And run down the stairs, heading straight for the arbor.
The heady scent of roses greets me, and I breathe deep, noting the tang of salt in the air. The ocean rages just beyond the hedge of green in the distance, and I shiver when the breeze hits me. While it was a gorgeous spring day earlier, once the sun went down, the temperature plummeted.
Goosebumps line my arms, but I ignore them, reaching for a white rose, plucking it from the arrangement and tucking it behind my right ear. I find a piece of ribbon among the flowers and tie my hair back, then change it into a loose bun on top of my head, before I proceed to grab another rose. And another one.
Until they’re all in my hair, surrounding the bun like a flower crown.
I start to spin around, the breeze catching my skirt, lifting it and exposing my legs. A giggle escapes me, the heavy flowers shifting in my hair and threatening to fall out. I reach up to hold them in place, pricking my finger with a leftover thorn on the stem.
“Ow.” I check my wound, squinting into the twilight at the droplet of blood forming on my fingertip. I stick my finger into my mouth, sucking on it, the coppery taste on my tongue when I hear a voice.
A familiar male voice.
“Still always hurting yourself, I see.”
My skin prickles with awareness and I slowly turn to find Spence in front of me, dashingly handsome in his tux. The bowtie is long gone, a few buttons undone on his shirt, revealing the strong column of his throat. He still has the jacket on, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets, his distinct scent mixed with the breeze, filling my nostrils.
Filling my head with melancholy and longing. No one smells as delicious as Spence.
Not a single person.
I drop my hand to my side, guilty. “You caught me.”
“Stealing roses?” He glances above my head at the arbor behind me.
“I didn’t think anyone would notice. There are so many.” I shrug, feeling silly and immature.
I’m a grown woman. A widow, for the love of God. I shouldn’t be dancing in the moonlight by myself, plucking roses out of the arbor and making a flower crown. Only children do things like this.
I am not even twenty-three. Regardless of what I’ve gone through, I’m still young. Even though I feel so incredibly old sometimes.
“I noticed.” His gaze sears into me, making my skin feel as if it caught fire, and I go still, wondering what he means by that. “Did you get into an argument with your father?”
I frown. “What…”
“I saw the two of you inside. On the dance floor. You seemed mad. Then you walked away from him and I realized you were actually pissed.” His voice is so low I take a step closer, so I can hear him. “What did he say to you?”
I’m not going to tell him. I don’t necessarily trust Spence. Not yet. Or maybe not ever. My feelings are so conflicted. A riotous mess in my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Always so dismissive, our Syl.” His smile isn’t pleasant, and I wonder if he hates me.
He probably does.
“Why did you follow me out here, Spence?” My voice is quiet. A whisper on the breeze, but he heard me. Even takes a step closer to me this time.
“I’ve never been able to resist your siren call, even when I know I should. Even when I’m so mad at you, I can’t see straight.” He says it all so matter-of-factly, as if he’s been living with this wretched feeling his entire life.
Which, maybe he has. It feels like I’ve known Spencer Donato forever, but do I really know him?
No. Not anymore.
“Remember Halloween night? When you were sixteen?” he asks. “You dressed up as a dark angel.”
Of course, I remember. It’s a night that’s burned forever on my brain, embedded deep into my memories. The pleasure. The humiliation. We took it so far, the two of us. Almost to the point of no return.
Until I pushed him away and he was so angry with me. Sexually frustrated. We got into an argument. We didn’t speak for weeks after. Then I almost died.
Though that wasn’t his fault, the almost dying part. That I can blame squarely on my mother.