Run Rosie Run (4 page)

Alexander knew he should be used to the public signs of affection the pair indulged in. They didn’t bother his sister and Rosie had told him he was just jealous. Perhaps he was. He swallowed a sigh, because he knew what he was missing; the unconditional love and support, someone to talk to about his day and a couple of kids who got a kick out of simply seeing him.

Sophia rested her cheek in the curve of his neck and stuck her thumb in her mouth.

‘Someone’s tired.’ Bronte moved to take her.

But Nico, after a thoughtful glance at Alexander then his wife, scooped up Sophia in one arm and took Luca in the other.

‘I’ll settle them.’

After they gave the children a kiss night night, Bronte turned to her brother.

‘What’s up?’

She popped three baking potatoes in the oven before leading him out to the sunny patio.

They settled into comfortable chairs of polished oak under a hulking cream umbrella.

And Alexander decided to cut to the chase.

‘Speak to Rosie today?’

‘Yep, this afternoon. Why?’

Alexander sucked on his beer admiring the riot of colour in the gardens, then gave her his full attention.

‘I’ve upset her.’ He frowned. ‘At least I think I have.’

‘Oh? What did you do?’

Baffled, he shook his head.

‘I didn’t do anything. Apparently her mother is giving her a hard time over grandchildren.’

‘Again? That woman is like a dog with a bone.’

‘What woman?’ Nico wanted to know as he placed the baby monitor and a glass of red wine on the table.

Sitting, he stretched out long legs.

Bronte filled him in.

Nico shrugged and picked up his wine.

‘It is hard for Rosie to meet an eligible man in her line of work.’ He took a sip. ‘I have been thinking of speaking to Josh. They would be good together.’

His wife gave him wide eyes that made him grin.

‘Really? Josh?’ With a soft hum in her throat Bronte mulled over the idea. ‘He’s certainly a hunk. How are we going to play it? But I can’t, in all good conscience, get involved in your romantic endeavours on behalf of my best friend.’

‘I cannot see the harm in giving them a nudge in the right direction,’ Nico told her with a shoulder shrug. ‘The rest is up to them.’

Wondering why the thought of Rosie with Josh, who happened to be a good friend, gave him heartburn and a sort of sick feeling in his gut, Alexander frowned into his beer.

‘If you ask me, you shouldn’t interfere in other people’s lives.’

The sharp look Bronte sent him had him squirming in his seat.

‘Don’t you want Rosie to be happy?’ she demanded.

‘Of course I want her to be happy. But that’s not what I meant. She’s seriously pissed off with me and I’ve no idea why.’ He stared at them. ‘Any ideas?’

Nico raised a questioning eyebrow at his wife.

‘She talks to you. What has he done?’

‘Nothing that I’m aware of. Why did you go to see her?’

The memory of how busy Rosie was and that he’d only added to her burden, made Alexander’s tone a tad defensive.

‘Why do I need a reason? I asked her to do a welcome back cake for Julie. It wasn’t a big deal.’ He glowered and glared at his beer. ‘Should’ve kept my mouth shut.’

‘Rosie’s up the wall between now and October. We’re fully booked.’

Frustration with himself had irritation join guilt.

‘I know that now. But that’s not it, she was annoyed before that. As soon as I walked in the door she gave me the beady eye.’

Bronte shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea. Want me to talk to her?’

Wondering why his good mood had evaporated, why he felt... too tight in his own skin all of a sudden and wanted to punch something, Alexander shrugged.

‘No, leave it. It’s probably just Rosie being Rosie.’

The next day found Rosie thinking about her future.

She loved her life. Or, she admitted now, she had loved it. The excitement of setting up Sweet Sensationss with Bronte and the risks they’d taken had been worth it.

She’d sold her little cottage at the top of the market a full year before the property market crashed and burned. Against all advice she’d ploughed half her savings into the business. And that business was so successful that she could easily take a step back and cut down her hours.

The country was in the grip of a recession. Many people, some did to her face, looked at the life she led and said it was a charmed one. She had a great career. A beautiful roof over her head and a smart car in the drive.

