Losing Romeo (4 page)

Chapter Five

“What if I just stay here and—” Dafne shot Rosaline a glare that made her stop mid-sentence.

“Mr. Mercer invited us to dinner so he can meet you,” Dafne said, stepping into the clunky, black pumps she always wore. “It would be rude of you to not go.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to meet Mr. Mercer. She just didn’t want to run into the guy she presumed was Bryson again. Dafne hadn’t yelled at her for using his computer yet, so she assumed her aunt didn’t know about the confrontation. He was probably waiting to bring it up at dinner; then she’d be embarrassed
and
get shipped off to military school.

Cool night air wafted into the room when Dafne opened the door. “I expect you to behave yourself and treat Mr. Mercer with the respect he deserves. That means leaving the sarcasm here.”

Rosaline dug into her pockets, miming taking something out of them. “Sorry, sarcasm. I’ll take you next time, I swear.”

Dafne rolled her eyes. “You’re as dramatic as your father, you know that? He should be dealing with it, not sending you away because he can’t handle someone so much like him.”

Scowling, Rosaline followed her aunt outside. She wasn’t sure which was more insulting, the fact that Dafne obviously didn’t want her here or the implication she was anything like Dad.

Dafne stopped and Rosaline almost ran into her. “I didn’t mean… I’m just nervous. This is my boss, which means my job, my life.”

“I’ll be a perfect angel, I promise.”
Until Bryson rats me out and I have to lunge across the table and strangle him. Hey, if I’m going to be shipped off to military school, I might as well go out swinging.

When Dafne raised an eyebrow, Rosaline added, “I’m serious. Remember how I left my sarcasm in there?”

A fleeting smile hit Dafne’s lips. Gone already, but it had been there. A smug sense of satisfaction wound through Rosaline.
I’ll win her over yet.

But as they walked toward the Mercer house, anxiety clenched her stomach, and her thoughts turned to surviving dinner.

When she and Dafne arrived at the Mercer house, her aunt walked right in, the way she always did. It always seemed weird, but apparently you didn’t have to knock when the place housed your office. Even weirder, Dafne pulled out her phone and texted Mr. Mercer. While they stood in the entryway.

A couple seconds later, Dafne’s phone beeped. “He says they’ll be right down. We’re supposed to go into the living room.”

She said, “They’ll.” That means him
and
Bryson.

Rosaline’s throat went dry.
No matter what, don’t stare at his scar. He seems to hate that.

I wonder how he got it.

And what’s up with the cane?

She’d wanted to ask Dafne, but as far as her aunt knew, she’d never met Bryson before. After tonight at least she could ask and hopefully check that mystery off the list. They settled on a couch in an all beige and gold room. It had the museum look-but-don’t-touch feel to it, and she found herself sitting board straight on the edge of the cushions, holding her breath.

Dafne’s phone beeped. She read the message and stood. “I’ll be right back.”

Rosaline sat alone, wondering if this was some kind of test. Like maybe they had a nanny cam on her, waiting to see if she’d steal the precious items around the room.

“I swear, he’s always working on that damn bike,” a man said, irritation filling the words. “It doesn’t make sense spending all that time on something he can’t use.”

“Winslow, it’s okay.” Dafne’s voice was all soothing and calm, a tone Rosaline had never heard before. “This last year’s been hard on him, and he needs something.”

He grumbled something Rosaline couldn’t catch hold of, then the man she assumed was Mr. Winslow Mercer himself walked into the room, followed closely by Dafne. He was tall with deep-set gray eyes and dark hair. He wore a navy button down with khaki slacks and gave off an intimidating, I’m-in-charge air.

Rosaline stood and offered what she hoped was a demure, perfect-angel smile.

“This is my niece, Rosaline Capulet,” Dafne said. “Rosaline, Mr. Winslow Mercer.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Mercer.” She thought about adding a curtsey, but that would probably rate high on the sarcasm scale.

