Realizing she is, in fact, speaking to us, I look over to see an older woman with an arm full of stuff.
Now that she has my attention, she smiles while gazing at Rosalie’s belly. “Would you like to go ahead of me? I remember what it was like standing around on swollen feet.”
Shit. Rosalie’s still got her sunglasses on, but this woman’s getting a good look at both of us.
“Yes,” I accept quickly, if only to get out of her scrutinizing gaze. “Thank you.”
I shuffle Rosalie forward and put our stuff on the counter. The guy working behind it is still completely uninterested in his surroundings, but I can’t say the same for the nosy woman.
“When are you due?” she asks Rosalie, who’s currently focusing on her own hands until we’re done with this transaction and we can get the hell out of here.
“February fifteenth,” I toss the random date over my shoulder while dropping some cash to cover our total.
“Oh, it might be a Valentine’s Day baby,” the woman titters happily, clearly pleased with herself for bringing up the idea.
The guy hands me my change and reaches for a bag to put our purchases in.
“No need,” I tell him. “We’ll carry it. Thanks.”
I gather everything, hook my arm around Rosalie’s waist, and hightail it out of here. We’re both stiff with tension as we get back into the car. No words are spoken as I start it up and drive away.
Keeping to my original plan, I drive to a motel on the outskirts of town. After ordering Rosalie to stay in the vehicle while I get us a room, I walk up to the office window under a faded red overhang. When the motel manager slides the partition back—also looking incredibly bored—I give him a spiel about how my pregnant wife and I are on a babymoon trip, but she’s too car sick to travel, so we might be staying for a few days. I prepay three nights in advance and ask that we’re not disturbed.
In reality, we’ll probably only stay until tomorrow morning. Best to keep moving once we’ve gotten some rest.
After we get into a room with one king bed, Rosalie finally pipes up, “Is it bad that someone talked to us in the store? You seem upset about it.”
I hate that just a simple interaction is reason for concern. But it is.
Still, I play it off like it’s not a big deal. “She was just being polite. She’s probably already forgotten about us.”
“Do you really think so?”
I hike a shoulder. “Something about people, Rosie… they’re usually very self-absorbed. That woman has no reason to remember us.”
“What happened to the pet names, babe?” she points out playfully, effectively lightening the somber mood.
“You got me. I just really like calling you Rosie.”
Satisfaction flares in her eyes, and I can tell she likes it, too. Regardless of her protests earlier, Rosie Doll is who she’ll always be to me.
Her lips curl up as she thoughtfully taps her chin. “I’m still considering pumpkin pie. Cookie is a contender, too.”
“I think you should stay away from foods,” I say. “I’m not that sweet.”
“I don’t believe that, honey.”
Chuckling as I reach for our luggage, I unzip my black duffle bag where I’d stashed our new items we just bought. Unrolling the T-shirts, I find the necklace snugly tucked in the middle of the fabric, and I rip the sticky sales tag off the metal chain.
Rosalie’s sitting on the side of the bed, blinking up at me with those dazzling, innocent eyes. I crouch down to her level, and it feels intimate to be kneeling in front of her like this.
I have to get close to secure the chain around her neck, and her legs automatically open to make room for me between her thighs. My stomach bumps into the pregnancy belly. The scent of roses wafts from her hair, and my cock swells.
After the clasp is latched, I let my hands linger. Rosalie’s neck is so thin and delicate. So pale and soft.
She’s too small. Underfed.
Deprived of life.
And her deprivation just reminds me of my own. The only difference between us is, she didn’t choose the life she has, while I did.
I’ve been punishing myself for years, but Rosalie makes me want to leave my self-imposed prison. She and I are two very lonely people, but I don’t feel alone when I’m with her. I think even if it were just us left on the planet, I’d feel whole as long as we’re together.
I’ve been hovering for far too long now, and there’s a palpable energy between us. A crackling tension that makes my skin tingle.
To make it seem like I’m not creeping on her, I adjust the chain so the clasp is behind her neck before standing up and taking a step back.
Rosalie’s humor has faded away, and I notice her studying my face.
We lock eyes, and I stuff my hands in my pockets so I don’t do something stupid. Like push her down and rub my erection on her pussy. “What?”
She cocks her head. “Why were you staring at me like that, sugar?”
A smile tugs at my lips, because she’s really overachieving with the nicknames. “Like what, kitten?”
Her face screws up with distaste at my attempt. “I don’t know. I’m not very good at reading people. Sometimes you look at me, and I don’t know what you’re thinking. So I thought I’d just ask.”
Damn, she’s direct. Suppose I could be the same.
“You’re beautiful,” I blurt, backing up even more to give her some space. “Everything about you is gorgeous, and seeing you sitting here, laughing about pet names, wearing the necklace I bought you, and the ring… it makes me want things.”
“What kind of things?” She toys with the wedding band, twirling it around and around her finger.
“Things I’ve never had,” I answer. “Things I never thought I’d have. Love. Family.”
Confused, Rosalie wears a little wrinkle between her eyes. “Why would you think you can’t have that? You’re a handsome guy. You’re smart. You’re employed. You can hold an entertaining conversation. Aside from the whole lying-to-me-on-the-internet thing, you seem like a total catch. I don’t have to be worldly to know anyone would be lucky to have you.”
I can’t remember the last time I was genuinely speechless because of someone’s praise, but I am. My empty heart soaks up her compliments like a sponge in water.
Earlier today, Rosalie said she wanted answers.
While I don’t want to tell her what I know about her past, I can tell her about mine. I can be open about who I’ve been, who I am now, and what I want.
Sitting on the couch across from her, the words are on the tip of my tongue. Words I’ve only spoken out loud to two people in my life—Krystal and the government therapist I saw after I got out of the military.
I take a breath and train my eyes to a random spot on the dark-blue carpet.
“I came into this world unwanted. I’m afraid I’ll leave it that way, too. Rough childhood is an understatement for how I grew up.”
Before I know it, my life is spilling from me like a bursting dam. I talk about being found in a dumpster, the foster homes, and feeling like a nobody. Rosalie listens intently as I recount all the abuse and rejection I’ve suffered, although I stop before I get to the Krystal era of my teenage years.