Page 64 of Fake Dark Vows
She sits back in her seat carefully, her eyes on me. “What will your mom say when she finds out about us? This?” She flashes the diamond at me.
“She’ll understand.”
“What about after Vegas? How long will I… How long do you…” She leaves the sentence hanging.
“As long as it takes. I can’t give you a definitive answer.” It sounds way harsher than I intended, but this isn’t a conversation for a newly engaged couple on a romantic trip on a gondola.
“Don’t you always deal in definitive answers?”
She has a point, so I ignore her.
We’re both quiet for a while, the only sound is the water lapping the side of the boat. Finally, she says, “Brandon, has there ever been anyone else?”
Her cheeks grow rosy with embarrassment, but I’m spared having to fabricate an answer she might want to hear when we arrive at our destination.
Strange how quickly we become comfortable with each other. In the evening, Rose looks beautiful in a black dress and simple gold locket around her neck. I don’t know if it’s the excitement of Vegas, or the lowlights in the opulent restaurant, or the way she curled her hair using fat silk sausage-shaped curlers while she got ready, but she looks different tonight.
Gone is the Rose who called me a coward on Sombrero Beach. The woman sitting opposite me is sophisticated and elegant, still caring and compassionate, but mellowed somehow because she no longer feels out of her depth when we’re alone.
The many facets of Rose Carter.
Or perhaps she simply never had a chance to shine before.
When the dessert dishes have been cleared away, we sip our wine and fall into an easy silence. The conversation over dinner was mostly about Vegas, its history, the casinos, the flamboyant hotels. Elvis.
The restaurant is still busy. The casinos won’t even come close to reaching their capacity until much later, and there are no windows or clocks to remind us of day slipping slowly into night. But that moment when we’ll ride the elevator up to our suite and share a super king bed is hanging over us like a rapidly approaching deadline.
She opens her mouth to speak and closes it again.
“What is it?” I set my glass down, and lean closer, so close, that I could reach across the table and trace the outline of her breast with my fingertip.
She blinks, fighting an internal battle. “I know about you and Kelly,” she says finally.
I sit back. I was stupid for thinking that the evening would lead to something more, something we both want. “Damon?”
She nods and sucks on her bottom lip. I drain my wine, and the server comes over to refill my glass.
“It was on your dad’s birthday when you were… When you were inside the house and everyone else was at the picnic. He said he didn’t want me to get hurt.”
“Very considerate of him.”
“Brandon.” She shakes her head and studies the diamond catching the light on her finger. “Are you still in love with her?”
I swig another mouthful of wine and wait for the edges of this conversation to blur. Only it isn’t happening quickly enough, and perhaps I owe her the truth after what she has done for me.
“I…” I pick up my glass, swill the liquid around inside it. “I thought I was.”
Emotions dance across her features again, reminding me of Kelly.
“But now you’re not so sure?”
“No.” Deep breath. “I am sure that I’m not.” I didn’t appreciate just how certain I was until I said it out loud.
She lowers her lashes, the flickering candle catching the sparkles of her dark coppery eyeshadow. “What changed?”
I fell out of love?
My brother taints everything that he touches?