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Chapter no 11

Kiss the Sky

ROSE CALLOWAY

Itโ€™s still dark outside when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I rub my drowsy eyes and check the clock.ย 4:30 a.m. I reach perilously for my phone in the dark and knock off a bottle of aspirin. It clatters to the floor, and I look over my shoulder to make sure Connor hasnโ€™t woken up.

He remains unmoving on his side of the bed.

We didnโ€™t have sex. Weโ€™ve been amicably sleeping together without doing more than I wantโ€”which isnโ€™t quite right. Iโ€™m not exactly sure what I want when it comes to sex anymore. But I hesitate to give him that part of meโ€”the part that he may take in triumph and then disappear with.

Carefully, I turn on the phone and cup my hand around the screen, blocking the glow.

5 months and 12 days until the weddingย โ€“ Mom

Thanks, Mom.ย I text back, knowing she wonโ€™t catch the thick sarcasm.

Yesterday, when she sent me theย 5 months and 13 daysย update, Lily opened the text on my phone. She almost needed a paper bag to

hyperventilate into. She wants to be married about as much as a dog wants to be hit by a car. Planning the wedding is like shoving her into traffic, which is why I offered my services.

Planning. Organizing. Preparing. These are things I excel in. I even mediate between my motherโ€™s requests and Lilyโ€™s wishes. As far as our parents go, Lily has tried to have little contact with them. The guilt of hurting Fizzle is a wound she doesnโ€™t like to reopen often. So I have

become Lily Callowayโ€™s middlemanโ€”always reassuring our parents that sheโ€™s not bingeing on cock.

Although if I said such a thing to my mother, sheโ€™d have a coronary.

But every time I ask my sister about invitations or music, she turns pale and mumbles something likeย you choose. So Iโ€™m no closer to planning the wedding than Lily is to wanting to get married. Which infuriates our mother. Iโ€™m sure Iโ€™ll receive a phone call and lecture about time management later this afternoon.

โ€œEverything okay, hun?โ€

My heart jumps at Connorโ€™s voice. I roll over to see him wide awake, head propped up by his hand.

โ€œItโ€™s just my mother,โ€ I say in a whisper. โ€œSorry I woke you.โ€ Iโ€™m about to roll back to the far end of the mattress when my phone buzzes again.

Send me the Calloway Couture sales reports from last week. Iโ€™d like to have a financial advisor look over them. โ€“ย Mom

I let out an aggravated growl. โ€œShe knows I donโ€™t want her involved in my company anymore,โ€ I say more to myself than Connor. โ€œWhy canโ€™t she just back off?โ€

I donโ€™t reply to her in text again. From experience, I know itโ€™s best not to start an argument over the phone. Especially one at four-thirty in the morning.

โ€œSo you do want to talk,โ€ Connor says with the raise of his eyebrows. โ€œNo.โ€ I blink and shake my head. โ€œSorry. Itโ€™s too earlyโ€ฆโ€ I go to turn

and Connor catches my arm.

โ€œI have time for you,โ€ he says. I watch him sit up, fluff his pillow and lean against the headboard. He waves me on. โ€œLetโ€™s hear it.โ€

I rise a little, my legs tucked in front of me, and I tug the hem of my

royal-blue silk nightgown. โ€œWhen I told her I wanted to do a reality show to

help Fizzle and Calloway Couture, the first thing she said was,ย itโ€™d better work, and if it doesnโ€™t, then I have two daughters that have ruined the Calloway name.โ€ I stare at the sheets and shake my head. โ€œWho says that to their own daughter?โ€

Connor is quiet as he patiently lets me vent. Usually, I wait until therapy to unleash my aggravation. But at the end of those sessions, Iโ€™m always prescribed anti-anxieties, whereas Connor usually ends our conversations by calming most of my worries.

I continue as I think about her texts. โ€œAnd even though Iโ€™ve reminded her a hundred times that I have Lilyโ€™s wedding under control, she insists on butting in.ย You canโ€™t have red velvet cake, Rose. Make the color scheme gold, like Fizzle, Rose. That venue is too small, Rose. Oh, but that one is too large.โ€ I throw up my hands after imitating her. โ€œI canโ€™t do anything right.โ€

โ€œHave you tried ignoring her?โ€ Connor asks.

He knows I havenโ€™t. I crumble at my motherโ€™s persistence. And even if she becomes overbearing and a little too much to handle, there is a part of

me that loves that she cares. That sheโ€™d rather spend her time thinking about her daughters than worrying about mindless matters.

โ€œI love her even if I hate her,โ€ I say, not entirely responding to his question.

โ€œA paradox,โ€ Connor muses. โ€œI like those. They make life interesting.โ€

My eyes flit to his. We donโ€™t have these heart-to-hearts often. Itโ€™s much more fun to debate over Freudโ€™s misogynistic theories. But weโ€™ve spoken about Connorโ€™s relationship with his own mother a couple times. Sheโ€™s not cold or maternal. She justย is. At least thatโ€™s how heโ€™s always described

Katarina Cobalt. As if sheโ€™s nothing more than his boss.

Iโ€™d love to meet her, but Connor has lied to me about her being busy for over a year. He doesnโ€™t want me to see her for whatever asinine reason, and

even if he wonโ€™t tell me why, I respect his opinion. So when she called me a couple days ago, I brushed her off with the same excuse Connor has been using.ย Iโ€™mย too busy for coffee and definitely too busy for brunch. It was rude, but if she listens to gossip and socialite mutterings, sheโ€™d know Iโ€™m a bit of a bitch.