Mr. Mercer held out his hand and she took it. “And you,” he said, giving her hand a firm shake. “I regret my nephew is unable to join us tonight. Since you’re living in such close proximity, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for you to meet him later.”

“I’ll look forward to that.”
Since it definitely hasn’t already happened and I don’t already think he’s a huge jerk.

Dafne nodded at her, obviously proud of her good manners, then shot Mr. Mercer a reassuring smile. There was something else, too—more than admiration.
O-M-G, Aunt Dafne totally has the hots for her boss!

As they sat at the huge cherry wood dining table, Rosaline observed the way Dafne acted around him. With every second that passed, even though they were talking boring business stuff, she became more and more certain that she’d been right about Dafne’s feelings for him.

He seems so serious. How can she like him?

Then again, Dafne’s plenty serious herself. I wonder if they’ve ever crossed the business/colleagues line?

With Dafne gazing at Mr. Mercer and him going on and on about routes and some other trucking nonsense, Rosaline could’ve easily texted unnoticed, had she had a phone.

Mr. Mercer set down his fork and looked across the table at her. “I’m sorry. I tend to be all business all the time. So how are you liking Arkansas?”

Dafne whipped her head toward her, communicating with her wide eyes that she shouldn’t tell him the truth. Rosaline thought it was a good thing—for her aunt anyway—that she’d left her sarcasm at home.

Well, there’s nothing to do, no ocean-y air, and I’m basically a prisoner, but other than that…

She searched for something to say. Something that would sound nice and genuine, an almost impossible combination. “I’ve never seen so many trees. They’re quite pretty. And your home is lovely.”

He gave her an amused half-smile. “Very diplomatic.”

“I’ll be sure to call on you for an endorsement when I run for office.” Oopsie. Apparently, she’d brought a little of her sarcasm, and it just so happened to slip out there.

“Rosaline!” Dafne said, but Mr. Mercer’s smile only widened.

“You make it there, I’ll see what I can do.” He steepled his hands. “So you prefer California, do you?”

“I miss the ocean, and even though your trees are pretty with all of their branches and leaves, I miss palm trees. Really, though, I haven’t seen much of Arkansas.”

“It’s all pretty much the same,” Dafne said, waving a dismissive hand through the air.

Mr. Mercer looked at her, his mouth dropping. “You, too, Dafne? Here I thought we’d won you over.”

“Well…I…” She shrugged. “I miss California sometimes, too, but this is home. I have no plans of leaving, I assure you.”

“Good. I’d never survive without you.” He patted her hand, more
Good job, mate
than
I’m secretly in love with you, too.

Dafne flushed and dropped her gaze to his hand.

Yes, he’d definitely won Dafne over. But Rosaline didn’t think he had any idea that it was about far more than Arkansas or the job.

The sound of the front door opening and closing caught her attention. She bit her lip, her pulse steadily rising. A light tap accompanied footsteps, and Bryson appeared in the doorway. His dark hair was down, covering most of his face, his left hand gripped the cane, and his skin and clothes were smudged with black.

“Bryson.” The chair legs scraped across the floor as Mr. Mercer stood. “So good of you to finally join us.”

“I’m not joining you. I came in for a part I left in my room.” Bryson continued past the open doorway, toward the stairs.

“At least come in and say hello to Dafne and introduce yourself to her niece.” Mr. Mercer’s voice was hard, the kind of tone teachers used to grab your attention and remind you they were in charge.

Bryson walked back into the room, the cane tapping every couple of steps. He gave a tiny nod. “Dafne.” His gaze moved to Rosaline, and her stomach climbed into her throat.

She looked down at her plate and twisted her fingers in the cloth napkin on her lap.
He’s going to tell, he’s going to tell.

“This is Rosaline Capulet,” Mr. Mercer said. “Rosaline, this is my nephew Bryson.”

She dared a glance up, but with all the hair and grease, she couldn’t make out Bryson’s expression.

