Rose
What do you do when you discover something about your family that you never wanted to know?
You pretend it doesn’t exist. That your perfect little family is precisely that—untouched. Pristine. No amount of tragedy has ever put its fingers upon us. At least, that’s what we want you to believe. There are books out there, unauthorized biographies about my grandmother and her legacy, Fleur Cosmetics. About how my father and my sisters and I have continued on with that legacy as best we can, referencing us as if we’re somehow insufficient. Daddy is the one who made the company flourish, though he gives all credit to Grandma and she takes it, the greedy old lady that she is.
I love that greedy old lady to bits. I really do.
My oldest sister, Lily, has done a piss-poor job of carrying on the legacy, and she’d be the first to admit it. Her brutal honesty is one of the things I love best about her, though most of the time I resent her actions and the attention they receive. She is all about the spotlight and when it doesn’t shine on her, she will do whatever it takes to snatch back that light so she can revel in it.
Then there’s Violet, the middle sister. The quiet one. The secretly strong one. Oh my God, is she strong. She’s been through so much. Tragedy has placed its hands all over her, yet somehow she’s always risen above it. Now she’s so happy with her man, Ryder, and I can’t begrudge her that. He’s so intense sometimes it’s almost scary, but then he sees Violet and his eyes get this dreamy sort of haze to them … he’s a total goner for her.
It’s sweet. Too sweet. My jealous side can hardly take it.
Me? I’m the Fowler sister everyone believes is normal, with a bit of a fighter streak in me. Grandma says I’m closest to her personality-wise and I want to believe her, but I don’t know. Do I really want to be like her? Like any of them? My disillusion with the Fowler image is firmly secure on the worst night possible.
I don’t know what to believe anymore, after what I just found out about our mother. The tragedy that no one ever, ever talks about—even those unauthorized, horribly scandalous family biographies gloss over the death of Victoria Fowler. I don’t remember much about her, and what I do recall is fuzzy at best. Those memories are fueled by my sisters, though, since they actually do remember Mom, especially Lily. The loss was especially hard on her. Hence Lily’s outrageous behavior from the age of about fourteen until now.
At least, that’s what we all blame it on, including Lily. I’d like for once to see her take full responsibility for her actions, but I doubt that will ever happen.
There is more to our mother’s death than I ever knew. I wonder if Lily or Violet knows. It’s such a touchy subject, one I don’t broach with them … ever. As for Daddy, I never talk about Mom with him. He swept our mother’s death under the rug, something he’s so good at doing. Threw himself into his work instead of focusing on his daughters, though he wasn’t a bad father per se. A tad neglectful sometimes?
Yes. Most definitely.
We strive for perfection, yet every last one of us is far from perfect. When I was little, I was protected in this silvery, pillow-soft cocoon where nothing ever touched me, or the people I loved. Not even my mother’s tragic death brought by her own doing could bother me. How could it, when no one ever talked about it?
But I want to talk about her now, after reading her last diary. The one I discovered when I was given a box of her old things by Daddy. He finally cleaned out our mother’s rooms and closet. He’d kept them preserved for so long, but now that his new … girlfriend is in the picture, he’s banished all reminders of our mother from his home.
Forever.
I couldn’t even look at the contents of that box without nerves eating me up and feeling nauseated. I kept what was in there a secret from myself for months. Until a few nights ago, when I finally opened the box and found her diary filled with passages she wrote up until she took her own life.
Fascinating reading. And sad.
So incredibly sad.
What’s happening tonight … things could be revealed. Moments from our family history are going on blatant display. All of it controlled by my grandmother, which means …
It will all be glossed over—become glossy perfection. Isn’t that the term Violet used for her collection when they discussed packaging? That could be the Fowler family theme.
I watch as Grandma approaches me, a fond smile on her face, her eyes misty with memories.
“I want you to wear this tonight.” Grandma Dahlia presents the large, square box to me, her frail hands shaking the slightest bit, causing light to glint off the diamond rings on her fingers. “It hasn’t been worn by anyone in ages.”
