Rooted (The Pagano Family Book 3) (12 page)

She laughed. Well, she’d wanted a Rough Rider. Damn.

And she wouldn’t change anything—though she was now wondering exactly how she’d get around for the next several days without making a spectacle of herself. Maybe Rosa had some kind of magic concealer or something.

A knock on the door, and Theo’s voice: “Hey. You okay?”

She pulled the pants back up. “Yeah. Just assessing the damage. You can come in.”

He opened the door, wearing nothing but extremely well-fitting jeans. Yeah, she wouldn’t change a damn thing.

His shirt was still open, and he walked up to her now and spread it wide, his hands gripping the sides of the placket. “Oh, shit. Carmen, I’m sorry. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

What surprised her more than that statement was the power of the pleasure it gave her. Something that he’d never done before, something he shared only with her. The thrill of that scared her. Trouble. He was trouble. She turned that thought off—it didn’t matter if he was trouble. She was doing the thing that felt good, right or not. She’d deal with the consequences when they arrived.

She put her hands over his. “No? Well, you’re a natural, then. And it’s fine. I love the way you fuck.”

At that, he let go of the shirt, shook her hands away, and clutched her face. Then he kissed her so hard he stole her breath.

He broke away with a groan. “Christ. We should get out of here. You need to recover, and I’m about not to let you.”

~oOo~

Only Jordan was in the kitchen. He’d brewed coffee and laid out a pretty table, with linens and china, arranging the various lovely baked treats on a gold-edged platter.

“Where’s Eli?” Theo asked, as he and Carmen sat down at the table.

“Love was in the air last night. He and Rosa made the beast with two backs, too, I assume. He stayed over with her.” Jordan handed Carmen a dainty coffee cup on a saucer. He winked. “Morning, tiger. Cream?”

And that pretty much settled Carmen’s incipient wondering about when Jordan had gotten back and how much he’d heard. Oh, well. She grinned. She did like this kid. “Yes, please. Rawr.”

Jordan giggled maniacally and handed her the cream in a little pitcher.

Theo had apparently missed that exchange. As he plated some kind of fluffy, glazed confection, he asked, “They dumped you? You okay with that?”

Jordan sighed loudly. “Dad. I have been the matchmaker in all of this, have I not? We had a ball, and then when it was bedtime, they dropped me off here and went on their merry. Rosa danced with me more than Eli, since he is such a
guy
and afraid being smooth on the dance floor tarnishes his
guyness
. He only danced when it was a slow song and he could feel her up.” He glanced at Carmen. “Excuse my bluntness. Should I have been discreet there? I hate discreet.”

Carmen shrugged. “Hey, if Rosie wants to get felt up, who’m I to stop her?”

Jordan slid gracefully into the seat next to her. “I so agree.” He eyed her neck and then smirked with devilish delight. “Hey, Carm? You’ve got a little something…” He brushed a finger down the side of his neck and giggled again.

That one, Theo caught. “Jordan. Manners.”

But Carmen just grinned. No way she could hide it, so she might as well own it. “You think anyone will notice?”

“Absolutely not. Just a wee little thing it is. Like a beauty mark.
Très petite. Très élégante
.”

Yeah, she liked him.

~oOo~

“Rosie. Put the phone away. Seriously. I’m going to throw that damn thing in the Thames if I see it again.”

“God, Carm.
Bitch alert
! I’m a grownup. I’ll be on my phone if I want to!” But she’d put her phone in her bag as she ranted. “I can’t
believe
you wouldn’t let them come.”

They were spending just over a week in the UK, just the two of them. They’d done a few days in Ireland, another couple in Scotland, the weekend on the Devon coast, and now they had two days in London. They were leaving for Paris the next day.

After more than two weeks of near-constant companionship from the Wilde men, Carmen was starting to freak out. She and Rosa had already planned this trip—they had weeks in Italy and in and around Germany coming up, too—and she thought it was a damn fine thing to get some distance between them and Theo and Eli.

Jordan had returned to the States not much more than a week after they’d all met, according to his original plan. Carmen and Rosa had both been sorry to see him go, but he had things he wanted to do at home this summer, with his friends. Eli had changed his plans and was staying through the summer.

Without Jordan, the couple-ness of the group had intensified markedly, and right away. During that week between Jordan leaving and Carmen and Rosa catching the train to Dublin, Eli had basically lived in the flat on Rue de la Lavande, and Carmen and Theo, staying in Hunter Anders’ apartment, had barely bothered to dress.

Things between them were much too intense. Much too good. The kind of good that could make Carmen forget important things, no matter what dangled from Theo’s neck.

So when he’d asked if he and Eli could join them in the UK, she had said unequivocally no. This trip was supposed to be about Rosa, urging her to come into her own, to break free of her home habits. Getting wrapped up quickly with a guy and burning hot, fast, and out was one of her worst home habits. One Carmen was afraid she’d picked up now, as well.

