Rosalie
My tongue runs over my lips as I take a sip of my mojito.
I look over my shoulder seeing my mother in the corner, surrounded by three other women, all carrying pearls around their necks. They probably cost more than the tuition I paid to Redfield.
She’s distracted. That’s perfect. I turn back around and down the drink. If my mother sees me drinking, I’ll no doubt get an earful, but I need something to take the edge off.
She’s been after me all evening. I got on the flight less than five hours ago, and now I’m surrounded by people I’ve been trying to escape for the past five months.
I don’t belong here. I might have once upon a time, but I know this isn’t the place for me. I don’t want this to be my life, and I don’t want to become my mother.
I let out a breath as I swirl the now-empty glass in my hand. I’ve been trying to hide in the corner of the room ever since I got here.
“Rosalie.” My mother calls from the other end of the room. I turn and am met with eyes all looking at me as she hauls me over. “Come here,” she calls out.
I sigh and make my way over to my mother and her friends. I smile and greet the other women. They barely register a ‘hmm’ my way, but I don’t take it personally.
“Rosalie, you’ve grown up so much,” my sister-in-law, Sarah, says. My eyes drift to her round belly. She’s almost six months pregnant. I didn’t even know they were having a baby until tonight. That’s how much my brother and I talk. I can count the number of times on one hand that I’ve talked to him since he moved out. My brother and I grew up in the same house, but with a seven-year age gap, we were practically strangers living together.
“Yes,” my mother says. “She’s old enough to start her own family.” She smiles down at me, and I resist the urge to grimace. I can’t imagine having a baby this early. My mother got married and pregnant straight after high school, but that isn’t me. I don’t want a family for a long, long time.
My mother points to the woman closest to her. She looks just like my mother, blonde hair, blue eyes, and high cheekbones. Ears and chest covered in jewels. The only difference is my mother doesn’t have a botched Botox.
“This is Beth.” My mother says. “Remember I was telling you about her son?” I barely nod at the woman in front of me as she looks me up and down, no doubt trying to figure out if she thinks I’m good enough for her son. Well, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m not interested.
“Jackson, come here,” Beth calls out to her left, and I turn to see a tall man with bright blue eyes smile as he walks into the huddle of my mother’s friends. He flashes a smile, and I smile back. He’s definitely attractive and young, as opposed to the other men my mother’s been trying to set me up with tonight. Though, I’m still not interested.
He grins. “You must be Rosalie.”
I nod. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Rosalie goes to Redfield,” Beth tells her son, who seems to like that, as opposed to my mother, who freezes. Her shoulders tense up as she takes a sip of her drink, trying not to let it show that she still feels affected by my attending college.
I wish I could understand why. I don’t get it. Most parents would be thrilled their child got into an ivy league, but not my mother.
“Really?” Jackson says, raising his eyebrows. “I went to Redfield. It was a great school.”
“You did?” I ask.
“Yep. Graduated with honors,” Beth says, smiling at her son. I glance at my mother, seeing her avoid me. I wish she would act happy for me.
“You and Jackson should catch up. Go on,” my mother interrupts.
He lets out a laugh. “You want to go get a drink?” he asks me.
I turn to my mother, and her face is red, but she doesn’t try to get involved or tell him how I’m still under the drinking age. She just turns back around to talk to her friends. My mother must really want me to talk to Jackson if she’s willing to let me drink.
Jackson and I walk over to the drinks table where I was previously trying to hide out from this exact thing happening, but Jackson doesn’t seem too bad.
He fills up my cup with champagne and hands it to me, and fills up one for himself. I take a sip, loving how the bubbles hit my tongue.
“So, what do you study?” Jackson asks.
I turn my head towards him, seeing him smile down at me. “I’m a fashion major,” I tell him. “I want to become a fashion designer. You know, start my own clothing line.”
He grins as he looks down at my dress. “Yeah, I can see that.” His tongue dips out to lick his bottom lip. “You’ve got great style.”
I smile and tuck my hair behind my ear. “Thanks.” I take another sip of my champagne and look around the room, catching my mother looking at me. She widens her eyes and gestures with her head to Jackson. I roll my eyes and turn to my date for the evening.
“So, how’s the hotel business?” I ask.
He nods, smiling. “Can’t complain. It’s going well.”
“How old are you?” I ask. “I mean, you don’t seem old enough to already own a hotel.”