“Nice to meet you.” His eyes locked onto hers, and all the air left the room. “Officially.”

She tried to swallow, but her throat wasn’t cooperating.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in the middle of a project, not to mention covered in too much dirt and grease to attend such a fancy dinner party.” He walked on, but the tension remained.

Mr. Mercer sat in his chair, his movements stiff. Dafne reached toward him.

“Don’t make excuses for him,” he said, and Dafne dropped her hand. She stood, ducked into the kitchen, and came back with the dessert she’d picked up from the bakery earlier today.

It was one of those rare instances when not even cake—even really fancy cake with three layers of chocolate—could fix the situation.

Chapter Six

In one week, Rosaline had done two-and-a-half weeks’ worth of schoolwork. She finished her final, stretched, and walked to the office where Dafne sat, fingers tapping the keyboard.

“Just so you know, I’m going to go completely insane. Fresh air is, like, required for people to live.” Rosaline twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “If you’d let me use the internet, I could even give you sources and everything.”

Dafne spun the chair to face her and gave an exaggerated hair flip. “So, like, you’re saying you think you deserve a break?”

Rosaline frowned, unamused at her aunt’s impression of her. She put way too much spoiled brat into it.
And I don’t flip my hair either.

“I’m not going to let you go into town without me,” Dafne said.

Rosaline slumped, sticking out her bottom lip.

“But…you could take a walk. The Mercers own all the land for about five miles in all directions. There’s even a nice, peaceful stream that winds through. Knock yourself out.”

Long nature walks weren’t exactly her thing, but at this point she would take freedom of any kind. Before Dafne could change her mind, Rosaline loaded her books into her backpack and started for the front door. She hesitated at the foot of the stairs, considering searching for another computer—one
not
in Bryson’s room—but decided not to press her luck.

Ten minutes later she had on a white tank top and her frayed denim shorts. Might as well get a tan while she was nature-walking. She’d briefly contemplated taking the time to flat iron her hair—this morning she hadn’t bothered, figuring no one ever saw her anyway. Odds of seeing anyone on her hike weren’t likely either, though, so she decided to let it be its crazy, wavy self.

The sun warmed the top of her head and shoulders, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was at the beach. Only the air smelled grassy and earthy instead of salt-watery. She walked until she reached the stream. After making sure no creepy critters were near, she took off her flip-flops and stuck her feet in the cool water.

With a sigh she lay back, feet still dangling in the water, and closed her eyes. “I’m at the beach, I’m at the beach.”

Unexpected sadness welled up in her, tightening her chest. She
wasn’t
at the beach. If she were, she’d be with Clara and Sophie. Clara, being Irish and red-headed, would be complaining about how she’d never get a tan, and Sophie would be pointing out cute shirtless guys.

They’d done that earlier this month.

And I’d said I didn’t need to check any out because Romeo would put them all to shame.

A week should’ve made her feel better about the fact that the boy she hadn’t even kissed had left her for someone else. Should’ves were stupid, though. They just meant that you were screwed up, even though you shouldn’t be, and regardless, it still stung every damn time she thought about it.

She’d done something incredibly dumb.

For a guy who’d run off with her cousin.

And a tiny, messed-up part of her still wanted to know if she were back in Verona, if she showed Romeo she could be the girl he wanted—if she kissed him like she’d planned on doing—if he’d change his mind and pick her.

***

When Rosaline awoke, the clouds were dark purple, pink, and orange. As she blinked the last bit of sleep away, she stared at the multicolored sky.
Wow, that’s really beautiful.

She jolted herself up, realizing the setting sun meant it was going to get dark quick and she couldn’t remember which way she’d come from.

Let’s see. Just before I got to the stream I passed that small hill that was…
She glanced in both directions.
Somewhere. Was that before or after I headed…whatever direction was opposite the way I was going?

