REDEEMING THE ROSE: GILDED KNIGHTS SERIES BOOK 1 Page 22

  “Um… okay.”

  “I’ve discussed this with my engineer and architect, and though they’re both naturally ai ferri corti, er…” She stops, then tries to translate. “Unpleasant? They do not get along. But they do agree on one very important thing.”

  I lift a single inquisitive brow. “And that is?”

  “It can be done.”

  “Not gonna be cheap.”

  “Not the point of this discussion.” Idalia pushes on after putting me exactly in my place, where I belong. “There is nothing stopping this project from going ahead.” She leads me on to the next flight of stairs, and remains pleasant and kind, despite her simple smackdown from a moment ago. “Builders, plumbers, electricians, and their fit-outs are organized. All documentation is ready to be submitted for approval, and my finances are ready. The only thing stopping this is me.”

  “You?”

  Finally slowing her stampede through someone else’s building, she glances over her shoulder and grins. “Me. I need to know that this town can host me. I do not want to send my money afar for things I should naturally be able to source here; flowers, pastries, linen. I want to find a local chef to come in and redo the menu. I want a housekeeping team who will take pride in their work, and make this place shine every single day.”

  She turns away and leads me into a new hall. “All of these things are attainable, I’m certain. But I want them sourced right here. There’s no point at all to having flowers shipped in, and finances shipped out. I’d rather my florist be local, so when she or her family have an event, they’ll come here, and smile knowing the beauty is their own work.”

  “Noble, I guess, considering it might be cheaper to source from outside town.”

  “I’m willing to pay a tiny bit more for local, so long as the quality meets my expectations. If, however, quality falls, I will send my money elsewhere, and that will be the end of that.”

  I walk, listen, ask questions, and desperately search my handbag for a pen so I can start taking notes.

  “I will require a contract,” she whips a pre-drawn up form from her bag and slaps it down on my notebook before I can begin writing. “This covers ten years, but is broken down into segments; first, the initial delivery. Then the first month of deliveries. After that, if all is working out, we will graduate to yearly blocks, where we’ll stay until the end of our contract. If, at any point, Abigail fails to deliver what is promised, then our business relationship is terminated, and my legal team may be required to contact hers to make up for whatever financial loss we deem I’ve endured.”

  “Financial loss?” I let my eyes quickly scour the contract. “What financial loss? If anyone loses money in this, it would be us.”

  “So deliver,” Idalia murmurs with a sly grin. “Buona qualità, and on time. That way, no one loses. In fact, we would all do well to honor our contracts.”

  “And the baker?” I ask things that have nothing to do with me. “If I stay here and get a stale croissant, does he lose his job?”

  “Why do you care?” she counters easily. “Are you concerned your flowers cannot compare to his croissants?”

  “No. I don’t know why I care!” I throw a hand in the air and elicit a snicker from the elegant, enticing, Italian Idalia who says croissant in a really sexy way. “You’ve got me running laps of a hotel you don’t even own, discussing contracts you’ve somehow already drawn up with our name on them, and your architect and engineer aren’t getting along. It’s a lot to take in.”

  “Those are things for my brain to compartmentalize, Ms. Reynolds. All I need from you are flowers. Perhaps take this to Abigail.” She taps my contract with manicured nails. “Discuss it. You have the weekend to think it over, and then until close of business on Monday to answer.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “No hard feelings. But if you fail to sit on the table, then I will move along and spend my money elsewhere.”

  “Sit on the—” Laughing, then smothering it with my notebook, I try and slip a professional façade on. “Do you… uh… I think you mean come to the table. You want us to come to it. Not sit on it.”

  “That’s what I said, no?

  “Sure.” My eyes water. “We’re on the same page. Though I must say, yours seems a little harsh.”

  She shrugs, dainty and alluring.

  Damn her! I like men, but Idalia makes a girl consider other possibilities.

