Monster Among the Roses

By the time Saturday arrived, I was nervous.

I’d never been to a fancy restaurant before, and everyone said Urbane was the crème de la crème of eateries in the area. I didn’t want to do anything to embarrass Isobel. Shit, I wondered if I should’ve taken one of those lessons to learn which silverware went with which course.

I was totally going to bomb this.

But at least I was going to look good doing it. Driving Henry Nash’s truck and wearing Ezra Nash’s suit, no one would be able to tell I was a nobody. A fake.

Henry had set the reservations for seven thirty. Since I got off work at four, I went home to spend a couple hours with Mom before I dressed. She gave a low, impressed whistle as soon as I exited the bedroom, trying to figure out the cuff links.

“My goodness, don’t you look handsome?”

I glanced over to where she sat in her worn-out chair, wearing a floral muumuu and watching Wheel of Fortune on TV with her walker sitting next to her. An ache rippled through me. How many evenings had we sat in here, eating in our chairs and watching this show together? I felt as if I were abandoning her to go off and try to be something I wasn’t.

For a moment, I wanted to call the whole thing off. I didn’t belong with Isobel. I was their handyman, their charity case. I belonged here with my mother, making sure she stayed safe and healthy. But then I remembered the excitement on Isobel’s face when she’d kissed me goodbye only hours ago.

She had brushed the backs of her knuckles along my jaw and murmured, “See you at seven,” and there was no way in hell I could disappoint her.

“Does my tie look straight?” I asked Mom.

“You look perfect,” she answered, something bright and satisfied glittering in her eyes before she added, “I’m so proud of you, Shaw. This is the kind of life I always wanted for you.”

I paused, not sure exactly what kind of life that was. The one where I felt stuck between two worlds, spending all day in the high life and taking luxury showers, only to come home to my one-room apartment that more often than not stank of the litter box for my neighbor’s cat. I felt like a poser.

I think that was all my mom saw, though. The suit I wore and the hair I had combed back. So she assumed I’d turned into some kind of suave, well-to-do man, or something.

“You like this girl, don’t you?”

And that was all it took to calm me down. This was about the girl, not the suit.

I nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Mom grinned. “Then bring her by sometime. I want to meet her.”

More nerves filled my gut as I imagined Isobel here, seeing the way I lived, meeting my mother who never brushed her hair and rarely showered. I wasn’t sure what she’d think of me. Of us. And then there was Mom. I knew she’d never be openly rude to Isobel, but what if she said something about Isobel’s scars or money to upset her? I wanted the two to meet and like each other. It made me stress and worry something would go wrong.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said as I crossed the room to bend down and kiss Mom’s paper-thin cheek. “You’re staying in tonight, right?” I asked. “I saw the janitor mopping on the main floor, he’ll probably do the stairs before the night’s over. I don’t want you slipping and falling.”

Mom tsked and patted my arm. “Don’t worry about me. Just go, have fun.”

“Okay, then. I love you.”

I left with another kiss to her forehead and a glance at the television where a man was spinning the wheel and the crowd was clapping. It was nearly seven by the time I reached the truck. With a half hour to pick up Isobel and make it to Urbane in time for our reservations, I started to Porter Hall, humming under my breath as I nervously tapped my fingers against the steering wheel.

The gate opened as soon as I pulled into the driveway and before I could even push the button to announce myself. Someone had been waiting and watching for me. Hopefully Isobel. The idea that she was anxious for tonight made my blood race and my own anxieties rise. I didn’t want to disappoint her.

I almost expected her to open the door and step outside as soon as I rolled to a stop in front of the entrance. But she didn’t. I parked and turned off the engine. After alighting, I skirted the bumper, took ten steps up the front steps, hurried between the lane of solar lights that looked like hanging lanterns and stepped under the overhang before I rang the doorbell.

Henry answered, his gaze probing and curious when he let me in. But after a single once-over, he nodded in approval.