We’re in my hotel room, my grandmother having knocked on the door only minutes before as I was getting ready. We were all supposed to meet later but here she is, resplendent in her gorgeous black lace dress, a sweet smile on her face as she studies me.
I have no idea why she’s doing this and I don’t like the uneasiness that settles over me as I take the box from her, my fingers smoothing over the black velvet. It’s old, the color slightly faded, and it’s heavy. Slowly I open the box, anticipation and fear curling through me, and I gasp at what I see lying inside.
A necklace. But not just any necklace—the stones alternate between a brilliant white and a soft, blush pink, and each one is perfectly cut, perfectly matched. “It’s beautiful,” I murmur, surprised at the size of the stones. I’ve never seen this necklace before in my life, and I thought my sisters and I had all played with or worn every piece of fine jewelry there is in the family. “What are the pink stones?” I ask as I drift my fingers across the necklace almost reverently.
“Why, they’re diamonds of course, some of the rarest in existence. Your grandfather gave this necklace to me long, long ago.” Grandma sounds at once both proud and sad. “A present for when your aunt Poppy was born.” A wistful sigh escapes her and she looks away, her mouth turned down, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You remind me of her. So much.”
“I do?” I purposely keep my voice soft, not wanting to upset her. I didn’t know my aunt Poppy, though I wish I had. She died in a horrible car accident before I was born. I’ve seen photos and yes, there’s a resemblance, but I never thought I looked much like her.
More tragedy. More death. Another family member we lost that we rarely mention. It’s frustrating, how easily we forget what happened to those who are gone. If I disappeared, would everyone eventually forget me, too?
I don’t want to forget anyone. Not my mother. Not my aunt Poppy. I want to know more. But tonight is supposed to be special, so I should let it go. This night is for my grandma, for the family, for Fleur.
I will myself to let it all go.
“Oh, yes.” Grandma turns to face me once more, the tears gone, the familiar determined look back in place. She rarely shows any signs of weakness and I love that about her. She’s such a strong influence on all of us, and right now I’m in need of some of that strength. “There’s some similarity in your looks, but really it’s your attitude. The way you speak, the way you behave, how you think. It’s just like my Poppy. She was so vibrant, so full of life, and she was never afraid to back down from something she believed in. Just like you.” She reaches out and clasps my face in her wrinkled hands, her fingers cold against my skin. I smile at her but it feels fake, and I let it fade. The velvet box is clutched in my hands, my fingers digging into the stones. “Wear this tonight and think of Poppy. Think of Fleur.”
“But Grandma, tonight is all about you.” We’re in Cannes for the movie festival, here to watch the premiere of a documentary about Grandmother and how she started Fleur. She monitored every step of this documentary and claims it is a collaboration of love between her and the director and producers of the piece.
More like my grandmother dictated to them exactly what she wanted mentioned. Again, no one crosses Dahlia Fowler. To do so would be taking an extreme risk. The woman has no problem making claims of ruining people.
She has ruined people. Time and again.
“You should wear this necklace. Not me,” I say when she still hasn’t said anything. She’s staring at me as if she can look right through me and I blink, hard. Blocking my thoughts, my anger, my frustration. But she can probably see it.
Grandma just chooses not to talk about it.
“No.” She shakes her head and drops her hands from my face. “You should wear it. It’s yours for tonight. Violet has her young man and Lily has … whatever it is she thinks she wants. Such a disappointment that she’s not here.” Her mouth screws up into this bitter line and I want to smack my sister for yet again letting everyone down. “You … you deserve this. Wear it proudly. It’s your legacy, too, my love. Never forget it.”
My legacy. Most of the time, I don’t feel like it’s mine. It’s Daddy’s and Violet’s. It’s slowly becoming Ryder’s. Lily’s? Not so much. She loves to wear Fleur cosmetics and spend the Fleur money, but that’s about it. She has no desire to be a part of the family business. She’s allergic to work.
