“We’re friends,” she says like it’s nothing, slightly cooling down. “Will you make it to her?”
“Fine,” I agree. “Noon, Tori, I’ll skip my work lunch.” If Celebrity Crush wasn’t a victory tonight, I might’ve fought her on this.
I wave to Connor to return to sleep, but he catches my hand midair and laces his fingers with mine. I’m about to say goodbye to my mom when she adds, “I’m sorry about the house, Rose. I meant to call you earlier. Your father and I thought they’d take your bid.”
My back straightens off the headboard. “What?” I immediately put the phone on speaker. “The realtor never called me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“That’s really unprofessional of them,” my mother begins to fume again without giving me more details. I am swatting the air like I’m attacking the perpetrators who stole this house beneath me. I’ve been trying to buy the mansion down the street since early November. It’s diagonal from us, and it has the perfect amount of bedrooms and baths for either one of my sisters or myself when our families grow larger.
I’m aware that we all can’t live in this house together forever. There will be a time where we have to split up, and I’m hoping that separation won’t be miles and miles away.
Down the street seemed more ideal.
“Where’d you hear this?” Connor suddenly asks, his brows furrowing in confusion. We put in the bid together. It was a lot of money, and I didn’t think anyone would buy it out from under us.
My mother’s voice turns high-pitched and freakishly cheerful. “Connor, how are you doing tonight? Did you approve of Rose’s hair color?”
My scathing look could burn holes in a man, and yet Connor doesn’t even bat an eye. He’s sleeping in the same bed as a volcano that would very much like to sear and scald everything around me, including him, and he’s okay with it. What is wrong with my husband?
He’s at ease as he says, “I’m doing well, Samantha. I also don’t seek Rose’s approval for changes to my body, so I never expect her to seek approval from me.”
Good answer.
My mother pauses. “But her hair is hideous.”
“Mother!” I shout.
“If I can’t tell you the truth, then who can?” she rebuts.
I mouth to Connor through gritted teeth, get her away from me.
He’s trying not to laugh. This is not a laughing matter. He asks casually again, “Who gave you this information about the house? Did the realtor contact you?”
“Olivia Barnes did. She heard from Linda, who heard from Tammy that a wealthy friend was settling back into Philly. She said that Rose knows him.”
A wealthy friend.
Back in Philly.
I know him.
My mouth falls. “Sebastian.”
Connor practically rolls his eyes at the idea. It makes the most sense. Sebastian was my best friend in prep school, and the only one that went to Princeton with me. We had a falling out our senior year when he tried to ruin my relationship with Connor and help Lily cheat on exams.
I haven’t spoken to him in three and a half years.
“I’ll call Mrs. Ross in the morning and see if it’s him,” my mother says. “He was recently hired by Patrick Nubell for their Public Relations team.” Nubell Cookies is located in Philadelphia.
I fling the light blue comforter off my body. “I hope he chokes on a Nubell Cookie and vomits all over himself.”
“Rose,” my mother says sternly.
I stand from the bed, grabbing my silk robe off a gray Queen Anne chair. “I’m not letting him get away with this. He probably heard that I wanted that house, and so he outbid us on purpose.”
“Olivia said the man’s attorney already filed the paperwork and closed the deal. There’s nothing you can do.”
“I don’t care what Olivia Barnes told you.” I put my arms through the holes of my robe. I feel disastrous. Like a tornado ripping through a city, shattering glass left and right. “I’m not waiting for you to call him in the morning.”
“We’ll talk to you tomorrow, Samantha.” Connor quickly hangs up the phone as I tie my robe and march to the door. He runs ahead of me, dressed only in navy drawstring pants, and he blocks my exit by outstretching his arms. He has too many inches on me. He is towering like he can thwart my mission. No. He’s in my way. I need through.
“Move,” I force.
“Think rationally.”
“Don’t condescend me.” I push him in the chest.
He hardly flinches.
“Richard,” I grit.
“Rose,” he retorts. “He just signed the papers. He hasn’t moved in yet. You’re going to knock on an empty house.”
“Then let me knock on an empty house, and then I will drive to his parent’s house and knock on that door. He’s either here or there. I know it.”
“How?” Connor questions, his deep blue eyes focused only on me. “How could you possibly know this, Rose?”
“Because I feel it.” I hear my voice and how unreasonable I sound, but my gut is telling me to storm down the street. Right now. I have to confront him.
“We both wanted that house, but this isn’t an end all. There are other neighborhoods—”
I duck below his arm. He catches me around the waist, his lips to my ear. “C’est le milieu de la nuit.” It’s the middle of the night.
“Perfect. I’ll have the satisfaction of waking up his traitorous ass.” I try to escape his hold.
He grips my forearms, pinning my back to his chest. “It’s winter. You’re wearing silk.”
“My rage is keeping me warm enough, thank you.” I tear out of his arms, mostly because he finally lets me go, recognizing that I need this, maybe. I have to see him.
I race down the hallway with a hurried stride. Connor follows. I don’t want to hear about other neighborhoods, twenty miles away. I had a long-term plan. We all had a long-term plan. We thought of this together, right after Halloween. And Sebastian ruined our future out of spite.
We’ve fought to stay in this gated neighborhood, to make it safe, and there are only ten houses here, only four on this particular street. The chance of another entering the market in the next five to ten years is slim.
That’s what this backstabbing realtor told us.
“There is a cold place in hell for traitors.”
Connor keeps up with my pace, passing doors along the hallway. I wait for him to make a jab at “hell” for not existing in his beliefs, but instead, he says, “You’re going to regret this.”
I hope not. “If you try to stop me, I’ll put an ice pick between your eyes.” Guilt plumes in my twisted heart for this comment, which isn’t unlike others I’ve said. I have no idea why that is, but I don’t let my mind rest to contemplate the nooks and crannies.
“Your dramatic threats don’t scare me,” he says, “so try again.”
I don’t try again. I fly down the stairs in a tirade, steam blowing out of my ears. I just keep thinking about the realtor and Sebastian, their faces on a bright red target. I propel darts at them in quick, violent succession. My mind is a grim, haunted place. This level of fury almost frightens me, my arms shaking. I think I’m scared more than I am angry.