“I knew Ezra would find you something nice. You’ll match Izzy perfectly.”

I glanced around for her, but she wasn’t in the foyer. Hoping she wasn’t going to skip out on me, I gulped, my palms growing damper.

“The silly girl wanted to race right out to you,” Henry told me on an eye roll. “But I made her wait until you were inside so she could make an entrance.”

Snickering, I glanced over. “It’s not the prom, you know.”

With a scowl, her dad muttered, “Well, it might as well be. She never did make it to her prom.”

I started to respond, but he bumped his elbow into mine and pointed up to the second level where the staircase began.

The vision that stood there took my breath away. In a black, ankle-length gown, Isobel began to descend.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

She looked stunning. The dress was nice, with shiny black sequins on the tight bodice, one-inch straps over her shoulders and a silken skirt that flowed out from the cinched waist. But she was the one who made it look good, not the other way around. Her hair was pulled up and her arms were delicate and bare. She did nothing to hide her scars. I loved that.

Her blue eyes met mine, and I could only shake my head, unable to think up the proper words. “You look so…” She’d finally reached us, and I still couldn’t say anything sufficient, so I reached out, snagged her waist with one hand and pulled her against me to press my mouth to hers.

“Okay, enough of that,” Henry announced, slugging me in the arm, even though he was laughing good-naturedly as he did so. “I had to tug some tricky strings to get this reservation for you.”

I dragged my lips from Isobel’s but still didn’t look at her father. Lifting the single blood-red long-stem rose I’d been holding behind my back since I’d come inside, I said, “This will never be as lovely as you, but at least you can be comforted in the fact I stole it from the best rose garden in the state.”

Her mouth fell open before she cracked off a laugh. “You stole one of my own roses to give me.”

I wiggled my eyebrows. “And I took off all the thorns too.”

Not the least bit offended by my thievery, Isobel reached for one of my hands only to turn it so my palm faced up. When she caught sight of the scratch marks I’d given myself, she shook her head and smiled. “Still can’t accomplish it with gloves on, I see.”

“Never,” I admitted, grinning back.

Henry glanced between us, clearly having no idea what we were talking about. “I swear, you two speak your own language.” Then he let out a sad smile. “Annalise and I used to do that.”

“Oh, Dad.” Isobel turned to hug him. “Don’t get sentimental. I didn’t bring any tissues.”

Her teasing worked. He sniffed out a laugh and motioned us toward the door. “Eh, enough of that. Get out of here already. Have fun. And be safe.”

She kissed him on the cheek and opened the front door. I lingered a moment to send her dad a serious nod before murmuring, “Thank you, sir.”

He clasped my shoulder. “Thank you.”

At the truck, Isobel was already reaching for her door handle. I shouted her off it, dashing down the steps until I was at her side and could open the door for her. “You gotta give me my moment here,” I said, holding out a hand to help her climb up into the cab of the truck.

With a laugh, she shook her head. “You and my dad, I swear. We’re not going to the royal ball, you know.”

Well, it certainly felt like it. It felt as if I’d just helped a princess into my truck. To me, we might as well be in some kind of freaking fairy tale.

When I climbed behind the wheel, she was flipping down the visor to check her lipstick. I winced. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t think about how I would mess up your lipstick.”

After wiping one corner, she sent me a grin. “Trust me, I didn’t mind.”

My eyebrows lifted. “So you don’t mind if I mess it up again, later on?”

She flipped the visor back up. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

My body stirred with warmth. Suddenly, I was looking forward to what we’d do after dinner much more than I was the actual meal. But the idea of being seen in public beside this fetching lady kept me from suggesting we skip the food and go straight to dessert.

My first experience with valet parking was awkward; I totally forgot to tip the attendant, so Isobel had to. Flushing, I leaned in as I took her elbow to escort her through the front doors to murmur a grateful, “Thank you. I’m used to being the one getting tipped, not the other way around.”

