Page 3 of Kiss From A Rose

Me:I'll leave him a note. I don't think he'll care.

Malou:For two smart broads, we certainly have shit taste in men.

Me:Amen!

CHAPTER 2

Gray

Iroyally fucked up.

I missed a twentieth fucking wedding anniversary. That was bad.

Very bad!

Damn it, Aimee was supposed to remind me of such things. I'd have to tell her that. But she helped me so much with my work, which was invaluable, that it seemed petty to bring such mundane nonsense. This was my personal life, not work, which was what she was hired to do, and she did that damn well.

I texted the kids on our group chat—the one Rose wasn't on:Did you congratulate your mom on our wedding anniversary?

Jude:Was that today?

Willow:No. Did you forget, Dad?

Did no one but Rose remember our anniversary?

Once, when I'd missed yet another anniversary, I'd covered up my embarrassment by telling her that people with bad marriagesneeded to remember and celebrate such occasions, not us, not us with the great marriage. I made up for it with something from Van Cleef & Arpels. I guess I could do the same this time.

Me:Yeah. Your mom was waiting, and I had that Austen construction crisis.

Jude:Mom will be fine. She knows you're busy.

Willow:Did she sound upset when you came home?

Me:No.

The kids agreed that then it was alright. If she were upset, she'd say something. But I knew she wouldn't. She'd never say anything. She'd be agreeable, as she'd always been since we first met. Ormaybeshe was okay with it. We had a good marriage. Sure, the past few months had been hectic with new contracts the company received that took me out of Atlanta, but that happened in every marriage. She didn’t work, I did, and that’s how we paid for our lives.

Willow:You know she loves her baubles. Buy her something.

I froze when I read that message. The dismissive way in which Willow said that Rose likedbaubles. She liked them fine but didn't chase jewelry like some other woman. She never bought herself anything. All the jewelry she had was from my mother or me. But I couldn't blame Willow. I'd thought the exact same thing.

I left the study and went to our bedroom.

I loved our home.

Rose had made it cozy, unlike the mausoleum I'd grown up in, where you just couldn't get comfortable. Here, everything was designed to generate warmth and give you a sense ofhome. I'd resisted letting her decorate in the beginning, so used to having an interior designer put together something that would look good on the society pages—but Rose hadbegged. She'd pleaded that I let her take care of our house.

"Put her on a strict budget so she doesn't go crazy," my mother had admonished me when I told her we wouldn't be using my mother's favorite interior designer for our new place, "Once she realizes she can't do it, ask her to call me."

I had put Rose on a budget. I'd thought it was ridiculously tight, one that she wouldn't be able to do much with, but Rose had been over the moon.

"Thanks for trusting me with so much money, Gray. I won't let you down."

She hadn't.

Oh, my mother complained about thelow-class wayin which Rose decorated the house, but I liked it, and I'd asked her to butt out. She may have continued to give Rose a hard time about it, but eventually, I knew Mama would find something else to latch on to.

I opened the bedroom door and saw my wife on our big bed, sleeping on her side, huddled as she always was, facing my side of the bed. When we were younger, she'd stay up until I came to bed.

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