cry for him.
* * *
On Saturday, she did what she always did before a gala. She had a long relaxing bath, then her staff
come over to do her hair and makeup until she looked as perfect as a centerfold. Except tonight, she
was wearing her hair down for Daniel Lexington.
Nervous at the thought of facing him, she finished getting ready, and then waited for Roland. He
was supposed to arrive earlier, at seven, so they could discuss their relationship at length. Now that
she thought about it, Monica realized there was really very little to discuss.
Soon, Roland Gustafson was exiting the elevators, distinguished in his tuxedo, with his deep
thoughtful brow and that shock of gray in his temples. His gray eyes warmed at the sight of her, and he
paused to take her in her elegant Christian Dior sapphire gown.
He lifted his arms high above. “My rose, my rose, you look stunning.”
Monica smiled coldly. He called her his rose because she had thorns, and was he ever going to feel
the prick tonight.
“Come in, Roland. Sit.” She sat down in the living room and passed him the pictures, not offering
him either a hug, a handshake, a kiss, or a drop of wine. She didn’t want to waste a moment more. She
had been wasting too many years of her life already. “Why?” she asked him.
His usually calm demeanor broke as he flicked over the photographs, one by one, the color slowly
draining from his face. “Where did you find these?”
“Apparently my father had you followed.”
He raised his head, his eyes wide and, surprisingly, tear-filled. “I loved her. I loved her, Monica.”
He shook his head and glanced down at a picture where they were together, her mother and him. “I
loved her. You’re a little part of her, rose.”
Monica stifled the impulse to deny her similarities to her mother, having spent an entire lifetime
stifling her passionate side. But she just needed to know, so she asked, “How did you know her? You
weren’t at the funeral.”
“At the country club.” A raw and primitive expression crossed his features. “I’d always had my eye
on her, but she never even glanced my way until the rumor of your father’s affair broke. She was
passionate, Monica. She wanted me any way possible. And when I see you, I can’t help seeing a little
bit of her. You make me ache to get a little of what she gave me. She made me promise to look after
you if anything happened to her, and I have. I have. But I need you to want me like I want you.”
“You don’t want me, Roland, you want an illusion of my mother.”
He stared at her, visibly heartbroken. “No. I do love you, rose. I do. We go so well together. You’re
poised and elegant. We both want the same things. Peace. Tranquility. Her death left me broken, too.
She was using me, but I was not using her. I never used her.”
He took her hand from her lap and squeezed it between his, and Monica’s chest ached at the pain in
his eyes.
“Roland,” she said, softening her voice, setting his hands back in his lap and patting them gently.
“I’m sorry she did this. I’m sorry. But you see, that’s what I now realize. My mother was hurting, and
she found relief with you. But I don’t want to use you like this, too. And I … I’ve been with you to
forget another man.” She squeezed his hands as a wealth of emotion squeezed around her throat, and
then let go, shaking her head with an immense sadness. “It’s wrong, I see that now. It was wrong of
me, and wrong of you. We’re together for all the wrong reasons.”
“But Monica—”
“No, Roland. I’m really sorry, but we have to move on. You and I know, I think we’ve both known,
there’s nothing here worth fighting for. There’s just nothing here at all.”
When he at last nodded, it was with a tear rolling down his sun-weathered cheek. It wasn’t easy,
hugging him good-bye. Monica didn’t close up, now that she knew he would not be pushing for
anything else. It was actually heartfelt, their last embrace. Representing the closing of another chapter
of her life.
A chapter where she had been scared to feel, and had just kept thinking if she kept moving, working,
she would survive.
She didn’t really want this life.
Make the right choice.
She dragged in a deep breath as she remembered his note, thinking, I will, Daniel. I have.
She didn’t know if it was the right choice, but she was beyond caring now. She wanted a life with
the man she loved in it, and she wanted it with every inch of her aching heart. If it would sometimes
hurt, then she just couldn’t believe it would hurt more than these past few days, when she’d been every