“You’re fine,” Isobel started to reassure me, only to slow when she glanced over. Her lips parted with surprise. “You’re nervous.”

My brow felt damp and my skin was clammy. “Hell yes, I’m nervous,” I hissed. “I don’t belong in a place like this.”

She stopped walking entirely so she could turn to face me fully. My cheeks heated with embarrassment because someone was waiting to hold the door open for us, and it was bringing us undue attention.

Isobel didn’t seem to care. She kept her voice low and discreet when she said, “I promise you are more worthy to be here tonight than anyone else.” Then she smiled. “And your presence is the only thing keeping me from experiencing my own nerves.”

My gaze caught hers. I don’t know why I’d totally forgotten to worry about her. This was only her second outing in the past six months, and we hadn’t even gotten out of the truck the first time we’d left Porter Hall.

Feeling like a dick for not thinking about her, I raised her hand to my lips and kissed her knuckles. “I’ll keep you on the level if you can keep me calm.”

She gave a dignified nod. “Deal.”

So we entered the restaurant, where the maître d’ showed us to our table in the back tucked into a darker corner. I assumed he was trying to provide us with something romantic and private, where Isobel and I could talk and focus on nothing but each other.

A waiter arrived to take our drink orders a moment later. He talked directly to me, pretending Isobel wasn’t present. I had no idea if she wanted a fancy bottle of champagne or what, so I lifted my gaze across the table, where Isobel said, “Water’s fine for me.”

So I told the guy, “Just water for both of us.”

He nodded to me. “Very well, sir,” and took off again.

I frowned after him, not sure why he hadn’t even acknowledged her, when a voice from a few tables over floated our way.

“Oh my God, did you see that woman’s face?”

Blinking, I turned in that direction to find a table of two women, leaning toward each other eagerly as they gossiped.

“I know!” the second one gushed. “Those scars are disgusting. It looks like someone took a meat tenderizer to her.”

Stunned by their uncouth behavior, I turned back to Isobel, who sat stiff and straight, her chin tipped up and blue eyes filled with blank acceptance.

“How in God’s name can a guy that gorgeous stand being seen with her in public?” the first woman continued.

The other snickered. “She must be super rich. Or incredible in bed.”

They shared a laugh. “I don’t see how. He’d have to put a bag over her head just to get it up.”

Okay, that was it. Enough was enough. I whirled to face the women so fast they jumped, startled, and lifted large-eyed gazes my way.

“Or maybe I’m with her because I find her to be beautiful,” I bit out. “Inside and out. She makes me laugh and smile. My heart beats faster every time she enters a room. Oh, and she’s not an overly loud and rude, opinionated jerk. Strange how that kind of shit actually matters to some people, isn’t it?”

Mouths falling open, the two women gaped at me as if I’d lost my mind.

“Yeah, we heard you,” I added, answering their silent suspicions. “Loud and clear. The whole damn restaurant heard you. And frankly, with annoying mouths like yours, I’d be surprised if every man who’s ever slept with you two didn’t need earplugs to get it up.”

“Shaw!” Isobel gasped.

I spun to her, snapping, “What? They’re pissing me off. No one talks about you like that and gets away with it.”

Her face flushed and expression turned miserable. I knew she would’ve rather we’d completely ignored the two women, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

“Excuse me, sir,” the maître d’ asked, appearing at our table nervously wringing his hands and glancing around toward the other curious patrons. “Is there a problem here?” he asked politely enough, but the look on his face seemed to say I was the problem.

“Yes,” I said, the word cutting. “There very much is a problem here.” Isobel hissed my name again, trying to rein me in, but I was too busy glaring at the headwaiter. “Those two women over there keep insulting us, and it’s pissing me off.”

The man swallowed and glanced at the women, who looked equal parts guilty and indignant. Then he turned back to me. “I’m so sorry, sir. Would you like us to seat you at another table?”

