Page 22 of Roses are Royal

“Is that a question? You must be used to hearing how great you are at your job. I’ve seen your portfolio, and it’s impressive, which is why I hired you.”

“Compliments weren’t usually doled out at my previous firm. The expectation was perfection. They were more prone to identify inadequacies, deviations from timelines, and general imperfections in relation to execution of my projects.” Most of the time, these things were conjured out of thin air because god forbid I did a good job, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, the people at your old firm clearly didn’t deserve your talents. And likely won’t be in business much longer if that’s the type of business they run.” Dante’s tone definitely turns a bit menacing on the last part, but I’m still stunned by his words of admiration for my work.

“I appreciate that, Dante, thank you. I can’t wait for you to see how the rest of the house turns out. It’s been a pleasure designing your home. Would you like a walkthrough of everything, or would you prefer to peruse in private? I was just about to head upstairs and grab my stuff before heading out.”

“Actually, I’m glad I caught you before you left. Would you like to stay for dinner? Consider it a thank you for all the work you’ve done.”

Dinner with Dante? Alone? In my dream kitchen? Um, yes, please!

“Oh, you don’t need to do that, Dante. I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t want to intrude in your space. More than I already have, that is.” Am I blushing? Ugh, Ro can you not act like a real-life human for once?

“I insist. I wouldn’t want to have to christen this beautiful kitchen alone. I’m making bolognese. Nothing fancy.”

Do I stay or go? Stay or go? I am hungry, and I absolutely love bolognese, but is this weird? And why did it sound like he wanted to do more than just cook in here? I mean, he did insist, so I guess it wouldn’t be that weird. But if I stay, I won’t have time to get to the motel before the office closes for the night. So my options are to stay for dinner and drive back to the city, sleep approximately two hours before I have to get up and drive back, or decline his offer, hopefully get a room at the motel, and eat at the diner alone? This is a real nail-biter of a decision—I mentally roll my eyes knowing which way I’m going to decide. I’m weak… I’m a weak, weak woman.

“Well? It’s just dinner, Rose. No pressure.” Dante prompts when my silence has extended to an uncomfortable length of time.

“I’ll stay on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You let me clean up and do the dishes after dinner.”

“Deal.” Dante has a mischievous smile as he turns and starts to unpack the bags of groceries he brought in. Why do I feel like I've been played? But, in like, the best way possible?

“I’ll just go pack up my things and will be right back in case you need help like chopping or stirring or something.”

“You can do that after dinner. You can help by opening a bottle of wine to let it breathe.”

“Bo-ssy.” My tone comes out flirtier than I intend, but I don’t miss the heat in Dante’s eyes with my response.

“Wine, now, brat. I assume you know where the wine opener is? Because I don’t.”

I blink, once…twice…Did he just call me…a brat? Do I like that? Yes, yes, I do. I move like a robot as I go over to the bar area built into a section of the kitchen to retrieve the wine opener as well as a crystal decanter specially designed for red wines. How do I even respond to that? I guess I just did by obediently following his instructions. This is starting to feel a lot less client/designer and a lot more gorgeous man/babbling idiot woman.

As I turn to present the gorgeous crystal decanter to Dante with the pinot noir he bought aerating inside, I almost drop the entire thing on the pristine floors. I can’t believe my eyes as I watch Dante take out a bundle of purple nightshade and place them on the counter. He’s opening cabinets, looking for something, clearly oblivious to my shock.

“Are those nightshades?”

“Yes, aren’t they beautiful? You wouldn’t happen to have ordered a flower vase?” Dante responds as if nothing is amiss, still opening every cabinet until he finds where I placed a vintage amber crystal vase I sourced from one of my vendors in the city. I envisioned it placed on his dining room table with these very flowers. I even included those flowers in my personal sketches.

“Yes, they are very beautiful in their own unique way. They are actually my favorite. I’m shocked you would buy them, though. Most people go for the classic rose or lily. People usually assume roses are my favorite flower because of my name, but I actually prefer those because of how unique they are. Did you know certain strains are poisonous?” I don’t know why I just told him all that. I don’t bother people with my origin story or the trauma it’s left me with, but knowing Dante picked these flowers over every other option makes me feel like we have some sort of other connection I can’t explain. It feels like he is in my head most days, and this is just another sign of that.

“I prefer uniqueness when it comes to beautiful things. And if it has a little edge of danger, then all the better.” I don’t miss the double meaning in Dante’s response as he makes eye contact with me. “Why don’t you like roses?” Dante adds.

And there it is, the question I was hoping he wouldn’t ask. But I did kind of offer that information up for grabs with my comment about preferring other flowers to my literal namesake. Okay, truth time. I just hate being vulnerable with strangers or anyone really, and I’ve only ever told one other person the reason…and he and I aren’t on the best terms currently. I’ll act like it doesn’t bother me, and hopefully, we can move on from this topic. Taking a sip of the wine I just poured, I let out the breath I’ve been holding and raise my head to meet Dante’s eyes that are trained on me, patiently waiting for my response.

“Not many people know this about me, but I was raised in foster care. I was left on the front step of a church wrapped in a blanket, and a single red rose was left with me. So the priest who found me and contacted child protective services named me Rose. I’m sure he thought it might give me a connection to whoever left me, but in reality, it is a daily reminder that my parents didn’t want me. That’s why I prefer to go by Ro instead of Rose. While I like roses as a flower, having it as my name is a constant reminder of being abandoned.”

“Did you know the rose is the state flower of New York? It symbolizes love, passion, and beauty. It’s said to be able to thrive in New York’s climatic conditions, which is why it was chosen as the state flower. Maybe that priest chose to name you Rose, not because of the actual flower left with you, but because he knew you would not only survive but thrive in ever-changing environments. Not to mention your beauty. Now do you see why I prefer to call you Rose?”

Blushing a bit, I try to ignore him blatantly calling me beautiful. “I…I guess I never thought of it like that. I used to want to find that priest and talk to him about that day to see if he had any more information on who dropped me off because there was never anything in my file. But as I got older, I decided that if my family didn’t want me, then they don’t get to know me now.” I don’t know what it is about Dante, but I feel like I could tell him anything without him judging me.

“What if someone from your family did reach out to you and wanted to reconnect?” Dante sounds almost hesitant as he asks.

“If they haven’t reached out by now, I doubt anyone ever will.” I try to keep the hurt out of my voice. I shouldn’t still be affected by this all these years later, but being abandoned as a child really gave me some lasting trauma.