Page 38 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

Afterwards, when they were both spent and nothing but a pile of sweaty arms and legs wrapped in each other, Rosie let herself close her eyes. One thing was sure, she was no longer cold, and she slipped off easily to sleep. She always could with him there to keep her safe, keep her from everything they both didn’t want to face. She could have stayed there forever if they didn’t need to eat and work.

They both jumped at the sound of Rosie’s mobile phone ringing a couple of hours later. She reached for it, part blind in the dark, head still foggy from sleep. It couldn’t be morning yet.

“Hello?” she said, her voice thick with sleep, not even checking who it was or what the actual time was.

“Rosie.” It was Peter, and as she heard his voice, and her conscious brain began to wake, her stomach wound itself so tight that she gasped and thought she might be sick.

“I … er …”

“Who is it?” William asked from beside her.

Rosie covered the receiver with her hand, muffling the handset so Peter couldn’t hear. “My dad,” she said.

William reached out to the bedside table and got his watch. His brows pinched together. “It’s 3 am.”

“I know, which means it’s 7 for him.”

William let out a yawn, stretched and pushed himself up. “I’ll go and make us a drink or something. I could murder a coffee.”

If it wasn’t Peter on the phone, she might have mentioned that coffee at three in the morning wasn’t the best idea. But the sooner William went downstairs, the sooner she could get rid of Peter. Even if she did want to sit there and watch as William pulled his clothes on to go down.

“Do you want something to drink?”

“A hot chocolate would be great.”

“Done.” He leant onto the bed, making it dip with his weight. She pressed the phone to her chest as he kissed her. She tried kissing him back, but it felt awkward with Peter on the phone, somehow stuck between them. She didn’t want him marring the memory of any kiss, even if she’d already kissed William a hundred times and knew there were thousands to come. Peter couldn’t be allowed to ruin even one of them.

When William was gone, and she heard him go down the stairs, she uncovered the phone and put it back to her ear. “Was that another of your men? How many are there?”

“It’s William, and I don’t have other men, not that it’s any of your business. What do you want?”

He must have been in the kitchen or something, because she could hear the clattering of crockery. She tried to imagine Peter in the kitchen, but it was hard because he never got his hands dirty. Not when there were maids and things who could do that. “I was calling to see if you’d come to your senses yet. Your parents and I are very worried.”

“I told you, there is nothing to worry about. I’m fine right where I am.”

Or she would be, if they left her alone, but she kept that part to herself. There was another pause on the end of the line, and Rosie could imagine this would be making Peter pace. He hated not to win, in anything. She’d learnt that the hard way. Her self-esteem still held the blows from it, but she was different now; not that she knew how, or why she was different, but she felt untouchable, like it wouldn’t matter what he said, he’d not get into this bubble of happiness she’d made for herself.

“I need to go, Peter. It’s very late.”

“I just sent you an email.”

“Peter …”

‘It’s the terms of the contract and the closure of said contract. If this is what you really want, I had my lawyer draw up the terms of closure based on if we could not resolve this ourselves. I think you’ll find the terms of termination more than appropriate given the circumstances of your behaviour.” He couldn’t help it, getting that dig in at the end. By this point, Rosie was sure it was something Peter did without even realising. He was blameless in every aspect of his life.

Rosie bent over on the bed, resting her head on the blankets. She nodded. “I’ll look at it in the morning.”

“You can electronically sign it to get the ball rolling, but we need a hard copy too for the files. Print it off and mail it to my lawyer. He’ll handle the rest.” Another pause. “There’s no going back after this. You can’t come back on your hands and knees and expect me to forgive you when everything with William doesn’t work out and he realises what he’s let himself in for. You have no job, no prospects and nowhere to live.”

She was about to retort and then bit her tongue. She didn’t owe him anything, she certainly didn’t owe him an explanation for her life now and the choices she’d made, and she didn’t need for him to accept her as she was. That was gone now. “Goodnight, Peter,” she said, and hung up before he had the chance to reply.

She sat for a while with her head in her hands, more annoyed at answering his damn call than anything else. Who did he think he was? And to think, once, she’d admired him, trusted him even. He was a joke, a rich, awful joke that kept coming to bite her. She let out a long, slow breath and then inhaled again, filling her lungs with it as she stared into the dark room. He was less than half the man William was. She shivered, and she was thankful for it. It reminded her where she was. Arctic England. She pulled the blanket around her and settled down on William’s side of the bed, where it was warm, comforting and void of any mind games.

His pillow smelt of his shampoo, and she could feel the indent of where he’d been just moments before. She snuggled against that as if it was William, and while he was downstairs, this could keep her safe from the monsters in the dark and on her phone. She closed her eyes and drifted off.

It was uncertain how long she fell asleep for, but the sound of something slamming downstairs had her sitting bolt upright before she managed to shake any kind of sleep off. “William …” She dashed out of bed, grabbed the dressing gown and rushed down the stairs.

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