-support.
Each one had assured him that he was doing the right thing. However, the right thing never turned out to be the easiest thing.
She’d taken her last breath in his arms, a shuddering sigh that racked her frail body. He remembered telling his mum that he loved her. Then silence; not even the machines dared to make a noise. Sasha had held her until the doctor on call had come to the room and given the time of death for the nurse to record.
He’d buried Phoebe beside his dad, as they had wanted. Christian and Sebastian had attended, the strain between them obvious but not overwhelming. Sasha had felt a sort of melancholy mood invade his body during the ceremony, but he’d had three weeks with his mum.
Every day he’d visited her. Some days he’d talk for hours, reading from their favorite fashion magazines on his tablet. Other days, he was content to sit in silence or listen to her playlist on his iPod, relieved to be able to simply be with her. Free from worry. From responsibility.
Sublimely free.
It was everything he’d wanted. Everything he’d thought he needed. The freedom to come and go as he pleased. No more looking over his shoulder. No more getting the living hell beat out of him. No more waiting for the other shoe to drop and watch his uncle play God with Phoebe’s life.
His mother was at peace, and he could imagine that his father was at peace as well. That they were waltzing around Heaven, fantastically happy to be together again. A part of him was happy for them as well.
But as he sat in his favorite pub and drank his favorite ale, all he could think of was Rose. What she was doing. Thinking. Who she might be seeing.
A couple of men booed as their rugby team took another hit. In the corner a couple held hands and snogged.
Sasha took another pull of his beer and grimaced. He knew without a doubt who’d want to be snogging Rose: Gabriel Edwards. The bloody sod. Though to be fair, Edwards was a decent fellow. He was someone that would be good for Rose—boring, but good—and he’d keep her safe from men like Jason. Men like Sasha.
He scratched his jaw. He had no idea what the two of them would talk about. Edwards was as quiet as Rose. She needed someone a bit more social, a bit more charming. A bit more of himself.
“Delusions of grandeur, mate,” he mumbled. Rose had made it perfectly clear that she didn’t need him. No, her traditions, her small town and her store were what she needed. What she preferred over him.
“God Almighty, Sasha, couldn’t you’ve picked a better place to get up to?” Sebastian sneered in the mirror behind the bar.
Sasha rolled his eyes as his cousin took out a pristine handkerchief and attempted to clean off the sticky counter. “I’d reckoned there’s no better place than the one you wouldn’t be seen in.” He turned toward Sebastian and saluted him with his bottle.
“While I had assumed you’d be off to places more exotic for Fashion Day.”
“It’s Fashion Week, and I’m not in the mood.”
“Really?” Sebastian raised his brows. “There can be only one thing to keep you away from clothes or get you out of them—a woman. Or more precisely Rose Holland.”
“You don’t have a fucking clue what you’re about.” Sasha struggled to remain impassive. “But you do know where you can precisely shove it.” Slamming his bottle down on the bar counter, he motioned the bartender over and settled up his tab.
“Good to know some things never change,” Sebastian said.
“Sod off,” Sasha muttered and stumbled out into the freezing November night, leaving his arrogant ass of a cousin behind. He hailed a cab, muttered his address and leaned his head against the back of the seat. When they arrived, he slipped in the deserted townhouse and told himself that it was better this way.
No beast wrapping around his ankles and doing its level best to trip him as he trudged up the stairs and to his bedroom. No baby toys to dodge, or soft lullabies being sung in the middle of the night. No starfish-shaped hands reaching for him. No drooling mouth messing up another shirt, or breaking into a grin.
He certainly didn’t miss the smell of night blooming jasmine. Or the way rare smiles would make him feel victorious. Luminous blue eyes that could see to his soul were blocked from every thought. And he sure as hell wouldn’t think of how it felt to be inside of her, of how she moaned his name or clutched him to her. Of how much he loved being with Rose.
He loved Rose…Ivy, too.
Looking in the mirror, he shook his head, then shucked off his clothes. A cold bed greeted him. He paused, one knee on the mattress and took a deep breath. This was his life and he’d better get used to it.
Mercifully, sleep claimed him seconds after his head hit the pillow.
***
The worst thing about coming to terms with all the lies Rose had been told was confronting her worst fears.
She’d spent the afternoon digging through the charred remains of Strawberry Grove, hoping to find something worth salvaging. The only thing she found was a half-burnt chest of jewels and pictures in her room. No, not her room—Poppy’s room. A room so sacred that as a child she’d hovered in the doorway, watching her mother as she dressed for her dates. Every Poppy had inherited this room. Or so she’d been led to believe.