Page 12 of Roses are Royal

“For fuck’s sake—fine! Can you at least give me another room for the night? I can’t stay in there.”

“I’ll have to charge you an additional night for the second room.”

I slowly blink once, twice, three times. Stay calm, Ro, stay calm. Do not throat punch this man.

“Whatever. Just give me the key. I only need it for one night and will check out in the morning. You can bill me for the damage.”

Snatching the key from his hand, I stomp out of the reception area and back outside, but instead of going to the new room the manager assigned me, I go back into my room to see if any of my belongings are salvageable. Spoiler alert: everything is destroyed. Just great. This is exactly what I needed to round out the clusterfuck of the past few days.

Pulling out my phone to call the police to, at minimum, file a police report, I notice I have several missed calls from Dante from a few minutes ago. That’s weird. I must not have heard my phone in all the chaos. I’ll just call him back in the morning. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone tonight.

I can tell my adrenaline is coming down, and my brain is going to crash. I’m about to dial 911 when Dante’s name flashes across my phone screen with an incoming call. I watch his name on my screen, and indecision gets the best of me because a few moments later, the call goes to voicemail and the screen goes blank. Thankfully, the decision to answer his call and talk to him was taken from me. While I would love nothing more than to tell Dante what happened, knowing he would come help me deal with this mess, it wouldn’t be appropriate professionally to treat him like anything more than a client.

Now that my heart rate has slowed back to normal and I can take a breath and think, I decide it’s not worth reporting this to the police, lock my phone, and slip it back into my purse. There aren’t any cameras here, and clearly, the manager doesn’t care enough to report anything, so it’s not like they would even have anything to go on to find out who did this. Plus, it didn’t look like they actually took anything and just destroyed it, which is strange. Who knows what that message on the mirror even means. Maybe they thought my room belonged to someone else and this is just an annoying misunderstanding.

15

ROSE

Sitting in my parked car outside the diner, I take a much-needed pause to gather myself before going inside. I use the mirror on the visor to take a quick peek at my face. I wipe the smudged makeup from my cheeks caused by tears I didn’t even notice had fallen, then I take a deep breath. This is nothing a milkshake can’t solve. A very large milkshake.

When I push the diner door open, Shirley lifts her head from the book she was reading to make eye contact with me. “Hey, Shirley, it’s just me tonight.” Shirley gestures toward the booth Luc and I sat in last night. I only hesitate for a second before walking over and sliding onto the bench seat.

“Hey, sweetheart, what can I get you tonight?”

“Can I get an Oreo milkshake? I think I saw that on the menu when I was here yesterday. If not, then just a black coffee is fine.” Defeat is clear in my voice, and Shirley doesn’t miss it.

“Sure, dear, one Oreo milkshake coming right up.”

Shirley, the goddess, doesn’t pry or ask if I’m okay because that would probably shred through the last strings of my control and release the waterworks. I’m thankful that I’m the only customer in here tonight. I don’t need anyone else witnessing my pity party. But just like that, I spoke too soon as the bell over the door chimes, announcing the entrance of a new patron.

“Hi there. Sit anywhere, and I’ll be right with you,” Shirley says from behind the counter where she’s making my milkshake.

“Thank you,” the new arrival responds.

I would recognize that low and gravelly timbre anywhere. Kill me now. I just wanted to wallow in peace. Maybe he won’t see me sitting here. I’ll just keep my head down and focus on the cracked table. Act natural, Ro. Nothing to see here, just the only other customer in the joint minding her own business.

“Rose.”

My name from that voice is like a command I can’t ignore.

“Dante.” I raise my eyes to meet his and try but fail to match his intense smolder. At least I didn’t word vomit everything that happened tonight the moment I saw his face. Or worse, start crying. I couldn’t handle any more humiliation after the few days I’ve had. Surely, I’ve met my yearly quota.

“May I?” Dante asks as he gestures to the seat across from me.

“Um, sure. I mean, yes, of course.”

Dante lowers himself into the booth and just looks at me with that intensity that seems to cause me to lose all brain function. I can’t stop the words from spilling out.

“Sorry I missed your calls earlier. I was, uh, dealing with something. I had planned to call you back first thing in the morning. I hope it wasn’t an emergency. I don’t normally miss calls from clients, and this won’t happen in the future.”

He doesn’t respond, per usual, so I do the only thing I know to do in his presence—I fill the silence with mindless babbling.

“Now that you’re here, we can discuss whatever it is that you were calling me about. Do you have more notes or changes on what we discussed today? I was just about to place a few orders to start shipping items as soon as possible. I know you have a tight timeline, but I can make any adjustments you request. Personally, I think the designs will look amazing. I know that might sound biased since I created them, but I’m being honest. This is the most fun project I’ve worked on in a long time. Normally, I’m dealing with old, stuffy people with more money than taste. Not that I would ever talk negatively about a client. Or that I’m implying you don’t have money because I’m sure you have plenty of money. I’m just saying you have good taste.”

Right on cue, Shirley comes over with my milkshake and a menu for Dante, thankfully ending my monologue.

“Here is your milkshake, sweetie. I added extra Oreos for you. It looks like you needed it. Would you like a few minutes to look over the menu before ordering?” This question is clearly directed at Dante, but his eyes haven’t left mine.