  “It is just business,” she purrs. “I’m about to drop every cent I have on something that, right now, resembles a single-star hotel. But I’m looking to shoot us into the sun and collect the most coveted of all of the stars. To do so, my partners must be business-minded and esperto. I’ll forgive your maldestro first impression, Nadia, because I’ve done my research and know that Rosa flowers are the best in a hundred-mile radius. I also know you’re reasonably new to your position, and though I won’t tolerate bumbling for long, for this meeting, I’ll overlook it, assuming the first delivery you make is perfetto and knocks my socks off.”

  “Well.” Perfetto is easy enough to translate, but what the hell does maldestro mean? “That’s a lot of pressure, Mrs. Mazzi.”

  “Ms. And I’m not asking for a miracle, Ms. Reynolds. I’m only asking for hard work and consistency. Both of which are fondamento for success. Let me show you the parlor downstairs. We can discuss your proposed displays for down there. Then I have a meeting with the local baker.” She grins when my eyes shoot to hers. “I hope he brought croissants to sample.”

  “Can I stay for that meeting?” I’m joking. I’m teasing! But, “Croissants are my favorite thing.”

  “Si.” She slides her arm around mine and leads us down the stairs.

  Right now, they’re run-down and bland. Stained from hands, worn from feet. The railing is chipped in some places, warped in others. The wallpaper is unstuck on the corners, and rolls up where it can. But as we descend, I allow myself to imagine new wallpaper, new carpet, new rails, new chandeliers.

  “You can see it, can’t you?” Idalia asks me conspiratorially.

  “Yeah.” My word is a breathy sigh, my eyes wide to take it all in. “Yes, I can see it. This place once housed royalty, I’m certain of it. The bones are so good, so elegant. It’s just been led astray by owners who don’t know better.”

  “Precisely.”

  When we reach the bottom of the main staircase, Idalia once again passes said owners, who stand around and wring their hands. She walks us right by them, leads me into the parlor, and spends the next fifteen minutes discussing flower arrangements.

  Then we spend the next twenty minutes eating pastries and pretending that I’m some kind of old hand and privy to all of Idalia’s business decisions.

  18

  Mitchell

  Well, What the Fuck?

  Time passes; in my bed, or Nadia’s. Her kitchen, or mine. We spend hours in the darkness, lying wrapped in each other’s arms, and pretending the outside world doesn’t exist. In the daylight, Nadia still goes to her job, and I go to mine. We act like our worlds are as they always were. Work, family, whatever it is we’ve always done in our downtime. But once the sun goes down, the very moment we can get away with it, we’re sneaking off and squirreling away every hidden second we can.

  When I’m on nightshift, we don’t see each other at all, except for my sporadic drop-ins at the shop to check on Abby. Though it would be a lie if I said I was checking on my sister during these visits. For those moments, Nadia and I manage only sneaky looks, smirks, secret sweet nothings. Then we text or call. Better yet, we FaceTime and pretend it’s almost as good as the real thing.

  But tonight, though I’m on day shift, and this is prime ‘visit Nadia’ time, Abby has me eating a meal at Nix’s place. Tacos, beer, and a movie. I miss Nadia like I’d miss oxygen if it was ever taken away, but having dinner with my siblings is barely a hardship, so I slouch on Nix’s couch beside Abby, and try my damned best to shuffle thoughts of the beautiful Nadia from my mind�
��only to fail, as I practice a tiny speech in my head.

  It goes along the lines of, ‘Hey, Abs. I’m deeply in like with your assistant. And if it’s cool with you, I’d like to keep being so. Please don’t get mad at me. Also, if you could refrain from firing her and belting her with a baseball bat in a fit of rage, that would be super-duper.’

  Awesome speech, of course. And the baseball bat clause would come in extra handy, since Nadia uses that threat as a way to avoid accepting, or hell, even discussing commitment.

  There are hurdles for us to pass, roadblocks to work through, so that Nadia and I can meet somewhere that we both feel comfortable. She wants no commitment. And I want a promise. She enjoys spontaneity, and that word alone almost makes me break out in hives.

  But maybe if I can remove Abby’s condemnation from the equation, Nadia will slow down on the sweaty-palmed freakouts, and jump on over here with me, where we can explore what else there is for us.

  Before I can build the courage to speak it out loud, or hell, even pretend to act like I’m ballsy enough to tell Abby yet, her phone trills from somewhere deep in her handbag.

