Page 29 of Diamond In The Rough

If Lix has to cohabitate with a woman, I can’t find it in my heart to be mad she’s the one he picked.

“Have you started on my yellow rose yet?” She snuggles into Felix’s chest, but speaks to me. “It would be pretty cool to see the graft take hold before Christmas.”

“You’re exceptionally demanding of a man who owes you nothing.” I push soil across to cover my aggie, and pat it all down. “You should be asking Felix for favors. Not me.”

“But to ask him for a special rose, propagated just for me, is like asking Santa for Easter chocolate.” She rests her cheek on his shoulder and smiles. “It could be done, I suppose. But mixing talents often leads to subpar results.”

“You flatter me.” I push up to stand, stepping back to make sure I didn’t mess with my edging while I worked. “And yes,” I sigh, “I’ve already made the graft. It’s in the greenhouse, where it’ll stay till at least next summer. If you’re still dating my brother by then, I guess you can have the rose.”

“‘Still dating,’” Felix scoffs. “She’ll be married and pregnant by next summer.” He grabs Christabelle’s face, trapping her when she’d rather pull back and smack him. Then he plops a kiss to her lips. “Consensually, of course.”

“Coercion is not consent.” Her words become distorted by squished cheeks and puckered lips. “And I haven’t agreed to the baby stuff, so cool your shit and behave.”

“Yeah, she’s not done mothering Cato yet.” I wipe my palms on the thighs of my jeans, and wink for the woman who already holds sister-in-law status, marriage certificate or no. “Spend enough time with Cato, and you might realize that releasing more Cannon/Malone kids into this world is detrimental to society. Now leave me alone. I’m done hanging out with you both today.” With a parting smirk, I pick up the paper Lix dropped, and start away from the pair.

Unfolding the unfamiliar publication, I get a view of me and Tiia Hale on the front fucking page. Her beautiful rage, bared teeth and fiery eyes; and me… looking almost bored.

But I recall with painful precision the lava that courses through my veins every time we’re in the same space.

Shaking off the memory of the sensation, I head toward my greenhouse, near the back corner of the garden, while scanning the headlines made up by someone neither of us knows.

A lovers’ quarrel: Is this unnamed woman the next Malone victim? All secrets revealed here.

“Stupid bullshit,” I mutter, walking into a growing space that can only be described as a whole other house.

The greenhouse covers three thousand square feet, all walled in glass, with sprinklers lining the ceiling. Growing lamps heat the space in the winter, and misters cool it in the summer. But all year long, humidity leaves the glass walls foggy, and the plants thriving.

The problem with Lix falling in love with the heiress to New York’s largest and most influential newspaper is that the Cannon Daily no longer writes shit about our family—a fact that is noticeable to anyone with eyes. And of course, when the masses crave one subject beyond the point of sanity, some entrepreneurial fuck will pick up where the previous supplier left off, and run with it.

Which is how my face is now on the front page of some shitty, small-time newspaper.

“It’s no secret that the Malone family brings with them a reputation of crime and passion. The latter, countless women have thrown themselves toward, in hopes of fulfilling their dirtiest, darkest desires. Christabelle Cannon, of course, is the latest example of this. Though, Ms. Cannon herself was penning damning front-page exposés on the family until just recently. Now she’s tight-lipped on the subject, which only breeds inquisition.

Why so silent, Ms. Cannon? Are you okay?

And who is this other woman, who has attracted the attention of the quieter Malone?

Miss: if you need help, speak up now before you’re silenced forever.”

“For fuck’s sake.” I slam the paper down in a tub of dirty water, drowning the image of us in the forgotten soil, fertilizer, and fuck knows what else that’s ended up in my catch-all drum, then I stalk across to the specimen Christabelle specifically asked me to cultivate: a cross between a chinensis viridiflora, symbolizing new beginnings, and a standard yellow kerria japonica, to represent the home she’s been welcomed into.

She wants to cross-create green and yellow, celebrate who she and Lix are together.

And they wonder why I worry they’ve become too soft for the world they command.

I don’t peel back the grafting tape I rolled on so recently. It’s not time. But I eyeball my work. I check for fungal diseases and unnecessary wilting. I search for signs of shock, fully prepared to restart the process. I’ll keep trying to bring Christabelle’s vision to life until Felix has enough stock to plant an entire garden for the woman he loves.

But thankfully, my experiment so far is a success—no restart necessary—so I grab my spray bottle and give the pot a little mist.

When I’m on edge, tending my garden is my first attempt to find calm. While Felix prefers to fuck away his frustrations, I propagate, with hands another family attempted to destroy. When that doesn’t work, I run. Tire myself out and hope to wipe the anger from my mind before my body gives up.

Anger like I’m feeling right now.

Irrationally irritated over the gossip article, I reach into my pocket and take out my phone. Scrolling the screen for only a moment, and smudging dirt onto the glass as I go, I hit dial on a name I’ve called too often in the last month. Then, bringing the device to my ear, I spritz water onto my roses and ignore the sweat that breaks out along my spine.

“Sir?” The line connects, and immediately, Harrison snaps to attention. “How can I help you?”

“Where is Ms. Hale today? Where did she go last night?”

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