Lucky bitch gets away with it, too.
I work like crazy and no one notices. I’m tired of putting the time in. I’m tired of dealing with Daddy and his horrific relationship with that slut Pilar Vasquez. The woman is scheming to become a permanent part of Fleur Cosmetics—by nabbing the last name Fowler—pure and simple. Does she really care for him? Doubtful. But my father is so blinded by lust he can’t see beyond her big tits and her supposed great ideas.
“My legacy,” I murmur as I withdraw the necklace from the velvet casing and hold it up to the light. It sparkles, the blush-colored stones even more dazzling when they shine. I vaguely remember hearing of the Poppy Necklace and I’m pretty sure I’m holding it in my hands at this very moment.
The necklace will look amazing with the white dress I’m wearing tonight. White may signify virginity and purity and all that other nonsense, but wait until everyone sees this dress. It’ll blow their minds.
And I’m in the mood to shock this evening. This is my last hurrah before I give notice to my father next week. Yes, I’m quitting Fleur. I can’t imagine staying there now. I made my escape for a short period of time after it came out that Daddy was dating one of the most conniving employees Fleur Cosmetics has ever had under its roof. Pilar rubs it in our faces as much as possible that she has our father wrapped around her little finger.
I hate her. I refuse to work with her, especially now that I’ve heard rumors that Daddy is promoting her. Not that he’d ever come to me and tell me about it. No one tells me anything. I’m ignored at Fleur. So much so that I don’t think it’s even worth continuing to work there …
Considering this evening will most likely be the last I’m representing the Fowler family for a long time—I know Daddy is going to be furious over my giving notice—I’m going all out. Besides, I’ve never been to the Festival de Cannes before. The necklace will only add to the effect.
Our family has been on public display our entire lives, and most of the time I don’t mind, though I prefer to be in the background, much like Violet. Leave it to Lily to be our public representative. Not that Lily makes Daddy happy with her antics. Or Grandma, considering how scandalous my oldest sister is. She’s tamed down somewhat, but she still has a flair for the outrageous.
I’m stealing that flair for the outrageous from her tonight, though. Since arriving in France, the energy surrounding the festivities has renewed me. Inspired me to take a chance and do something daring. Wild.
Like wearing a dress that might cause a scandal. Like mentally preparing the speech I’m going to give my father when I turn in my two weeks’ notice once we’re back home.
“Yes,” Grandma says firmly. “Your legacy. And Violet’s. Even Lily’s. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, but I’m even more excited to see what you and Violet do with Fleur. Perhaps even Lily, if she ever gets her head out of her ass.”
“Grandma!” I shouldn’t be shocked at what she says, but every once in a while she does surprise me.
“What? It’s true.” Grandma shrugs. “Besides, someday I’ll be gone, you know.”
“But …” I start to protest and she shushes me in an instant.
“Hush, you know it’s true. I’m eighty-three years old. I can’t live forever, as much as I’d like to.” She waves a hand at the necklace I’m still clutching in one hand, the velvet box in the other. “Turn around, my child, and let me put that on you. Why are you still in your robe? Shouldn’t you be dressed already? The premiere is going to start soon.”
“I’m almost done.” Nerves suddenly eat at my stomach and I turn around at Grandma’s direction, setting the box on the dresser beside me and handing the necklace to her so she can help put it around my neck. I’m taller than her, so I bend at the knees, making it easier for her to slip the necklace on. “Hair and makeup is finished. I just need to put on my dress and shoes.”
“You’d best hurry, then.” She slips the necklace around my neck and hooks the clasp before stepping away from me. “There. Let’s see how it looks.”
I turn to face her once more, my chin lifted, the weight of the diamonds heavy against my chest. I can’t believe she’s letting me wear it. From the few stories I’ve heard about it, the necklace rarely if ever makes public appearances. “What do you think?” I ask.