  Being the workaholic that she is—it’s a Rosa family trait, I guess—Abby bounds off the couch and dashes across the room like she thinks missing a single call about work will spell the end of times. She reads the screen for a moment, lets a thousand emotions pass over her face, then she swipes to accept and brings the device to her ear. “Jessica?”

  I glance across to Nix, narrow my eyes, and do the same as he does. Listen in to a conversation that has nothing to do with us.

  “Um.” Abby’s face flames red and draws my brows up. “Hello. How are you?”

  Why is a discussion with Jessica Lenaghan—Luc’s baby sister—making mine blush? And why the fuck do I care when I have a million other things on my mind?

  “Uh, okay… Is everything okay?” Abby turns silent for a moment, listens to her caller, and cringes. I don’t know why she cringes, or what causes it, but she’s clearly uncomfortable. “What thing happened today?”

  Just as I consider climbing off the couch and snagging the phone so I can demand what the problem is, Abby’s stance changes. Everything changes.

  “The babies are here?” Squealing, she swings around and does an almost dance on the tips of her toes. “Oh my freakin’ gosh!”

  Stunned, I look to Nix. “She said freakin’.”

  “It’s the drugs,” he jokes. “Bad influences everywhere.”

  “Me?” Abby presses a hand to her chest and pays complete attention to her caller. “Why did she want you to call me?”

  “Jess had her babies?” I look to Nix. “She only got married yesterday, right?”

  He shrugs.

  “I did say that.” Abby breathes through the stirrings of a panic attack. “I said that, but she didn’t have to call me. This is a time for family. Tell her to call me in a few days. Or, ya know, a week or whatever. Tell her to call me when she’s home and comfortable. I’ll bring her oatmeal cookies and a heat pack.”

  Silence hangs for a beat, only to be broken by a loud, “Of course I want to meet them! Are you insane? I’m totally on my way if Jess is okay with it.”

  The caller—someone I now suspect is not Jess—says something in Abby’s ear that makes my sister happy. “Oh my gosh. Okay! I’m on my way. Do you guys need me to bring anything? I can drop into the store on the way… Okay! I’ll be there in half an hour. I promise.”

  Just as quickly as she answered, Abby swipes and ends her call, then dancing in the middle of the room, she makes Nix and I reevaluate everything we know about this girl who is now… I guess… a woman. A business woman. Someone who moved out and left us to worry.

  She presses a hand to her chest and twirls, then she looks back to us and cackles. “The babies are here!”

  * * *

  “I don’t want to be here.” I walk alongside Abigail in the stark hallways of the maternity ward. But instead of asking for directions, or access to this floor which is normally locked up tight, I use my key pass and clear the way. “We hardly know these people, Ab. We don’t have to celebrate torn vaginas.”

  “Oh my gosh, you are so strange, Mitchell. I swear.”

  “No swearing.” Chuckling, I flash my ID one last time to the sensor that locks the babies away from the rest of the public, then I hold the door and let Abby walk through first. “And I’m just saying, Jessica isn’t, like, your bestie or anything. You don’t need to see these babies within minutes of them being squeezed out.”

  “Luc is a brand-new uncle,” Abby scolds. “He is a very close friend of yours. You don’t wanna congratulate him?”

  “Sure I do. At work, tomorrow. I might even buy him a meal.”

  “You’re such a grump,” she huffs. “You know I love babies, and you know I’m never getting my own. Let me have this moment to cuddle a freshie.”

  My argument dies on my tongue, my petty whining. I stop dragging my feet, and instead condemn myself for making her say those words out loud. “Ab, I’m sorry—”

  “It’s fine.” Stopping just before Jess’ room number, my baby sister turns and fusses with my collar. It’s a useless action, since I’m wearing a shirt whose front pocket is torn and hangs limp on my chest. “I know my reality, Mitchell. I know what I can and can’t have, and I know what’s safe for me, and for those potential children.”

  “It hurts you, Ab—”

  “But I can’t dwell.” Smiling up at me, she studies my eyes and pretends her childless future doesn’t tear her up inside. “I refuse to waste my life dwelling on this. There are many other options open to me. And until I find the man I want to marry, we don’t really have to worry about it, do we?”