Rosa had pouted on the train, but she’d loved Ireland, and the men of Ireland loved her, so she’d perked up quickly, did her flirty woo-hoo girl routine with some handsome Celts each evening in the pubs, and they’d had a nice time. It wasn’t until their last night in Devon, when she’d been texting with Eli in the hotel—something they’d done every evening—that her mood turned, and when it did, it turned sharply. Carmen had been dragging a petulant teenager around London.

Carmen had made a point not to be in excessive contact with Theo. They’d had three extended text chats since he and Eli had seen them off at the Gare du Nord. Otherwise, she’d sent a few photos. She’d ignored a few texts, too. She needed distance.

Apparently, Eli was cooling on Rosa during this week away. She hadn’t said as much; she wouldn’t talk about Eli at all except to whine that he and his father weren’t with them, but her foul mood, Carmen thought, spoke volumes.

But she was sick and tired of the ‘tude. On their way back to the river taxi from the Tower of London, walking past the Tower Bridge, Rosa started to stomp off ahead, and Carmen grabbed her arm. “Stop, sis. Enough. Let’s find a chip shop or whatever they call them and have some dinner and just talk. We’re in Europe. We should be having a good time, and right now, neither of us are.”

“I know. That’s because you are determined to make it all SUCK!” Rosa yanked her arm, and Carmen let her go.

“Listen to yourself, Rosa Teresa. Do you sound like a college graduate right now?”

“Fuck you, Carm.”

“That’s great debating style there, precious. Quite the rebuttal. That’ll get you right to the floor of the Senate, that will.” Since she was little, Rosa had wanted to be in Congress. How that ambition fit in the heart of this frivolous girl, Carmen would never understand, but there it was.

“Why are you constantly riding me? What is it you want from me?”

They were standing on the sidewalk, shouting at each other in vintage Pagano style. People were staring. Carmen didn’t give a rat fart. “I want you to grow up! I want you to be the woman I know you can be! I want you to see that your life is bigger than clothes and bars and boys! I want you to have what you want!”

“Why do you care? Since when do you care? Nobody gives a crap what I do! You don’t even know what I want! Maybe I
want
clothes and bars and boys!”

A woman in a dark uniform, wearing a cap with a checkered band—a cop—stepped up to them. “Excuse me. Is everything all right here?”

Carmen took a step back and cleared her throat. “Yes, officer. Sorry. We’re sisters. Just having a sister thing.” Rosa scoffed loudly at that, and the officer turned to her.

“Miss?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Sorry.” In full pout, Rosa crossed her arms over her chest. Ooh, Carmen wanted to slap that girl. But the inside of a London police precinct was not actually on her itinerary.

The cop nodded. “Right. Well, let’s take the ‘sister thing’ off the street, shall we?”

“Sure.” Carmen turned to Rosa and smiled tightly. “Shall we get some dinner?”

“It’s like four-thirty. I think that’s called tea.”

Maybe Carmen could get a slap in later.

~oOo~

They found a little fish and chips place, which was barely more than a kiosk. When they had their order, they sat at a table on the sidewalk. Rosa ate sullenly, and Carmen, feeling calmer, thought about that fight.

“What
do
you want, Rosie?”

“You don’t care.”

“I do. That’s why I’m asking.”

Rosa glared at her, chewing slowly. When she finally swallowed, she said, “Right now, I want Eli.”

Carmen took a breath and tried to answer calmly. “Do you understand why the words ‘right now’ worry me?”

“I don’t understand where you get off worrying. It’s my life.”

Because she’d had part in raising her. Because she loved her. “Sissy. Come on. What is going on?”

Rosa sighed, wiped her hands on a paper napkin, and got her phone out. Carmen felt an urge to reach across and yank that pink, blingy thing right out of her hands. She watched as Rosa scrolled and tapped. Then she put the phone on the table and pushed it across. “There.”

It was her text thread with Eli. Carmen picked the phone up. “How much can I read?”

She shrugged. “As much as you want. We don’t sext or whatever. I’m not an idiot.”

A lot of it was chitchat. Carmen scrolled, scanning but not reading too closely, feeling like she was reading Rosa’s diary, and guilty about it whether she had permission or not. Then she came upon an exchange from a few days ago—that last night in Devon:

E (at the end of some blather about a joke Rosa had made):
Love that about you. Just love you Rhody.

R:
??

E:
sorry

R:
ok what??

Carmen stopped and looked up. Rose was watching her, looking as if she was waiting for Carmen to reach the punch line. “I don’t understand.”

“
Me, either
. Read on.”

The next text was from the following day—during the day, while they’d been watching the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. Carmen had pitched a fit about the phone then, too.

E:
That was stupid. Sorry.

And then nothing until that night—last night, when they were in their hotel.

R:
Sorry. Carm’s a beeYATCH and wouldn’t let me use my phone. We need to talk.

E:
When you’re back.

There were no more messages in the thread. “No grownups say bee-yatch, Rosie.” It was all she could think of while she was working out what she’d just read.

“
That’s
what you take away? God, Carmen. And you wonder why I don’t want to talk to you.”