Her pulse quickened as she stood and looked around. She’d also passed lots of trees, but that didn’t help when there were trees in every direction. “Don’t panic. How hard can it be to find a mansion the size of Saint Mary’s High School?”

She started one way, then decided it was wrong and headed in the other direction. A light shone through the darker-by-the-minute skyline and she decided that had to be the Mercer place. With night descending, all noises were amplified, every nerve in her body set on edge.

The tall grass shook in front of her—in that way that made it clear something big-ish was going through it. Taking a step back, she eyed the swaying blades. “Please be a bunny, please be a bunny.”

The creature darted out, and she screamed, jumping backward. The red fox shot in the other direction, and Rosaline sucked in deep breaths, trying to calm her pounding heart. “Aw. Now I feel bad for scaring it.”

To her left, the trees rustled, the sound too loud to be only the wind.
Great. My screams probably attracted some hungry creature.
She took a large step back.
Are there bears here? I don’t know how to deal with bears.
She seemed to remember something about not-running, but seriously? Was she just supposed to stand there and hope it didn’t eat her?
Maybe it’s like a shark. Go for the nose and eyes.

Which would be great if I were three or four feet taller and had a chance at hitting it before it uses its claws to slice me to pieces.

A haunting sound filled the air, and goose bumps crept up her spine. For some reason her mind went back to her first day here, when that Leanne girl told her about a curse. What had she said? Something about an Indian burial ground?

Now she swore chanting mixed in the rustling, angry words whispered on the wind.

“Okay, I’m losing it. There’s no such thing as—”

A strong wind stirred up leaves and dirt and whipped her hair in her face. The hair on the back of her neck pricked up, and she strained to see through the shadows.

This is what I get for not believing in the curse. The spirits are coming to get me now.
She crossed herself, hoping the spirits were tolerant of other religions.

More crashing came from the woods. From the sound of it, the angry spirits were the size of elephants.

Rosaline froze in place, heart hammering her rib cage, ragged breaths coming faster and faster.

A figure on horseback broke through the trees. In the dim light, she could just make out his features—human and familiar, a winning combination. Her muscles relaxed, and her heart rate slowly returned to normal. She let out a long breath, feeling silly now that she’d freaked herself out over nothing.

Bryson rode the horse over to her and glanced down, eyebrows knit together. “What are you doing out here?”

His annoyed tone sent a spur of irritation through her. She lifted her chin, wanting to show him she wasn’t someone he could push around. “What, you think I need to ask your permission to take a walk? Knowing you and your privacy issues, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Privacy issues? You were in
my
room
.” He shook his head, and then his expression morphed, more smug than exasperated. The eyebrow not covered by his hair cocked up, and a smile twisted his mouth. “By the way, you’ll never believe what Ben told Clara Fritz.”

“How would you know about…?” She gasped. “I left my messenger on. And you read it!”

“You sound upset about that,” he said in an infuriatingly calm voice. “Now who’s got privacy issues?”

Rosaline clenched her fists. “I…You…
Urgh!
Just leave me alone.” She stormed away, heading toward the light in the distance. She heard Bryson behind her, the horse’s hooves clopping against the dirt. Twisting back, she swatted her arm at him. “I said go away.”

“I would, but it’s dark and you’re going the wrong way. Unless you think now is a good time to head up into the hills.” He glanced toward the sky. “With a storm rolling in. Camping with no equipment in the rain. It’s not for the faint of heart.”

She crossed her arms. “And I look like the faint of heart?”

He held up his hands, one of them loosely gripping the reins of the horse. “I’m just saying, it’s probably not the best idea. It’s going to get cold soon and…” His gaze ran down her. “You’re not exactly dressed for cold weather.” He extended a hand. “Come on and I’ll give you a ride back.”

Hesitantly, she approached the reddish-brown horse. “I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

Bryson took his foot out of the stirrup, told her to step into it, and helped her onto the horse behind him. The saddle didn’t leave room for any extra space between them—she was practically plastered to his back. She was still irritated at him for reading her messages, but curiosity got the better of her. “So what did Ben tell Clara?”

