Rebel Roused (Untamed #5) (9 page)

“D
id you notice Denny’s sniffly nose?” Maya came up behind me and pointed across the meeting room at the short, stocky construction worker with cropped black hair. He sniffed again, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Gross.

I looked at her. “Maybe he has a cold?”

“Or maybe he’s using again.” She tapped her bare wrist. “It’s that time of the year for him.”

“Seriously?”

“Like clockwork. He hates the holidays—always slips up mid-December.” She eyed him again, holding her coffee cup up under her nose and inhaling its bitter scent. “You can tell by his eyes—glassy, pupils so huge I can see them all the way across the room. Shit, I could probably walk right through them.”

“Wow,” I said, pouring hot water into the paper cup holding my tea bag. “You’re good.”

“Well, you know what they say—takes one to know one. Plus, I’ve been coming to these meetings since I was fifteen. I’ve seen it all.” She blew her hair out of her face. “And many times over.”

Maya was a year or two older than me, had intelligent dark eyes and jet-black hair cut in a severe bob that barely skimmed her chin. She was dressed in all-black as usual—oversized sweater, turtleneck, and short, flirty skirt. Her black platforms had her towering over me.

I’d liked her the moment I met her. There was something undeniably real and fresh about her. She was honest in a way that only recovering addicts ever could be—real about herself, her fuckups, and not afraid to call bullshit on others.

Every week, I looked forward to seeing her.

I’d been coming to this particular meeting ever since I’d gotten out of the hospital. It wasn’t far from my volunteer work, and it took place in the breathtaking Riverside church—right at the edge of Columbia’s campus. There was something about being inside the structure and surrounding myself by its beauty that gave me strength. After all, art touched me on a cellular level. And this gorgeous building was one hell of a piece of art.

So I kept coming, once a week, on my way to the shelter. Sometimes twice if I felt like I needed it. Getting through another seven days clean, being able to show my face here and say in all honesty that I’d made it another week without succumbing to temptation kept me going.

Seeing Maya each time made it even better.

We took our cups over to the circle of chairs and sat down, and I listened to her prattle on about the other regulars as they filed into the room.

I was at home. Maybe an AA group was a fucked up version of home by most people’s standards, but I felt safe. I belonged.

And I was on my way to recovery.

One step at a time.

After the meeting, I parted ways with Maya, and headed out of the church, psyching myself up for the five-block walk to the shelter. It was either that or taking a cab, and today I just wanted to breathe in the cold air and stretch my legs. I missed walking around this city of mine. And bit-by-bit, I was getting more comfortable with it again.

“Reagan! Reagan, over here!”

“Miss McKinley!”

Voices called out to me—none that I recognized—and I was suddenly surrounded by reporters flashing cameras and shoving microphones in my face. My first thought was that something had happened to Dare. That somehow his father wasn’t actually dead and something huge had gone down. After everything I’d been through and considering my father was the governor-elect, my name was still too ever-present on people’s lips. Their memories may have been short, but not enough time had passed yet for them to forget me.

“Congratulations, Miss McKinley! You must be so thrilled about your plans.”

My plans? The reporter, a tall brunette in a bright red coat, waved around a copy of The New York Times, folded open to the wedding announcement page.

No. Fucking. Way.

I held out my hand for the paper, my eyes furiously raking over the text. Holy shit. My parents had placed the announcement for my wedding with a picture of me—and ONLY me—above it. There was no mention of Dare or his family at all. There was one buried line about my fiancé being an artist, but most of it was about my family, my father, the incoming governor of New York. And—

Oh my god, there was a wedding date.

Dare and I hadn’t set a date yet, but one for next fall glared back. They’d even picked a fucking location. It was all there, printed in fresh black ink.

My parents were trying to plan my wedding without even talking to me about it.

No. Fucking. Way.

I brushed off the reporters, and started jogging up the street toward Harlem, my phone already pressed to my ear.

My mother picked up on the third ring.

“Reagan,” she said, her voice as smooth as butter. If reporters hadn’t already assaulted me, I’d be trying to figure out why she was using her schmoozing tone with me. But I knew. All too well.

“How dare you?!” My voice shook as I hissed into the phone.

“Ah, you’ve seen The Times, darling. It’s a wonderful piece isn’t it? Now, I know that’s an old picture we used, but we didn’t have any recent shots of you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? You don’t want me to mind the
photo
you used? What about the fact that you placed the announcement without my knowledge or consent? What about the fucking wedding date you’ve arbitrarily set? Not to mention the venue!”

“The Hamptons’ estate is the perfect wedding location. It was perfect for Quincy’s ceremony, it will be perfect for yours, too.”

“You’re not listen—MOTHER. You’re not planning my wedding. Dare and I haven’t even picked a date and you can’t just take over—”

“Honestly, Reagan, I do not understand what the problem is. You asked for our support and here we are supporting you the best we know how. We have accepted your
artist
—” She said the word like it was a synonym for
leper,
and I could hear her shudder over the phone
.
“—and his sordid past, with open arms. What exactly are we doing wrong
this
time? Please do enlighten me.”