He lets out a laugh and shrugs. “Yeah, well. My parents gave me the start-up cash after I graduated,” he says with a smile. “To answer your question, I’m twenty-five.”
“Wow,” I say, taking another sip. “That’s impressive.”
“I guess, but you could do the same, right?”
My brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
He takes a swig of his drink and clears his throat. “You could just ask your parents for money for your…” He waves a hand dismissively. “Clothes, or whatever.”
I take a step back from him. “I don’t need to ask my parents for anything. I have my own money.”
“Really?” he asks, lifting a brow at me.
I nod, glaring at him.
“And how did you get your money?” I roll my eyes, which makes him laugh. “Exactly.”
I should have known. He’s part of this lifestyle, gladly letting his mother meddle in his love life. I’m tired of everyone assuming I can’t do anything on my own. I know I’m not wasting my time. I’m doing something I want to be doing, and for the first time in a long time, I’m actually happy.
I place the drink down and turn to walk away, not bothering to give him an explanation as to why I don’t want to stick around and hear him speak about how inconsequential my dreams are.
I hear him mutter something as I walk away, but I don’t stick around to listen. I’m sick of being here, being traded off to a potential husband, and hearing how what I want doesn’t matter. I walk over to where my mother is standing, ready to tell her I’m leaving.
“Oh good.” My mother says when she sees me approaching her. “Rosalie, I’ve got someone I want you to meet.
Oh, for god’s sake. “Mother, I don’t want to meet any other eligible suitors. I’m done, I don’t want a boyfriend or husband or whatever the hell you’re trying to set me up with.”
I hear someone clear their throat, and I snap my head to the tall brunette woman standing next to my mother. My whole body freezes. Emily Livingston. In front of me.
“Have you met Emily Livingston?” my mother says.
I shake my head, stretching out my hand to greet her. She smiles, shaking my hand. My mouth drops open a little.
“Rosalie, is it?”
I nod. “God, I’m a huge fan of your designs. Livingston Couture was the first designer item I bought.”
“I’ll leave you to it.” My mother says, stepping away.
Emily smiles. “That’s wonderful to know. Your mother says you’re thinking of starting your own fashion line?”
I nod, a little confused. “She said that?”
“She did.” She pulls out a card from her blazer pocket and hands it over to me. “I’m very interested in seeing what you design. How about we meet up tomorrow for lunch?” she asks.
I glance up at her, seeing her brows raised, waiting for a reply. I’m supposed to be leaving tonight back to Redfield. But when Emily Livingston asks to talk to you, you don’t say no.
I nod, giving her a smile. “Lunch tomorrow would be great,” I tell her. “It was nice to meet you.”
She gives me a warm smile. “Me too.” She excuses herself and heads out of the room. I’m a little shocked. I have a lunch date with Emily Livingston.
I take out my phone, changing my flight. One more day might not be so terrible.
My phone buzzes, and I see a text from Grayson. Seeing his name on my screen makes my chest tense, and I smile as I open his text.
Grayson: You in for another lesson?
I sigh in disappointment. I wish I were there; I would do anything to spend more time with Grayson.
Me: Can’t. I’m in New York, meeting my new husband.
Grayson: Yeah? Any luck?
Me: I’m coming back as an engaged woman.
I snicker as I press send. Three little dots appear and disappear on the screen, I stare at my screen, waiting for him to reply, but he doesn’t.
Me: Kidding.
I reply when he doesn’t answer me. After a minute, another text pops up.
Grayson: Don’t play with me like that, angel.
I smile at my screen, that nickname will never get old.
Grayson: When do you get back?
Me: Not until Sunday morning.
Grayson: Are you trying to run from me? Because let me tell you, Rosie, no matter where you go, I will scour the earth to find you.
I feel a twinge in my chest reading those words from him. I would never want to run from him. The only thing I’m thinking about is how much longer until I go home to him.
Me: I never want to run from you.
Grayson: Thank fuck for that.
Grayson: Send pics of your outfit.
My brows draw together.
Me: You want to see my outfit?
Grayson: Rosie. Every time I see you, I don’t know whether I want to take you out of your clothes or fuck you in them. They drive me crazy. Everything you wear looks amazing on you.
I press my thighs together, looking around to check if anyone can tell I’m having dirty thoughts right now. The nights between Grayson and me flash through my mind, wanting to book a plane ticket back home this instant.
Me: Ok. I will.
I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself, and press send.
One more day. And then I can go home. I can see Grayson again. The thought makes the rest of this night tolerable.