She contemplates me, her expression serious, eyes narrowed. “It’s beautiful. Originally I thought I wanted Lily to wear it since she’s the oldest, but she’s not here. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized you’re a better fit since you’re so much like Poppy.”
Guilt assaults me and I fight it down. I refuse to feel bad for what I’m about to do. I can’t help it if Daddy chooses his conniving girlfriend over me. And I won’t let him run right over me without a care. I need to stand up for what I believe in.
And what I believe in means never letting Pilar Vasquez have any sort of authority over me. That bitch can die before I ever let her tell me what to do.
“You didn’t want Violet to wear it, hmm?” I touch the necklace, turning toward the mirror to my right. The necklace is stunning, even against the white silk robe I have on, and I stare at my reflection, overwhelmed at what the necklace represents.
Grandma’s right. Fleur is my legacy, too. I need to remember that. Not get caught up in the mess that’s been created by Violet and Ryder against Daddy and … Pilar.
Ew. Just thinking about that bitch makes me want to puke.
But I can’t stand by and let everything happen to me. I need to make a stand. I need to let Father know that I don’t approve of his tactics. Something needs to be done. Someone needs to say something.
If that has to be me, then so be it.
“Please. Violet has that lovely diamond on her finger. She doesn’t need any other piece of jewelry right now.” Grandma waves a dismissive hand at my suggestion. She’s right. Ryder asked Violet to marry him only a few days ago and my sister is positively giddy over it.
For so long I’d been afraid she’d saddle herself to that idiot Zachary Lawrence, but thankfully she saw the light and found a man who cherishes her. Understands her. Respects her. That he’s gorgeous and sexy as hell doesn’t hurt matters.
I’m a little envious of my sister’s happiness, but I can’t begrudge her finally finding joy. She’s had so many challenges and she’s fought every single one of them. I’m proud of her. Happy for her.
Truly.
“Enjoy that necklace. There’s a segment in the documentary about it.” Grandma winks and starts toward the door. “We’ll meet in your father’s suite in twenty minutes. Don’t be late, you hear me?”
“I hear you,” I call to her, shaking my head as she exits my room with a loud slam of the door.
I turn to face the mirror once again, my hands going to the belt of my robe and untying it, letting the white silk part before I shrug it from my shoulders. The fabric falls to the floor in a crumpled heap around my feet and I kick it away, then stand tall.
The necklace looks good against my skin and I take a deep breath, watching my naked breasts rise and fall. I might need to have a drink or two before I don the dress. I’ll need the liquid courage to face my family later.
Daddy will probably hate the dress. Violet will be scandalized. Grandma will laugh and silently cheer me on. And Pilar? She’s accompanying us tonight, which I hate. I don’t give two shits what she thinks about the dress. Or me. Or any of us.
Sighing, I go to the closet and pull the dress out, smoothing my hands over the layers of white, frothy chiffon that make up the skirt. Considering it’s strapless, the necklace will be showcased perfectly. I wonder what sort of story surrounds the piece of jewelry?
I’ll find out soon enough.
“Nice dress.”
A shiver moves down my spine at the sound of the warm, inviting tone. I glance over my shoulder to find a very handsome man standing there, an arrogant smirk on his face as he blatantly scans me from head to toe.
My smile falls and I straighten my spine. I was tricked by his voice. He sounded flirty and fun, but really he’s just a creeper. Not bothering to say anything, I turn my back to him but he halts my progress, his hand going around the crook of my elbow.
I glance down at his offending hand on my arm before I lift my head and send him a withering stare. He doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t let me go, either. “Aren’t you Rose Fowler?”
He has an accent, but I can’t tell from where. The room is filled with a variety of accents and languages; people from all over the world are at this party tonight. “I am,” I say, trying to discreetly pull out of his hold. But his fingers tighten not so discreetly on my flesh and I feel like I’m trapped.