The leather saddle creaked as he twisted toward her. With the sun gone, his face was all dark shadows, moonlight glinting off his eyes. “That Romeo and Juliet were together, but they’re hiding their relationship so their parents wouldn’t ‘flip the freak out.’ Her words, not mine. Apparently, Clara Fitz doesn’t swear.”

“Her name is Clara Fitzpatrick, actually, and no, she doesn’t swear. She’s my best friend.” Her voice cracked on the last word. She wasn’t sure if it was the news or missing her friend—probably everything—but suddenly, she wanted to cry.

But not in front of Bryson, so she forced her emotions down.

“I told her I wasn’t you,” Bryson said. “Explained you’d used my computer. I left out the part about you not asking.” The horse whinnied, and Bryson reached down and patted its neck. “She asked me if you were okay. Seems like a nice girl.”

“She is,” Rosaline said.

“And you’re the bad one?”

“I’m not bad.”

“Yeah, all parents threaten military school.”

“If we’re not going to go back, I’ll just…” She moved to climb off the horse, and Bryson wrapped his hand around her wrist. His grip was firm, his fingers warm and calloused.

“You don’t want to talk about it. I get it. Believe me, I get it.” He let go of her wrist, then tightened his grip on the reins. “You’re going to want to hold on.”

Rosaline gripped the sides of the saddle, even though there wasn’t much to get purchase on.

“To me. You need to hold on to me.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not trying to make a move. You’ll fall off if you don’t.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’ve had enough of guys and their moves. And their…everything. Stupid assholes.”

Bryson gave a dramatic gasp. “And you said you were a good girl.” He grabbed her arms and wrapped them around his waist.

Then he made a clicking noise with his tongue as he nudged the horse with his heels, turning them in the opposite direction she’d been going. As the horse picked up speed, she held on to Bryson tighter. His body was hard, muscular, and he smelled like fresh-cut grass.

Strange how five minutes ago she was sure she hated him and now she felt safe holding on to him as they rode across the fields.

The horse slowed as they neared the barn, and Bryson pulled back on the reins until they came to a full stop. He climbed off and leaned heavily on his right leg. Rosaline gripped the knob on the front of the saddle like Bryson had done, placed her foot in the stirrup, and stretched her other foot toward the ground. Alarm shot through her when her grip on the saddle slipped.

Bryson’s hands came up on her waist, steadying her as she slid the rest of the way to the ground. He was stronger than she expected. Not that he looked weak, but what with his injured leg…

She turned to face him. “You’re not as mean as I thought.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Mean? How many times do I have to remind you that you were in
my
room?”

“With how isolated this place is, I’d think you’d be happy to have some company.”

“I’m not big on company. Not to mention you didn’t stay and chat.”

“Because you yelled.”

“I’m sorry about the yelling.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe
I’m
the one apologizing.”

“While you’re at it, you might as well apologize for reading my personal messages, too.”

He stared at her for a moment, and the hint of a smile hit his lips. “I like your hair like that. It suits you.”

She ran her hand down it, horrified to feel how big it had gotten. “Crazy, out-of-control hair suits me?”

He nodded. “It says, ‘warning, this girl will break into your room and then yell at you for it.’”

She smiled, thinking it was the first time she’d really smiled since she’d gotten here. “So are we cool now? If I’m going to be stuck here until I’m eighteen, it’d be nice to have a friend.”

“And you don’t see anyone else around?”

“Exactly.” Too late she realized how that sounded. “I mean…You know what I mean.”

The horse whinnied, tugging Bryson toward the barn. “I better get him inside,” he said.

“Okay, well, thanks for the ride. Although I would’ve found my way back eventually.”

“I’m sure you would’ve. The Ozarks are known for how small they are.” He led the horse inside the barn, limping more than usual without the assistance of his cane.