Page 4 of Kiss From A Rose

"I like falling asleep here,"she'd say, laying her head on my shoulder, her arms around me.

How long had it been since we'd gone to bed at the same time?

I sat down on the bed and saw her face in the dim moonlight filtering through a gap in the drapes. I traced a cheek with a finger. Her skin was soft and dewy like it had always been. She was still as beautiful as she'd been all those years ago when I'd fallen for her. She shifted in her sleep, and the comforter slid down. I could see her breasts nestled under her sleep shirt. I was hard in an instant. Twenty years, and she could make me want her just like that. If I woke her, she'd come to me, let me make love to her. She'd never, ever said no.

Never?Yes, never.

I couldn't relate to friends whose wives had headaches and used sex as a bargaining chip in their marriage. Not Rose. She was sweet and sensual.

She'd whisper, "I love you, my darling Gray," when I thrust into her because it aroused me immensely when she vowed she was mine, told me I was hers, that she loved me.

I wish I could get into bed with her now, but I had to prepare for a meeting with the city planners, and, as it was, I'd be lucky to get a few hours of sleep.

I brushed my lips against her forehead, and she breathed, "Hmm, love you, honey."

Damn it! She'd say that, even in her sleep, when I'd forgotten our twentieth wedding anniversary. She was happy to spill her heart to me, and give me everything I needed or wanted. When was the last time I'd told her I loved her? All the time. I said it all the time, right? After a phone call or…of course, I did. We were a huggy-kissy family that said I love you to each other. I said it to my kids.

I grew up in a conservative home, but Rose had taught all of us to hug, kiss, and say we love each other. In the beginning, I'd protested,"If we say it all the time, it loses value."

"No, my darling Gray, it becomes more and bigger. I promise."

She'd been right.

Fuck!I'd forgotten yet another anniversary. I had to make up for this. No matter what Willow thought about Rose and jewelry, I knew better. I'd plan a trip right after I finished some of these deals.

We were supposed to go away around this Thanksgiving last week, but I'd had to cancel due to work, and Rose had made the best of it as she always did. We had Thanksgiving Dinner at my brother's place. I knew she and Bonnie, my brother Holden's wife, didn't get along—actually, Bonnie didn't like Rose—but mywife never complained about my family. At least not after the first couple of years of marriage, when she began to get along with my mother.

I smiled, thinking about the holidays. The kids would be home for Christmas in a few weeks, and Rose would do what she always did: turn our home into a cozy haven filled with festive smells and tastes. She loved this time of year and made it special for all of us.

We could go to St. Moritz, I thought as I walked to my study. We could stay at that hotel I'd designed. That would give me a chance to check in with the client and have a holiday with Rose. She wouldn't mind if I snuck in a few meetings while she hung out at the spa or the beach.

Yeah, that's what I'd do, I decided—and typed an email to Aimee to give me some dates around my schedule that could work.

CHAPTER 3

Rose

Icalled the kids and neither of them picked up. I didn't expect them to. I left a voicemail, even though they'd told me not to do that because "No one leaves voicemails these days, Mama." But it seemed wrong to say what I needed over a text message.

"Jude, son, I know you're busy, and I'm sorry for bothering you. I just wanted to tell you that I'm leaving…your father. I…it's all my fault. This will be a surprise to him as it is to you. I need a little time, and once I have settled in, I'll be in touch again. I know this will make you angry, and I'm so sorry for that, my baby. I love you very much."

I left a similar message for Willow.

There was no point in calling Gray. When he was in the office, his cell phone went straight to Aimee without a Y, and she always politely told me that Gray was busy and asked if I wanted to leave a message. I never did because when I had, he'd toldme he preferred not to be disturbed at work unless it was an emergency.

I'd called him once on the day of our anniversary, hoping he'd remember and say something, do something, stop me from making the decision I was reluctant to make, even though I knew I had to. But Aimee had not let my call through. I'd sent a text, but Gray missed it, as he did so many of my messages during the years.

After the call to Willow, I set my phone down on the dining table next to the envelope that now held what would be mypastlife. I looked at the house I'd made a home for us for the past fifteen years, the home that had become a claustrophobic prison where loneliness ate at me.

I had no regrets—none about what I was doing or how I was doing it. I was doing this for myself, in the way that felt right for me. After twenty years of serving my family, I’d earned the right to disappear.

When I stopped at a gas station to fill up my car, I texted Malou on my new and used two-generations-old smartphone that I bought on Amazon.

According to Gray and my prenup, if I asked for a divorce, I could take nothing with me. Gray's mother had told me so time and again. It was something Gray teased me about when I used to say some other man looked handsome. It always hurt that he joked that I was with him because of that stupid agreement. I'd signed whatever they put in front of me. I didn't care. I was marrying the love of my life, the father of the babies inside me; I didn't care whether he was a Rutherford or a teller at Piggly Wiggly. He was my man.

I should have added that to the note, I thought.

Maybe I should have also told him that I'd pay him back for the car, or perhaps he could just take it. I couldn't afford a Mercedes,even if it was years old. I couldn't pay the insurance, not right now. Maybe in a few months once I found my feet.

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