Yet here I am. I have the monster. I have my lost boy. I have our baby growing in my tummy.
All in a red dress that I love.
I don’t know whether it’s because it’s the first time today that I’ve had to think, but I wonder with reluctance whether this is the calm before the storm. “Thank you for an amazing day,” I whisper. He doesn’t answer, just holds me closer. But what happens tomorrow? I can’t forget Danny’s words. He has a way out. When might that happen? Do I want to know? Do I need to know? Damn my curiosity. “What’s the way out, Danny?” I ask, mentally scorning myself and my need.
“Shhhh,” he says, all soothing, rubbing his face into the crook of my neck. It doesn’t ease me at all. The fear is deep, and it’s rising. He can hardly blame me after what I went through the last time he found a way out.
“Danny, I want to know.” I need to prepare.
“No, you don’t.”
“I do,” I grate, getting fired up. “I need to know.”
He shakes his head. “No, Rose.”
“Danny, tell me.” The more he evades me, refusing me information, the more I’ll worry. The more the fear is stoked. I wrench myself away and look at him. His expression is cut. Frustration. Annoyance. I stand firm. “Tell me.”
“No.”
“Damn it, Danny,” I hiss, trying to keep my anger and volume contained. “Tell me.”
“Fine,” he snaps, moving in and yanking me to his body violently. “For our peace, for you, me, Daniel, and our baby to walk away from this fucking shitstorm,” he says quietly, everything about his persona and words hiking up my dread. “He wants James.”
My heart slows in my chest, my eyes darting to Beau and James on the dance floor. “What?” I murmur, my body refusing to move now, our swaying bodies static.
“That’s our way out.” Danny holds me with one arm, and the next thing I know, Daniel’s with us, and Danny has his arms around all of us. All three of us. I kiss his head and then look at my husband. Adoration. Reverence. That’s what I see in his expression. Love for his wife and children.
I swallow my despair that dwells alongside my joy. The possessiveness and protection he’s exuding is potent.
Determination.
He’ll do anything to keep us safe.
27
JAMES
* * *
I need her on form tomorrow. I need her head clear and her mind straight. A hangover is not the way forward, but I can’t deny her that sense of freedom, even if it’s temporary. It started with a stagger. A few sways. Now, I’m virtually holding her up. “I think it’s time for bed,” I say diplomatically.
“I’m not drunk,” she slurs, slumped against my body.
“Sure you’re not,” I say on a sigh, taking her chin and directing her heavy head up. Her eyes are rolling. She’s not just drunk, she’s plastered. Drink her way through it. It was the only way. “Come on.” I turn her and scoop her up.
“I want to dance,” she protests, her limp arm shooting out and pointing to the cake.
She can hardly stand, let alone dance. “You can dance in your dreams.”
She pouts as Rose slips away from Danny, joining us. “Bedtime?” she asks, eyeing Beau.
“Probably about an hour ago,” I confirm. “Goodnight.”
“Night,” Rose says softly, smiling sadly at her friend. “Love you, Beau,” she adds, and I frown, looking back as I carry Beau out of the tent. Danny moves in and takes Rose’s arm, pulling her gently back onto the dance floor.
“Balloons,” Beau sings, coming to life, scrambling in my arms. “Shoe.”
“What?”
“My shoe. I need a shoe.”
I drop her, confused, and hold her while she removes one of her strappy heels. “Freeze, motherfucker,” she yells, swaying, swiping out her arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Freeze!” She lunges forward and swings at the balloons, popping one. She jumps out of her skin. “Don’t move.” She swipes again, the move making her spin, and I grab her quickly before she face-plants. “Stay exactly where you are,” she yells, fighting her way toward the arch and lashing out. Balloons pop left and right, and she laughs.
What the fuck?
“Okay, it’s definitely time for bed.” Sweeping her up and confiscating her shoe, I head inside and take the stairs, Beau bobbing in my arms. I make it to the bedroom without her throwing up, which is a fucking achievement. I sit her on the bed and start to strip her down. “Water?” I ask.
“No. Take me back to the party,” she demands, trying to get up. I don’t even need to try and stop her, her uncooperative body doing that for me.
“Painkillers?”
“No, they don’t work.” She squints, trying to see me. “I want to marry you.”
I smile as I peel her dress up over her head, tossing it aside. “Then ask me.”
“Will you marry me?”
“In a heartbeat,” I reply, reaching back for her bra and unclasping it as she sways.
“Good. I want a baby.”
I swallow, nodding as I draw the lace down her arms. “Then ask me.”
“Can we have a baby?” she slurs, her uncoordinated arm reaching for my face. I drop her bra and let her feel me. “Can we?”
“As many as you want,” I whisper, gazing into her drunken eyes. “Anything else?”
“I want to live where the sun always shines. I want to see you every day, love you, look after you, grow old with you.”
God, I love this woman. If only she was always so honest. There’s no mention of revenge. No mention of death. And as I look at her now, totally inebriated, I see no darkness in her. Only life and hope.
She wants that life? She can have it. All of it.
Just as soon as I’ve dealt with tomorrow.
* * *
I’ve never seen Beau drunk. It was oddly calming, even if her happiness, her dancing, her laughs, were a temporary mask. But seeing her like that last night made me see the woman underneath all the pain. The woman she wants to be and, God, the woman I want her to be.
Smiling. Happy. Content. Honest.
I prop myself up on my elbow, seizing the opportunity to study her closely, stroking through her hair, taking in every inch of her serene face. She’s dead to the world, and no doubt will be for a while. It’s a blessing.
I lower my mouth to her cheek and breathe her into me. “I love you,” I whisper, mentally promising to be back before she wakes up. She’ll need painkillers. A hand to hold while she walks to the bathroom. Help brushing her teeth. Water. A hug. Sunshine on her face. I’ll give her it all.
After I pull the sheet up her back, tucking her in, I rip myself away, getting up and going to the bathroom. I don’t bother showering, as I’ll shower after we’ve been out on the water. Fuck knows, I need it to clear my head. I slip into some sweatpants, a zip-up hoodie, and get some trainers on, pulling a baseball cap on as I leave our room, forcing myself not to look back. Do. Not. Look. Back.
Closing the door quietly, I glance at my watch as I walk through the house, reaching the top of the stairs to find Danny emerging from the corridor that leads to his office, his hands in the back of his jeans where he’s inevitably just tucked his gun. And to demonstrate that I’m on the same page, I pull mine out and check the magazine.