โ€œMothers are all slightly insane,โ€ Connor says with a small smile. He just quoted J.D. Salinger, and he waits for me to say so. But I keep my lips tight like I lost him somewhere. His smile fades. โ€œJ.D. Salinger.โ€

โ€œReally? Most mothers are instinctive philosophers,โ€ I shoot back.

He grins again. โ€œHarriet Beecher Stowe. And I couldnโ€™t agree more.โ€ โ€œI wasnโ€™t trying to stump you, so donโ€™t gloat.โ€ I want to hear the truth,

not someone elseโ€™s words. โ€œTell me something real.โ€

And in one swift motion, he tugs my ankle, pulling me flat on the mattress. My nightgown rises to my belly, revealing my black cotton panties. Before I can fix it, he startles me by placing his hands on either side of my body, hovering above me. Thereโ€™s challenge in his eyes. To stay still. To not be afraid of him.

I inhale, fire brewing inside of me. I donโ€™t shift my nightgown, and my eyes narrow, finding my combative side. โ€œYou didnโ€™t answer me.โ€

His eyes dance over my features. โ€œYouโ€™re not going to like what I have to say.โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t care. Just tell me anything.โ€ โ€œAs long as itโ€™s real?โ€

โ€œYes.โ€

He smiles. โ€œWhere do I even start?โ€ His hand skims the bareness of my knee, up towards my thigh. โ€œBesides what Iโ€™d love to do to you right now and tomorrow and for the rest of my life, I hope that someday, Iโ€™ll watch you grow big and roundโ€ฆโ€ He kisses my belly, and his mouth trails a line

to my hipbone, dangerously close to my panties. โ€œโ€ฆand Iโ€™ll hold you in my armsโ€ฆeveryโ€ฆโ€ He traces the skin above the fabric. โ€œโ€ฆsingleโ€ฆnight.โ€

I become so absorbed by his words, and I react how he probably predicted. I put two firm hands on his chest and push him to a sitting position.

His eyebrow arches. โ€œYes?โ€

โ€œYou want children?โ€ I gape. I wasnโ€™t sure what he really wanted. But the fact that heโ€™s not onboard with meโ€”that we haveย divergedย somewhere has my heart rate at a hundred-and-five. I thought Connor was the male- version of me. But I realize Iโ€™m not dating myself. Iโ€™m dating someone much different. Whether thatโ€™sย betterย is to be seen.

โ€œI told you, you werenโ€™t going to like my answer. You said you werenโ€™t going to care. One of us lied.โ€

I glower. โ€œYou want children.โ€

โ€œDoes saying it twice make it more real?โ€ he asks, his fingers touching his jaw. Heโ€™s smiling, loving this way too much.

โ€œWhy would you want children? Youโ€™reโ€ฆyou.โ€

โ€œYouโ€™re right. I am me. Andย meย wants eight screaming kids, who will

bounce on our bed in the morning, who will beg you to braid their hair, who have your beautiful eyes and your brilliant mind. I want it all, Rose. And

one day, our children will have it all too.โ€

โ€œEightย kids?!โ€ I fixate on this. โ€œI canโ€™t even stomach havingย oneย kid and you want me to birth a lineage? Iโ€™m not the Queen of England procreating to secure our empire with an heir.โ€

He grins into a bright laugh, his teeth almost too gorgeous to stare at. He wrestles me back to the mattress, and he kisses my cheek. โ€œBut donโ€™t you want a son and daughter to succeed you,โ€ he asks, โ€œto raise them as your

own, to know that your legacy will still remain long, long after youโ€™re gone?โ€

โ€œItโ€™s still all about you,โ€ I say, understanding completely now. โ€œCould you even love your children?โ€

His smile fades again, and he becomes impassive, poker-faced. โ€œIโ€™d love them.โ€

I wish, more than anything, he wouldnโ€™tย tryย to lie to me. That angers me more than hearing the truth. โ€œYou only love yourself.โ€

โ€œI love you.โ€ Heโ€™s practically mocking me.

I push him up again, and I rise to my knees. My lips find his ear, my voice hot and cold all at once. โ€œIย donโ€™tย believe you.โ€ I scoot to the edge of the bed, to climb off. He catches my arm again.

โ€œI meant what I said,โ€ he tells me seriously, โ€œbefore you brought love into the equation.โ€

โ€œThatโ€™s the thing, Connor.โ€ I untangle from him. โ€œLove should always be in the equation when children are involved. Youโ€™re just lucky I donโ€™t hold that stipulation.โ€ I step off the bed and straighten my nightgown.

โ€œWhere are you going?โ€ he asks, worry creasing his brows. We fight often. And we make up even more. Itโ€™s not as though my storming off is out of the ordinary.

โ€œTo take a shower.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s five in the morning. Come back to bed.โ€

โ€œNo,โ€ I say. โ€œI want to shower before anyone comes into the bathroom.โ€ I head towards the door.

โ€œRoseโ€ฆโ€ He starts but he stops himself before he gets that far. I feel like Iโ€™m eighteen again.

And Connorโ€™s that nineteen-year-old boy who lent me his college blazer.

I wait for him to speak, but like back then, he just stares at me with

those deep austere eyes, with shadows of the truth hidden behind pools of blue.

So I say, โ€œI donโ€™t mind that you donโ€™t love me the way I do you.โ€ I tuck my hair behind my ear. โ€œThank you for at least trying.โ€

And I leave.

But he knows Iโ€™ll be back.

In nearly ten years of knowing Connor, we always seem to return to each otherโ€”even when we were thousands of miles apart, on two separate planes of existenceโ€”even when it seemed like our futures had strayed.

He may not believe in fate, but I do. And I know Iโ€™m fated to be with him.

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