But those things were simply material possessions.

She was grateful for her family. Her mother and father were well, supportive and fun. Perhaps she was feeling like this because she missed them?

Her friendships were deep and true. The dynamic between her and Bronte had changed since her friend’s marriage and that, she reminded herself, was exactly as it should be.

More importantly she had Luca and Sophia in her life, godchildren she adored.

But she needed, wanted, so much more.

The men in her life had been few and far between. Her own fault. Her mother might call it compromise, but her daughter refused to settle for anything less than love. And not gentle, easy, romantic love either. She wanted that hot burn in her belly. The heady, hungry ache of lust, the feeling of being out of control.

But more importantly, she needed the man she loved to feel that way about her. To hunger for her, to suffer the burning fires of hell for her.

Rosie wanted it all, or she wanted nothing.

Now she pondered if her wants were unrealistic?

Unlike most of her contemporaries, she’d never lived with a man.

But recently the moments of loneliness had become so acute they actually hurt the heart. And they were getting worse, lasting longer, affecting her usual upbeat nature.

She’d tried to deal with it by living too much in her head and that she admitted now was a mistake.

Although there was a great deal to be said about living in an imaginary world, it wasn’t good for her mental well-being.

Especially when she entered that world every single night her head hit the pillow. A world where Alexander S. Ludlow reigned supreme.

The man of her dreams was charismatic, seductive but unpretentious, yet tremendously successful and last but not least, their relationship was not a figment of her imagination.

In her dreams when they made love, and they made love a
lot
in her dreams
,
Alexander was a man who gave a woman multiple orgasms. He was a real gentleman who always made sure a lady always
came
first, every time. He was tender, funny and caring and he kept her company every single long and lonely night.

But deep down inside she knew it wasn’t healthy to exist in an imaginary world just because it hurt too much to live in this one.

What had started out as harmless day dreaming had turned into something darker, something self destructive. How pathetic was it that the only meaningful part of her life were her nightly dreams of something that could never be?

Her mother was right.

She needed to compromise.

To see, touch and smell a real man and have intimate relations with a flesh and blood penis instead of a vibrating rabbit in one hand and a fictional Alexander S. Ludlow in the other.

Now that she was twenty-nine on her next birthday the time had come for Rosie to put away foolish things, to embrace the real world, whatever the hell that was.

When, she wondered now, had she accepted this constant pain of heartache? Accepting it as a normal part of her life, her reality? Surely she deserved more? To be a whole person capable of giving and receiving love? She did deserve it and she was going to find it.

But she’d lost something recently, something only now she’d been able to put her finger on.

She’d lost hope.

It looked as if she’d reached a crossroads in her life.

Go or stay.

Settle or wait.

The answer, the enormity of it almost floored her.

‘Janine’s looking for a job,’ Bronte said.

‘Yeah?’ Rosie responded absently, concentrating on cutting out a floral pattern on a sheet of icing.

‘Looking good,’ Bronte told her. ‘How many more to go?’

‘Perhaps another four?’

In the adjacent kitchen, Lucy, their permanent pastry chef, chatted with a college student discussing the finer points of egg whites and a metal bowl.

An iPod deck rocked Adele in the background.

‘Let’s take five in the office,’ Bronte suggested.

Behind her, Rosie puffed up the stairs wondering when the weather was going to break.

This summer was steaming, a person could get too much of a good thing.

She sank into a comfortable leather chair as Bronte grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the fridge. Although the office was at the top of the barn, two Velux windows on each side of the roof space opened out onto a couple of Cabrio balconies, which allowed air to flow and kept the room reasonably cool.

‘You’re looking tired,’ Bronte told her as she sat and kicked off white rubber chef’s clogs.

‘It’s the weather. We’re not used to this. The air-conditioning is barely keeping up.’

‘You need to cut back your hours. Janine’s looking for something part time,’ Bronte told her.

Rosie made a sound in her throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

‘Janine’s never got her hands dirty in her life. And what does she know about wedding cakes?’

‘She has brilliant managerial skills.’

‘And I’ve not?’

