Man of the House(19)

I couldn’t think about drones or Carter or anything else. I had to keep my mind off of him, especially after I already stupidly let myself kiss him.

What a hard life I had. My biggest responsibility was trying to avoid the gorgeous, rich, handsome man that wanted me badly. Otherwise, I could sit around his amazing mansion all I wanted, doing whatever I wanted. It was such a horrible, rough situation to be in.

I sighed. I hated self-pity. I wasn’t the type to feel bad for myself, and I really didn’t have it that bad. Sure, wanting to fuck my stepdad was pretty bad, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. A lot of people had it much, much worse, of course.

Still, my situation was pretty unique. If I gave into what I wanted, I could very likely hurt my mother badly, or even myself. It was just such a strange situation to be in and I really had no clue how to handle it. And now I had to worry about freaking drones!

The day passed by slowly and I did my best to keep my mind off of Carter. Eventually, the sun started to dip in the sky, and I forced myself to go inside.

I went up the stairs to my apartment, opened the door, and stopped in my tracks.

Sitting on the large kitchen table was an enormous bouquet of black roses.

I stood there, staring at them for a second. Who the hell sent someone black roses? I smiled to myself, and knew the answer to that. I walked over to them and carefully picked out the card.

E, red roses would seem inappropriate, but what about black ones? Maybe you can send me a Snap of you wearing only these as well. – C

I smiled, shaking my head. That asshole had some nerve. I put the card back and stepped away.

What the heck was I going to do with a bunch of black roses?

I got into the shower and quickly rinsed off the day. When I got out, I put on some fresh clothes and made myself a quick salad for dinner.

As I sat at the table, idly looking at the black roses, I suddenly wondered what Carter was doing. Without thinking too much about it, I took out the phone and pulled up the Marauder’s Map of the house. Sure enough, there was Carter’s little dot, sitting in a room I thought I recognized but couldn’t be sure. The map wasn’t labeled, so it took me a few minutes before I figured out that he was in his music room.

I got up and headed out into the hall, walking toward him. It was definitely a bad idea, but I was tired and I was bored, and I wanted to know what the heck he meant by sending me black roses. I knew what pink roses meant, what yellow roses meant, obviously what red roses meant, but not black. Was he trying to make some kind of funeral joke or something? You never knew with Carter. That man seemed to live in his own little world and made his own little jokes that he found amazingly funny, while we normal people were left trying to figure out what the heck he meant. He had referenced the lingerie in his note, and maybe that really was what he was getting at. So then why roses?

I realized that I was reading too far into it, but I couldn’t help myself. I knew Carter was smart enough to have several layers of meaning to every gesture, or at least he could if he wanted to. Maybe it was just as simple as black lingerie, black roses.

I stopped just outside of the music room, realizing something. This was probably what he wanted all along. Carter wanted me to read into these roses, wanted me to think about what they could mean. He wanted me to think about him, to obsess about him. Just by thinking about his gift, I was playing directly into his hand.

“Damn,” I said out loud, shaking my head.

A second later, the door swung open and Carter poked his head out. He startled me and I took a few steps back.

“Hey,” he said, cocking his head at me and smiling. “Were you talking to yourself out here?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I was on the phone.”

“Right.” He leaned up against the frame. “What brings you here?”

“I got your gift.”

“Good. Do you like them?”

“They’re more confusing than anything else.”

He shrugged and walked back into the room, leaving the door open. I followed him in as he walked behind the bar. “Drink?” he asked.

“White wine, if you have some.”

He nodded, opened a bottle, and poured me a small glass. He refreshed his own whisky and came around the bar.

“Why are roses confusing?”

“They’re black.”

“I told you why in the note.”

“Where do you even get black roses?”

“You buy white ones then you have them dyed black.”

“Sounds expensive and a lot of work for something that I’m just going to throw out.”

“That’s okay. Nothing but the best for the girl that leaves me cuffed to a bed.”