I lifted my eyebrows at this suggestion. “No,” I said. “I liked it here. We were minding our own damn business, not bothering anyone else until they started in. Why don’t you ask them to move? Or better yet, to leave entirely?”

“Oh my God,” Isobel moaned under her breath. “Shaw, please stop.”

I glanced at her, and my heart wrenched. This was supposed to be her night, her special evening to make up for her prom and every other date she’d missed in the last eight years. I’d wanted it to go perfectly. Nothing bad was supposed to happen.

The maître d’ continued fumbling for the right words, because clearly he wasn’t going to reprimand the women; he must not have found any offence with them.

Swallowing all the rage and injustice I found from the situation, I slowly pulled my cloth napkin from my lap and set it gently on the table in front of me. Then I stood just as deliberately, until I was at my full height, which just so happened to be a good six inches taller than the maître d’.

His eyes widened and he took a step back as if he thought I was going to throttle him. In his defense, I’m sure my gaze blazed with how much I did want to throttle him.

But all I said was, “I think we’ll just leave.” Sending the two loudmouth women one last nasty glare, I added, “We’ve lost our appetites.”

When I turned my attention to Isobel and held my hand down to her, she gracefully took it and rose regally to her feet. I’d never been so proud of anyone in my life. She’d sequestered herself away for eight years because she’d been worried about experiencing moments just like this, and here she was, surviving her worst fear with poised perfection.

With my heart in my throat, I kissed her lips, lingering softly. Then I glanced at the maître d’ with narrowed eyes and led her from the restaurant.

Isobel and I remained quiet until the valet returned the truck to us and we were closed inside it. My anger had dissolved and worry gnawed at my gut. I didn’t know how to interpret her silence or that blank, expressionless look on her face.

Was she hurt, mad, or maybe just tired of it all? Had I caused the biggest problem by making such a scene?

This not knowing was driving me crazy.

I glanced across the interior of the truck as we pulled onto the road. “Want to go get a pizza instead?”

She shook her head, not meeting my gaze.

“Hamburgers?” I tried. I would take her anywhere, do anything to please her.

“I just want to go home.” Except, dammit, that was the last thing I wanted to do for her.

My hopes shriveled. She’d definitely been negatively impacted, and the encounter was still bothering her.

Unable to stop stressing that I’d made things worse, I asked, “Are you mad at me?”

She seared me with a sharp glance. “What?”

“For, you know, escalating the problem?”

With a sniff, she turned back to staring out the front windshield. “Of course not,” she mumbled, but there wasn’t much fervor behind her words, making me wonder if she was just saying that to shut me up, when really, maybe I was the root of her turmoil.

“You didn’t believe them, did you?” I kept on, unable to drop it. Not being able to gauge where her mind was killed me. “When they suggested I could only be with you because you’re rich?”

Isobel growled in her throat. “Can we please just not talk about it?”

My breathing turned choppy. No, we couldn’t not talk about it. Did she believe them or not? I needed reassurance; I needed to know she and I were still good. I’d been the one to take her out for her first trip into society, and look what had happened. Did she blame me? Did she hate me? Did she ever want to see me again? Why couldn’t she just tell me we were still solid?

A second later, I realized how selfish I was being. Isobel had just attempted something she hadn’t done in eight years, and it had failed. Of course she wasn’t going to be in a good mood. Me trying to push her into saying she didn’t hate me wasn’t helping anything.

Though my gut rolled with unease, I remained quiet, giving her the silence she’d asked for. Once I delivered her home and parked before her front door, I tried one more time to get her to open up. She hadn’t made a move to exit the truck yet; she was just sitting there, staring out the side window. It made me think she did want to say something before we parted.

So I asked, “Are you okay?”

But she sighed as if irritated by the question. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t. Clearly, she was anything but fine. I reached for her hand. “Can I come inside with you?”

