Page 4 of The Rhino's Rose

The lump in my throat makes answering impossible, so I nod instead, blinking rapidly to clear my vision. I was only two when it happened, but Isabella told me the basics. My mother had a seizure, fell, hit her head, and died on the same balcony where I jumped.

Of course, Garion couldn’t save her; he’s a gargoyle, not a paramedic. Plus, it happened during the daytime, while he would have been in stone form.

Isabella said my crying brought her running to the nursery—my bedroom—where she found me wailing over my mother’s lifeless body.

Though, maybe that’s not even true. Now that I know Isabella’s loyalty was always to my father, and that my parents’ marriage was just a mafia business arrangement, my mother’s tragic death could be a lie. For all I know, my father had her killed. Or did it himself.

I don’t know what’s real anymore, and the only one who might be able to tell me is a monster straight out of a fairy tale. I have truly lost my mind. “All of this is impossible.”

“And yet, you know it is not. Since a very young age, you have known there is more in the world than can be seen on the surface. You consciously remember thenights you saw movement outside your window, the nights you witnessed me returning to the stone after stretching my wings. But search deeper in your memories, Rosa. Remember the first time you looked into my eyes. The first time I carried you to safety in these arms.”

“What? You mean—no, that’s—that didn’t happen.”

“You were very small. Barely two years old. Perhaps too young to remember,” he says, turning his attention to the dark sky ahead.

Barely two years old.

She died eleven years ago.

I did what I could.

It’s as if a door unlocks inside me. The memories rush through all at once. Flashes of sunlight casting ribbons on my beautiful mother’s smiling face. Melodic singing. Laughter, hers and mine. Joyfulness. Then the sensation of falling. A baby’s fearful wail—my wail. Darkness enveloping me, blocking the sunlight. Cool arms holding me, then gently releasing me. Sorrowful yellow eyes meeting mine before disappearing, seemingly to nowhere.

“She was dancing with me on the balcony. You were there.”

Garion’s yellow gaze meets mine again. “You remember.”

“Just bits and pieces, but enough,” I whisper around a gulping sob. “I remember her face. Her voice. I don’t want to forget again.”

“You won’t.” Cupping my head in one large, claw-tipped hand, he tucks my cheek against his chest. “Restnow, child. We have a long journey ahead. Plenty of time to talk about the world as you will soon know it.”

“Thank you for saving me…twice.” Fatigue like I’ve never experienced rushes in, pulling my eyelids closed. Whatever dreams might come, I know the monster will protect me.

One

Eleven Years Later

Fate’s Falls

Somewhere in the mountains of British Columbia, Canada

ROSE

“Don’t forget to stop back and let me know how Petra likes the flowers,” I call to Kamen as he leaves the shop with a bouquet that’s not small by any means, yet is nearly engulfed by his hand.

The massive man turns enough to give me a nod, then he’s off, and I am finally, blissfully, alone inthe store.

I’m grateful to be busy, obviously. Rose’s Garden has been open for just over three years and is growing steadily—no pun intended. Being able to make a profession of my passion for plants is an honor and a thrill. But today I would trade money in the bank for free time to look out the front window.

As soon as the door closes behind the stone man—and I do mean that literally—I hurry to the bay window that takes the remaining width of my narrow shop on Fate’s Falls’ main street. Fiddling absentmindedly with the displays will look believable enough to anyone who might pass by. Or to the man I’m watching, should he happen to look over here.

Which he hasn’t done. Not once all day.

And why would he? First of all, he’s working. Very hard, if the bulging muscles are any indication. Secondly, he’s not my customer. Not a single purchase, ever. The only time Cornelius has set foot in my shop was at its grand opening, and that appearance didn’t count since nearly everyone in town showed up to support me.

The optimistic part of me hopes that Cornelius’s lack of patronage at my shop means there’s no one in his life he cares about enough to get them flowers. The logical part of me knows that’s wishful thinking. Cornelius is big, burly, and radiates virility. He’s also well-spoken and personable. The odds of him flying solo all the years I’ve known him are low.

Yet, I’ve never seen anyone on his arm or even holding his hand. Nothing resembling a date in the five years he’s lived nextdoor to me.

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