Page 8 of Kiss From A Rose

"You look like you're playing dress up," I told her. "Remove that makeup. Or at least learn to wear it properly so you don't look like a fuckin' hooker."

I squeezed the ring in my fist, its sharp angles biting my skin. She'd learned how to wear makeup. Subtle. Delicate.

I apologized to her that night when we slept together in my bedroom at my parents' house.

"You didn't look like my Rose, and it made me angry."

She stroked my cheek as we lay facing each other. "My darling Gray. I'll learn how to do it better. Watch me. I'll be the best wife you could ever imagine."

Tears prickled my eyes.

Shewasthe best wife a man could imagine or want. She was with me, holding my hand when my parents died, even though they'd treated her like dirt. She had been there for our children every step of the fucking way. She listened to me talk endlessly about work and the problems I was having. She wasalwayssupportive,—neverdoubted me, even when I did. She made me feel stronger, better.

How long had it been since we'd just talked?

"We haven't had dinner together in a week, honey. I made reservations—"

"For God's sake, Rose, I have work. I can't entertain you."

That was what, a couple of years ago? Yeah, when Rutherford Architects expanded with international projects, my schedule had gone from domestic toglobal, endless meetings, long travels, and backbreaking work.

I apologized to her the next day because I hadn't slept with her, choosing to work into the night and sleep in the guestroom. Was that the first time I'd done that? Yeah. That was the first time.

A crack that I'd created.

"It's okay, Gray," she said pleasantly. "I know you're busy; I should've been more thoughtful. How about I make us eggs Benedict for breakfast."

I hurt her. I knew that, but she didn't make anything of it, so I pretended that my half-assed"I'm sorry I'm stressed"was enough.

My phone rang, and I saw it was a group call.

"What the fuck, Dad?" Jude went first.

"Did you know?" Willow asked.

Yeah. I knew.I knew deep down this was going to happen, even if I didn't want to see it or believe it. "She left me a letter."

"A Dear John letter?" Jude bellowed. "You know I love Mama, but she can be such a passive-aggressive…."

Bitch? Was my son going to call my wife, his mother a bitch? Rose was never passive-aggressive. She wasneveraggressive. She was loving and kind.

Willow piped in, concern in her voice. "I tried to call her but—"

"Her phone is here, turned off." I picked up the iPhone she'd left next to the letter.

"Well, just call the credit card companies when she uses the damn things," Jude sounded angry.

"She left those here too," I told them.

"What? Why?" Willow sounded shattered.

I knew why. Sorrow claimed me.I've drawn five thousand dollars from my account. I know what our prenup says, so please know I'll pay it back to you as soon as humanly possible.

"Do you know where she'd go?" Willow asked.

"She'll be back," Jude muttered. "This is all her being a drama queen."

"Jude, son, cut it out. You're angry, I get it, but she's your mother, yeah?"

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