Page 74 of Kiss From A Rose

We fell into a comfortable routine, peeling and talking, the room filled with the easy banter that came with familiarity.

As we moved around the kitchen, each of us contributing to the meal, I realized this was more than just preparing dinner; it was a weaving together of our family, thread by thread, into a tapestry that felt stronger and more vibrant than it had in years. This was what the holidays were supposed to be about—this unity, this laughter, and the shared making of a meal that symbolized so much more than just food on the table.

CHAPTER 29

Rose

Isat with my glass of red wine on the porch with the heater turned on after dinner.

It had been a wonderful Christmas Eve—family and guests mingled well, and Malou was happy. I knew it meant a lot to her that she'd finally been able to host my family for the holidays at her home.

Willow and Jude were like they used to be—fun and friendly. That snark I had seen in Jude for the past years was gone. He was making a genuine effort to understand himself better and rectify his behavior. According to Dr. Mercer, all children go through phases, and Jude's behaving the way he did had nothing to do with how we raised him; rather, with the challenges he was facing as he moved from teenager to adulthood.

"More wine?" I heard Gray's voice and turned to see him with a wine glass and the half-filled bottle of Barolo we'd opened during dinner.

"I'm good." I held up my glass to show him it was still a quarter full.

"May I join you?" he asked, so uncertain of himself that it broke me. My husband was a confident man, and right now, because of me, he wasn't.

"Yes, of course, my…." I stopped myself from calling himmy darling Gray. We weren't there yet, and I worried that we'd never get there. This was just a reprieve from the loneliness that would follow once Malou was gone, and the kids and Gray went back to their lives. Sure, he'd said he'd be here longer, but I knew my husband—and he was a workaholic. Without something to do, he'd go out of his mind, and then, I feared, he'd resent me, blame me for running away, for him having to chase me to the ass-end of nowhere on Angel Island.

"It's a beautiful night," Gray murmured as he settled on a chair next to me. So close that I could smell his cologne, the one that still excited me after two decades.

I made a sound of assent and wrapped the blanket tighter around me. He seemed comfortable in just jeans and a sweater.

"Gray, do you regret marrying me?" The words slipped out before I could stop them. I’d always been afraid to ask, too scared of the answer. But now, I felt stronger—ready to hear whatever came next.

He faced me. "I married you because I loved you, and you were pregnant. If you hadn't gotten pregnant, we'd have married later on, but we would have. I'm certain of that."

"Even though you were afraid of Mama Rutherford?" I wasn't being malicious or sarcastic; it was genuine curiosity.

"I think it would've been easier if I was older, not still in college but on my own, able to make my own choices." He drank some wine. "I resented you for a while, which was stupid because we made the babies together. It wasn't like you did it on your own. And it was also stupid because I loved our life, our home,our children, andyou. But I let this feeling of…disquiet settle and permeate."

"Was it because I wasn’t a good wife?" I hadn’t wanted to hear the answer to this question either. What would he say this time? It had already crushed me once, hearing him admit there was a time when heresentedme.

"You were and are the best wife any man could ask for.Andthe fact thatIcarried a resentment out of habit is my weakness, my cowardice—it has nothing to do with how amazing you are."

He spoke clearly, calmly, and gently.

"You say these things like you believe them."

"I do." He put a hand on mine. "Rose, you make my life better. You always have. I knew if I'd married one of those Atlanta society missus, I'd have been miserable likeallmy friends are, like Holden is. Literally, every friend of mine calls you Saint Rose. They think I'm one lucky son of a bitch. They also feel sorry for you to be saddled with a prick like me."

I smiled at that. "Prick?"

"Yeah, babe. I've been that.

"Not always."

"No," he agreed, "but enough that the collapse of our marriage without me even seeing it is my fault."

I couldn't let him carry all the blame. It wasn't fair.

"I never said anything. Never told you how I felt. I…didn't know how to ask for my needs to be met."

"I never gave you a safe space to talk to me," he countered. "I know that."

"Look at us, both of us in therapy and talking like we are," I chuckled, setting my wine glass down. He was still holding my free hand, and I liked it. I didn't want to let him go.

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