Page 27 of Severed Rivalry
And I feared the men who might not respect the purity culture we were all bound to.
My daughter, instead, has so much freedom. Freedom with parameters is way harder than any other alternative.
A beep catches my attention. Before I grab my phone, I move my eyes down the hall to her room. “Thanks, Née. I appreciate it, and RoRo will too.”
Cian: Morning, Angel. Hope you had a great night. Want you to know I’m thinking about you.
Me: Good morning. I like being thought of.
Me: Did you sleep well?
Cian: Well enough. Ayla’s going through some things. Mom is too. That eldest son/brother thing is real.
Me: Anything I can do for you?
Cian: Just be you.
Me: You’re trying to flirt with me again.
Cian: 100%.
Cian: What are you up to today?
Me: Meeting Rosie for brunch and a movie and then home for all the things… laundry, housecleaning, homework for Renée, getting ready for the week ahead. You?
Cian: Same. Except for the brunch, movie, and homework parts. I’ll call you tonight. That work?
Me: Can’t wait.
I truly can’t.
I get ready for my day, putting a little extra into my appearance, mostly because I feel pretty with Cian’s attention.
They always say that taken women are more hit on, and I know why. When I feel good and have that confidence, it’s easier to walk into the world with my head held high like I own this bitch. Today I do.
It must come across because Rosie notices. Then again, she notices everything. She knows everything about me there is to know. She found me at my lowest. Twice. Both times she’s picked me up, dusted me off, and set me back to rights.
“How are those peonies?” she asks when her granddaughter has put in her earbuds after lunch.
“Gorgeous and flourishing. Still too much.”
“Are you talking about the peonies or the man they came from?”
“Yes.”
Her sly smile is offered the same time as her words. “Good. You deserve both. You deserve the world.”
“Love you, Rosie.” I extend a hand and take hers in mine, squeezing.
“Love you back, my girl.”
She’s called memy girlfor a long time. When I first arrived at their home, I didn’t want to share my name of all things. They knew everything about my childhood. I couldn’t stop all those details from spilling forth, but my name? That was sacred. Knowing that would be giving them the keys to send me back. I’d be too easily found.
So “my girl” it was, and I’ve always been good with it.
“It scares me. But you already know that.”
“I do. But anything worth it is scary. Trust your heart. It won’t lie to you.”