“You had no right—” I stopped abruptly on the street, eliciting a curse from the person walking behind me. I couldn’t have this conversation with her over the phone—it wasn’t getting me anywhere and we’d just end up going around in circles. “You know what?” I said as I turned and strode back downtown. “I’m coming over right now. You two have got to stop meddling—”

“Your father and I are not home at the moment.”

I halted and nearly tripped some other guy behind me.

God, what was with people walking so fucking close? It was making me twitchy. I moved off to the side, leaning my back against a building as I watched the people passing by, looking for any signs that they were more than just fellow pedestrians, but every one of them ignored me.

God bless New Yorkers.

“Well, where are you?”

“Antigua. A little pre-inauguration vacation. Your poor father is going to be swamped soon. This is our last chance to really relax what with the holidays coming up and him taking office right after.” She sighed dramatically, like her life was really all that hard. I rolled my eyes. “We will be back next Friday. Why don’t you come over? You can admonish us then.”

Next Friday. The day before the kids’ art show.

“Fine.” It would give me time to try to come up with a way to keep them out of my private business. This wedding stuff was just the tip of the iceberg with them. “Friday night.”

I pocketed my phone and headed toward the shelter, trying to clear my mind and forget about my parents. Because in the end, they didn’t matter. They could place all the announcements they wanted, but it didn’t mean I had to go along with any of their wishes.

Not anymore.

I was living my own life now. And they were going to learn what that meant the hard way.

thirteen

“D
id you see today’s Times?” Ree threw down her bag, marched into the kitchen, and slapped the paper down on the counter right next to where I was chopping vegetables. “It’s ENLIGHTENING.”

“Really.” I put the knife down on the cutting board and wiped my hands on the dishtowel. “How so?”

“Look at this crap!” She poked the facing page, and I leaned over it to skim the text beneath her picture. “Apparently, we’re getting married next fall in the Hamptons. Congratu-
fucking
-lations to us!”

I glanced up and could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. “Wow. Sounds very blue blood,” I said with a laugh. “Do you think we’ll be invited?”

“Dare!” She smacked my arm. “My fucking parents—”

“Don’t matter.” My hands settled over her shoulders and I pulled her into me. Her arms snaked around my waist and she relaxed against me. “We’ll get married our way,” I said as I breathed her in. “Who cares what kind of bullshit they print in the paper. This is you and me, Ree. We are in control.” She leaned back and looked up at me, her blue eyes shining. “We can get married whenever and wherever you want. Hell, we could even elope.”

Her mouth quirked up. “Seriously? You’d do that?”

“Sure, baby. Anything you want.” I leaned down to taste her soft lips, and she opened into my kiss with a sweet moan. Her hands fisted my t-shirt as she pulled me against her. I deepened the kiss, teasing her with my tongue, exploring her lips, then her jaw, slowly headed for her neck.

I brushed her hair out of the way and laughed. “You have paint on the side of your neck.” I bit the tender flesh on her collarbone, then reached for a damp cloth. “How are the kids doing? All ready for their show?”

Her gaze suddenly lit up. “Oh my god, Dare. They are so amazing. Taye has this incredible pencil drawing he’s been working on—it’s this huge, detailed battle scene and I’m just so freaking proud of him. I can’t wait to get it framed for the show. He’s going to go nuts when he sees it hanging up on the wall.” I tilted her head to the side and started to wipe the paint off as she continued to talk. “And Serena’s little clay animals will be ready to be fired by the end of the week. She’s going to glaze them at the pottery studio with me on Friday, then Janelle will fire them over the weekend. I’ll pick them up on my way to the shelter on Monday afternoon.” She clapped her hands together and kissed me again. “I can’t wait for you to see the art these kids have created, Dare! They’re real mini-artists. Every single one of them!”

Her excitement about this show and working with the children at the community center was one of the main reasons I’d said no to Amelie’s offer this afternoon, and why I wasn’t even going to mention it to Ree. She’d either have to drop everything so we could go to Paris or we’d have to be apart again for a few weeks.

And I was done with being apart.

Though the offer had been excruciatingly tempting. Amelie Marseille was the head of the renowned Paris Atelier d’Art, and was starting a new program of up-and-coming young artists. She’d gone to my show in Paris, bought a painting, then had gotten in touch with Rex when she couldn’t reach me.

Apparently, she went way back with Rex as well.

After I started painting again, Rex sent her photos of my new stuff without telling me. She was interested in buying more paintings for her own collection, but also wanted me on her staff. After his death, she’d waited to contact me for as long as she could, but she needed me there right away. I’d be teaching classes, working on my own stuff, and showing my work to a much larger audience. It was the opportunity of a lifetime.

But I had to turn her down.

Ree wasn’t ready to leave the country—she had a hard enough time leaving the apartment. And her work at the shelter was breathing new life into her. I couldn’t ask her to give it up. Not this time. I couldn’t risk losing her again. Everything was finally working out for us and there was no way in hell I was going to do anything to fuck it up.

Ree was much more important than my career. This might’ve been a great job, but she was my life. My heart. My soul.

I wiped the last of the paint off her neck, tossed the cloth onto the counter, and listened as she talked about her art class. She glowed when she spoke about the kids. I loved that.

The most beautiful thing about Ree was that she loved with her whole heart. And she opened it more easily now.