Page 16 of Cuts Like an Angel: Part 2

Chapter Eight

Rosie’s stomach rumbled then twisted in pain as she peeked out of the upstairs window, watching William ride off. She hurried and unpacked, ignoring her stomach and pounding head’s complaints. Her mind kept zooming to where he was going. Who he was going to see? Why didn’t he just tell her? Why was he hiding that? It was obvious he was, and he even seemed to know she knew he was, and he still didn’t come clean! Dammit, William!

She hurried to the dresser and opened the drawers she’d occupied the first time, finding them empty. Relief hit her. Already she was expecting them to be full of … stuff that wasn’t hers. Get a grip, Rosie. Don’t you start your stupid panic mode. Get your shit together and get unpacked. Assume the best.

She stepped up her pace, repeating the words assume thebest as she went from the bedroom to the bathroom and deposited her toiletries. She paused when she opened the vanity mirror, reminding her of his neat-freak side. Rosie placed her few items on the shelf, letting the joy of having her things next to his take over. She put them touching, wondering if he’d mind. What if he had a system? What did she mean what if? He clearly did. Her stuff next to his looked … messy. She quickly stepped back, staring at the toiletries on the shelf, then hurried to place hers in the exact same manner, but on the opposite side. She angled her head at the result, wondering if he’d get the silent communication that she was okay with doing things his way. No matter what. That she would bend to his tastes and quirks if she needed to.

She stepped back again and stared at the rearrangement. Shit, they were uneven in number. He seemed to like things even. She hurried back to her dresser and found the little bottle of perfume, then race walked back, setting it to match his last item.

Shit, they weren’t the same height. Or size. But the concept was there, and he’d probably see that?

She looked around, taking in everything, wanting to be aware of his preferences. She should probably make notes. She needed to be sensitive to those things if she could, with a person like that, it was extremely important to them. She went from room to room, mentally jotting down all the details. From how and where the pictures hung on the wall to how the covers lay on the bed.

“Shit!” she screamed, when Stitches shot through her ankles and scurried out of the way. “Stitches! You demon you!” She headed downstairs, then paused, going back to the room for her phone. She hurried along, ready to try to eat a bite. She was pretty sure that what she had was a hunger headache. God knows she’d had enough of them to recognize the signs.

In the kitchen, she did the same thing as upstairs, taking inventory of his style and preferences. Each cabinet and drawer held answers. Poor thing. The whole place screamed of a man who was trying and then suddenly quit ... when she left.

The fridge and the laundry were the only two places that his fears hadn’t seemed to strike. Those two places were pristine. Hard limits? Duly noted. Do not leave your dirty clothes lying all over or screw up his neat refrigerator, Sloppy Rosie. She could keep a fridge neat. She’d not had a lot of practice with having much to keep neat but how hard could it be? Laundry would be her biggest foe. Nothing she couldn’t handle. Becoming more organized was already on her self-improvement list, for nearly a decade. So, this was like perfect timing.

She opened the freezer, again forcing her brain to take in everything about the order staring back at her. God, he was good at the neat stuff. She was so opposite of him. What would happen if she got comfortable with him and began slowly unravelling his psyche with her sloppiness?

She inspected the packs of meat, being sure to replace them back in their spots as she went. He liked to organize things by size, biggest to littlest, it seemed. It was functional, you could see everything. It was good she was with William. He would help her finish growing up. Another thing on her self-improvement list. Rosie—finish growing the hell up.

She went about getting dinner on, noticing how she moved. She was too quick, that was one of her problems that led to sloppy. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, fighting to remember some of the things she’d read in that book. Slow down. Take your time. You own the world. The world is here for you, you are not here for the world. You are royalty. Live like it.

Royalty. Damn right she was. Queen Rosie.

Maybe if she dressed the part, she might actually feel like it. She considered her wardrobe selections, and a smile bloomed when she remembered she’d brought along new items from home. She dashed out the door then paused, returning to make sure the fire on the stove was low and nothing would get ruined, then went back to dashing upstairs.

She smiled when she found the outfit she wanted to impress William with. God, what if he thought it was stupid?

Stop it. Not William.

She hurried and changed into a light dress that pulled in at all the right places.

Gosh, no mirror. She opened the curtains in the bedroom, peering out and searching the road for his one single headlight. She loved being out in the country but at that second, she felt like she was on another planet. She remembered the garden in the back of the house and butterflies erupted in her stomach as she envisioned them planting trees and flowers. Making memories. She recalled the way his creamy skin glistened with sweat that day when she’d walked out and found him topless, sending the butterflies right between her legs. She proceeded to relive that day, only this time she let herself be naughty and licked the sweat from his body, starting at his chest. She was soon down on her knees, blowing his mind with her oral talents.

The fantasy dissolved as she realized she didn’t have oral talents. How many women had he been with? Were they all good in bed? Good with the oral talents?

Images of another woman performing that on him made her blood boil and stomach sick. God, she’d kill him if he was out fucking around.

Shit, she was being an obsessive girlfriend again. Royalty. Life is mine. William is mine. Not that bitch, whoever she is. William loves me. William hates all other women.

She smiled at the last part, stepping back and inspecting her outfit in the reflection of the window. Yes! She still looked amazing in it. Eeek!

She shut the curtains and hurried out of the room, then stopped and looked back. Shit. She shot to her pile of clothes on the floor, snatched them up, looked around for any other mess, and then raced the cat downstairs, laughing in excitement as she did. She glanced at the food on her way to the laundry, remembering to grab her phone from her jean pocket before setting them inside the machine. Empty machine, of course. Maybe he didn’t even use the laundry room. Maybe he used a laundry mat.

She looked at the screen on her phone, praying that he’d texted and she’d missed it.

Her heart leapt in her chest at seeing a message. She hit the button and her guts knotted. Lacey. She took a deep breath and opened it.

How’d lovely William take the news?

Bitch. She typed out a huge lie and her finger shook over the send button. She erased it and typed out, I’m not coming back. Again, her finger hovered over the send button. She hit it quickly before she chickened out and stared at the screen, waiting for her reaction.

Hahahahaha. I told dad this would happen, he should’ve listened to me. He’s going to be piiiisssed. I hope you’re prepared.

She was very prepared. He’d tried to bribe her into staying. When that wasn’t working, he threatened. But this was her mother, every bit of it. She’d threatened dad with something and whatever it was, had him hell bent on not letting her go back to the UK. Which was a big ha! ha! She sent her reply. I am very prepared.

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