  “But, Ab—”

  “Come on.” She holds a plastic bag in her left hand, and uses the other to gently push open the room door, then slide aside the curtain.

  It’s funny how it’s all one hospital, but in the maternity ward, the curtains are a pleasant, soft green or a sky blue, while in the oncology ward, they’re a meaner orange. I doubt anyone did that to hurt the patients, but still, I hate seeing orange now. To me, blues and greens indicate new life. Orange means my sister is sick and not getting better any time soon.

  Following close on her heels into the hushed room, we move past the curtain and draw attention when the bag on her arm rustles in the silence.

  Jessica Lenaghan—or, well, as of yesterday, I guess she’s Jessica Bishop—lays back in her hospital bed with a pale face that makes my hands itch to help. She’s wired up and being looked after, but it’s in my heart and blood to rush forward and do something about her condition. Her tatted and thuggish husband lays beside her, dwarfing her small body with his more than two hundred pounds. But in this moment, while he plays with his wife’s fingers and nuzzles close, he looks innocent. Vulnerable, even.

  Which, I suppose, explains the look he gives me from the corner of his eyes. He’s watching, and he’s ready to remove a motherfucker if they make the wrong move.

  The small room is filled to capacity—the couple on the bed, the sister, Jess’ twin, sits on one visitor’s chair while she holds a brand-spanking-new baby, and a dark-haired dude looks over her shoulder. Beside her, Luc holds the second pink baby, and finally, my defensive stance relaxes fractionally. There’s another guy in here, another woman. But my eyes remain on Luc, and next to him, Kari, while they dote on their new baby niece.

  “Two girls?” Abigail’s voice cracks as she slowly moves into the room. “You got baby girls?”

  “Hey.” Jessica remains laid back, pale, experiencing at least a little trauma about what happened today, but she smiles for my sister. “You made it. I wasn’t sure if you would.”

  “Of course I made it.” Abby leaves me by the door and hustles toward Kane’s side of the bed. Surprising everyone, especially Kane, Abby leans over him and gives Jessica a gentle hug. “Congratulations, Mommy. I’m so happy for you. Here.” She lifts the bag and pulls out
a Snickers bar. “I brought you—”

  “Actually, that was for me.” The other sister, Laine, pops up from her chair and snatches the candy bar with lightning-fast reflexes. “She needs protein, not sugar. I’ll take care of these for you.” One-handed, she passes the bag to the guy by her side, peers into his eyes the way Nadia does when she wants something from me, and just like that, he tears the wrapper open with a sly smirk. Another man, another casualty in the war against women. “Thank you, Abby. I was starving.”

  “Oh, okay.” Nervous laughter fills the room for a moment while Abby studies her… friend? Client? That person who invited her to a wedding one time. “I’m just… Wow,” Abby breathes. “I mean, you had babies, Jess. Two of them at once.”

  She grins. “I kinda did.”

  “Are you well? Healthy? Everyone is okay?”

  “I’m not okay.” Kane’s face is almost as pale as the new mom’s. “I saw the inside of my wife’s guts today. Swear, I nearly passed out.”

  I remain in place by the door, silent, but knowing in my heart of hearts exactly what he sees in his head right now.

  Jess snickers at Kane’s words, only to stop on a grunt. “No laughing.”

  “Sorry, baby.” He pushes up to press a kiss to her cheek. “I love you so much.”

  “Love you too.”

  “You saw the inside of her stomach?” Abby remains near Kane, unafraid, unshaking, and plays with something in the back of my brain. It’s strange to me that she stands so close, that she asks questions, and brings herself into their fold without fear. It’s so… un-Abby. “She had a cesarean?”

  “Mmm. I was hoping to have them out my… ya know,” Jess answers. “We waited for my water to break and for labor to start, but shit got scary pretty fast.”

  “We adapted,” Kane declares quietly. “Sometimes shit happens, and we have to adapt. An hour after we walked in here, I became a daddy to twin girls. I think I’m kinda in shock still.”