“I thought so.” He flashes me a smile, but it doesn’t quite meet his dark eyes. Everything about him is dark. His hair, his swarthy complexion, the way he’s looking at me. A ripple of unease washes over me and I glance around, looking for my father, my sister, or preferably Ryder, who’d tell this asshole where to go if I asked him to. “Interesting documentary on your family.”
“Thank you.” I’m trying to be polite but he’s making it so hard. He pulls me a little closer to him and I’m assaulted by the scent of his strong cologne, put off by the way his fingers smooth over my skin in a seeming caress. “If you could let me go, please. I have someone waiting for me.”
“Who?” He smiles, his teeth overly white, especially against his dark skin.
He’s making me angry. “Um, that’s none of your business.”
“You’re here alone tonight, aren’t you? I saw you on the red carpet.” He tugs so hard on my arm my footsteps falter and I nearly fall into him. “Let’s go have a drink.”
Politeness flies out the window as I rest my hand against his chest and give him a push. But he doesn’t budge. His fingers are so tight they’re pinching my flesh, and he’ll probably leave a mark. “Let. Me. Go,” I say through clenched teeth, fighting the panic flaring deep within me.
“You heard the lady,” another man practically growls from behind me, his deep, very pissed-off voice setting every hair on my body on end. “Get your fucking hands off her. Now.”
The man’s fingers spring away from my arm like someone turned a key and unlocked his hold on me. Backing away with his hands in front of him as if he’s pleading for mercy, he laughs nervously. “Didn’t know she was with you,” he says shakily just before he turns and practically sprints away from us.
Rubbing my arm, I turn to thank my savior, but the words die on my lips. Dark brown eyes watch me, the man’s demeanor still and silent, his full mouth pulled into a straight line. He’s wearing a black suit, not a tuxedo, and it appears a little frayed around the edges. As if he’s had it for a while and it’s been to the dry cleaner one too many times. Despite the aged suit, he has an elegant yet rough air about him. As if he doesn’t quite belong among this glittering, powerful, and extremely rich crowd.
“Thank you,” I croak, clearing my throat and feeling like an idiot.
“Are you all right?” He steps closer, but his presence doesn’t feel threatening. More like protective, what with the look of concern marring his handsome features. His brows are drawn downward and a lock of golden-brown hair hangs over his forehead.
That I have the sudden urge to push the hair away from his face and test its softness is … crazy.
“I’m fine.” I offer him a shaky smile, which only makes him frown deeper. “Did you know him?”
“Never seen him before in my life. But a lot of assholes come to these parties. Cannes is full of them,” he says, sounding disgusted.
I want to laugh. My savior has no problem being crude and I can appreciate it. At least what he says is real. Most of the people I encounter speak carefully, as if they’re afraid they’ll somehow offend me.
“Thank you for scaring him away.” I absently rub at my arm, glancing down to see the imprint of the man’s fingers glaring red on my skin.
“He marked you.” He grabs hold of me, his large hand engulfing mine as he holds my arm out to inspect it. His jaw goes tight and he lifts his head, scanning the room with ruthless efficiency. “I should kick the shit out of him.”
“It’s no big deal.” My heart is all fluttery at the protective streak this man is displaying and I tell myself to get over it. “It’s already starting to fade. See?”
Slowly he tilts his head down, his lips parting as he examines my arm. He releases my hand, his thumb smoothing lightly over the imprints, causing gooseflesh to follow in the wake of his touch. “Does it hurt?”
“No.” I shake my head, watching in fascination as he continues to touch me. His hand is so large, his skin tanned and the pad of his thumb rough. I can’t help but wonder at the difference between the two men. Both of them strangers, yet my reaction to each is so completely different.
“Good,” he says gruffly, though I can tell he’s not satisfied with my answer. His hand drops away from my arm and I wonder for a moment if he’s going to take off after my so-called assailant, but he remains rooted in place, standing next to me as if he were put on this earth to be my protector for the evening. “Want a drink?”