Bronte ignored the question since they both knew perfectly well Rosie loathed paperwork with a passion.

‘She’s a born organiser.’ Bronte looked her dead in the eye. ‘Unless you want to take on next year’s business plan along with updating the website? Most of it she can do from home. Think about it.’

Rosie hunched her shoulders and scowled.

‘She’s not exactly my favourite person.’

‘That was years ago. I’ve asked her to drop in this afternoon to have a chat. She’s been to hell and back, Rosie. Give her a break.’

That was true enough.

Remorse dug Rosie in the ribs.

The former Janine Brooke-Stockton now Janine Faulkner had had it all including the drop-dead-gorgeous husband. She winced. Pardon the pun, but the man was indeed dead. And his death had left Janine a physical and emotional wreck with an infant daughter and up to her neck in debt.

How the mighty had fallen.

As children, teenagers and young adults, Janine and Rosie’s relationship might be described as love hate. They’d clashed quite spectacularly when Janine had had the brass neck to decide that Alexander would make a fine husband. And she had to admit they’d looked good together for a couple of months before the relationship fizzled out.

The memory of it made her frown.

And now Janine was back and vulnerable and needing help. Rosie would put good money on it that Alexander wouldn’t be able to resist riding to the rescue. It was in his DNA, he couldn’t help himself. And she would have to stand by and watch it?

Rosie didn’t think so.

Perhaps it was her mother’s phone call but she admitted now that she desperately wanted a husband and a child of her own. Her mother was right. Women today were struggling to find a man to settle down with, especially in her demographic.

She was financially solvent with a good career and had invested the considerable sum her late grandfather had left her.

But what if she couldn’t find a man to love?

What she needed, Rosie decided, was a friend with benefits.

An idea that had been simmering in her mind for months surfaced.

‘Actually, it might not be a bad idea to bring Janine in. I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while. I’ve been thinking about the future. My future...’

Their eyes locked.

‘You’re not happy,’ Bronte stated.

Pulling off her bandana, Rosie took a deep breath knowing full well she’d opened her own personal can of worms.

‘I’m in a rut. I want to travel, see other places and meet new people. I haven’t seen my parents for months.’

Although Bronte’s eyes were wary, she nodded.

‘Why don’t you go for it? Take a sabbatical.’

‘It’s a bit more than that. I miss my family. I want a fresh start, a new beginning.’

Understanding dawned as Bronte sat upright, her green eyes too bright. And Rosie spotted shocked hurt, quickly hidden.

‘You want to leave this? And us? What about the kids they adore you?’

Rosie’s eyes stung. She loved Bronte. She always would, but they’d moved on. Things had changed and rightly so because change was a natural progression of life.

She stretched out a hand across the desk and her fingers found her friend’s.

‘I adore them too. You know that. You know how I feel about you and Nico. But I don’t have a life, Bronte. I’m living to work and it’s not enough.’

After a stunned moment, Bronte pulled her fingers away and pressed them into her eyelids.

Her voice breaking, she spoke,

‘I’m so selfish. I want you to stay.’ Her breath hitched as she took a big breath and stiffened her spine. The expression in her eyes was one of sorrow and determination. ‘How can I help and when do you want to go?’

‘Lucy can run things here, she’s more than capable.’

Bronte nodded.

‘Okay. And young Amy’s fully qualified and back living at home. I’ll give her a ring.’

Not a little hurt, which she knew was pathetic, Rosie attempted to sound light-hearted.

‘You see? I’m easily replaced.’

Bronte turned on her, anger burning brightly in her eyes.

‘Don’t you dare think that. Don’t you
dare
. You’re a full partner which means you’ll still receive a salary. Do not interrupt me. If you want to start up on your own in Cyprus or New York or Timbuktu or wherever I’ll buy you out. But until then you’re still part of this. You’re still a part of my life.’

Rosie shot out of her chair as Bronte shot out of hers and they met in the middle in a hug. She was an emotional mess, but underpinning every feeling was one of relief. Yes, it would be hard to leave everyone she held dear but the cord needed a clean cut.