Pulling her fingers away, she shook her head. “I’d rather be alone right now.”

My heart cracked. I felt so helpless, as if everything I did only made matters worse. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice going hoarse.

“Don’t,” she snapped, scowling at me but only turning halfway toward me. “There’s no need for you to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I wanted to be comforted by her words, but everything felt so off. Her misery was beginning to ooze and I couldn’t fix it. And then, when I realized why she wasn’t facing me fully, I lost it.

“Are you hiding your scars from me?” I accused. “Dammit, Isobel. Don’t start that again.” I grabbed her arm and tried to steer her around to face me, but she resisted.

“Stop it,” she cried, wrenching away. “Just leave me alone. You don’t understand this. You couldn’t possibly understand.”

I understood she was upset. And I understood that ache inside me that needed to soothe her, to make it better. Aside from that, nothing else mattered. I needed the chance to make her better.

Touching her shoulder lightly only to remove my hand when she shrugged me off, I begged, “Then make me understand.”

Her breathing picked up. I wasn’t sure if she was crying or just getting more upset. In either case, it made me feel worse.

“Tell me how to make this better.”

Whirling to face me completely, she hissed, “You can’t. You can’t make anything better. And I was a fool to ever think a freak like me could mix with the outside world.”

“No,” I started, not wanting her to feel that way. She’d come so far to lose all the progress she’d made. I could picture her closing herself up for another eight years, and the thought panicked me. “Isobel—”

“Just leave me alone,” she cried, throwing open the truck door and hurling herself out into the night.

I jerked open the driver’s side door and jumped out, hurrying after her. But I’d no sooner rounded the front of the hood than she threw up a hand, warding me off. The silhouette she made in the solar lights lining the front walk looked like a tragic princess.

“Don’t follow me,” she commanded. “Just give me some space.”

I jarred to a halt, understanding the word space. Space and time I could give. Everyone needed a moment to recoup sometimes. Besides, they were both things that passed. It didn’t mean she wanted me to stay away forever.

“I’ll see you Monday,” I called as she opened the front door, letting her know I would give her space, but only for a few days.

She pretended not to hear me, but I knew she had. Cursing under my breath as the front door clamped closed behind her, I shook my head, dejected, and slumped back to the truck.

I wanted to return to Urbane, find the two women who’d caused this, and strangle them both. How could they be so cruel and heartless? Isobel hadn’t done anything to bother them, and besides, she’d looked completely stunning to me. So what if she had some nasty scars? They didn’t make her who she was. I couldn’t believe some people could be so superficial.

Letting my anger smother the worry that she still might be upset with me, I stewed the whole way home. Even the walk from the lot where I parked back to my apartment building didn’t help cool my mood. I wanted to plant my fist through a brick wall. I wanted to return to Porter Hall, force my way into Isobel’s room and make her let me fix everything.

But she’d requested space, so I would give her space.

God, I hated that word. Space. It was so vague, and lonely, and miserable.

I shoved open the front door of my building, wondering if she’d even be willing to continue her flower shop dream after this, when a heap of floral clothing at the bottom of the stairwell had me stumbling to a halt before I tripped over it.

At first, I thought someone had dropped their laundry right at the base of the steps, blocking the path. But then a gray head of hair, fleshy arms, and shoes took form from the mound. Realizing that looked like Mom’s muumuu she’d been wearing earlier in the evening, I gasped out my fear before rushing forward and falling to my knees beside the limp form.

“Mom?” I croaked, rolling the fallen person toward me until her face fell my way.

My lungs caught on a choked cry when I took in the bloody gash on her forehead.

“Oh God, Oh God. Mom?” I pressed my shaking fingers to the pulse point on her neck and nearly wept when I felt a heartbeat. She was unconscious, but at least she was still alive.

Beyond grateful, I pressed my face to hers and just held her against me for the longest second, praying for her heart to keep beating and her lungs to keep pumping air.

Then I went to get help.