“Oh, please.” Before I can tell him what I want, he walks away without another word, his broad-shouldered body cutting a swath through the crowd, and they all part for him obediently. He’s a head taller than the majority of the people in the room, so it’s not difficult to keep tabs on him as he strides toward the bar across the way.
He doesn’t smile at a soul, doesn’t stop to make pleasant conversation with anyone, either.
I’m completely fascinated.
“Who’s the guy?” Violet magically appears at my side, her gaze dropping to my dress, pointedly taking in the slits in my skirt, my thighs playing peek-a-boo whenever I move. “Did you draw him in with the dress or what?”
“Not everyone is as scandalized with the dress as you are,” I mutter, irritated that she’s ruining my mood. Violet and I are usually on the same side about everything, but the moment I made my appearance at Daddy’s suite before we all went to the premiere together, I knew she wasn’t happy with my choice of attire.
And that hurt, despite my brave face and carefree attitude. I blame it on the fact that she’s always had a motherly, almost protective attitude toward me. Daddy didn’t like the dress, either, but that’s no surprise. Ryder gave me a high-five with a wicked grin on his face before we left the suite, and I appreciated that. Clung to his approval like some sort of anchor that was saving me from drowning. I needed any show of support to get through tonight.
You did this to yourself. The only one you have to blame is … you.
That naggy little voice inside my head needs to shut up.
“Can I be honest with you?” Violet turns to face me, her expression somber, warning me I’m not going to want to hear what she has to say.
I barely withhold the sigh that wants to escape when I answer, “Go for it.”
“You’re reminding me of Lily.” She wrinkles her nose, looking both cute and disgusted. That’s the ultimate low blow, saying I remind her of Lily. I feel like she stabbed me right in the heart. “The flashy outfit, the necklace. Did you know Grandma was going to let you wear it tonight?”
Ah, is that what this is about? That Grandma let me wear the necklace and not her? Maybe it was stupid, wearing such a dress. The press had shouted at me continuously as we posed on the red carpet. Asking me who designed it, where was Lily, since when did I get so bold. Hardly any of them asked about the necklace.
I wonder if that made Grandma mad.
“No, I didn’t,” I answer. “She brought it to me about a half hour before we all met. I had no idea she had it with her.”
“She mentioned to me she was going to bring it to Cannes a while ago. But I figured she would want Lily to wear it. Since she’s not here …” Violet’s voice trails off.
“You’re right, she did want Lily to wear it. She also said I reminded her most of Poppy.” I absently drift my fingers across the stones, my thumb smoothing over the largest one set in the center. “So she let me wear it tonight. Said you didn’t need to because you already have your big diamond on your finger.”
Violet immediately holds her hand out, the diamond catching the light just right and making it sparkle. A little smile curls her lips as she stares at it. “She’s probably right.”
“I know,” I say dryly, my gaze snagging on my savior, who’s still waiting in line at the bar. His shoulders are terribly broad and he’s so tall. His hair is longish in the back, in dire need of a trim, and he reaches back at the exact moment the thought passes through my mind, scratching at his nape absently before he turns, his gaze meeting mine all the way across the room.
The look in his eyes renders me completely still. Even my breath stalls in my lungs. I part my lips, the low roar in my ears growing louder, drowning out what Violet’s saying to me, blocking out every little sound until all I can focus on is him.
He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t smile or lift a brow or wave a hand, no acknowledgment that we’re watching each other. Slowly, the movement so subtle I almost don’t notice it, he works his square jaw, his lips pressing together, his chest rising with his deep inhale. Squinting his eyes, one side of his mouth goes up slightly, the lopsided ghost of a smile appearing before it’s gone.
In a snap.
The man turns, his back facing me once more, and I wonder if I imagined it all. Blinking, I tear my gaze from him and turn to my sister, who hasn’t stopped talking. I have no idea what she just said. None.
All I can think about is the man who saved me.
And I don’t even know his name.