Passions Present: Flowers for Your Grave
By Dana Keylits
Chapter Four: Bette Gets Her Way
This time, I was the first one out of bed. Bette was working from home today, so when the alarm started shrieking and rattling beside me, she just yawned and rolled away from me, tucking her hands between her knees, and mumbling for me to turn the infernal thing off - which I did by giving it a good whack, knocking it onto its face before fumbling with uncoordinated fingers to right it.
I was amazed I hadn't broken the thing yet. It was an old-fashioned battery operated twin bell Mickey Mouse alarm clock that Bette had thought would be cute in our bedroom. I'd rolled my eyes at her, wondering what had happened to the sophisticated art curator I'd fallen in love with as I watched her plop it on the bedside table with an enthusiastic voila! I'd given in, though, because right after that she'd pulled me onto the bed and kissed me into submission, my own voila! happening soon thereafter.
I threw back the covers, instantly regretting it when the rush of cold air assaulted my naked flesh, goose-bumps rising over my entire body as though called to attention by some unheard command. I shivered and then stumbled out of bed, heading straight to the bathroom and a hot shower, but not before stubbing my toe on the corner chair and an involuntary shit! came flying from my mouth.
"You okay?" she whispered.
"Fine," I replied, briefly hopping on one foot as I rubbed the injured toe.
Tripping into the bathroom, I closed the door and flipped on the overhead light, my eyes blinking against the bright glow of the halogen lamps. I checked my reflection in the mirror and frowned. Through Narrowed eyes, I noticed something on my left shoulder, and recognizing what it was, I chuckled.
Bette had left a few marks on me.
I studied my shoulder more closely, leaning in to the mirror, making out the faint outline of bite marks just above my collarbone - not immediately noticeable, but definitely recognizable. I felt a sideways grin creep up my face as I fingered the tiny red indents, a familiar twinge radiating from low in my belly as I remembered the exact moment that she'd sunk her teeth into me.
Wicked girl.
The water felt insanely good as it cascaded down my body, gathering at my feet in a miniature soapy whirlpool before spiraling to its fate down the drain. I quickly shampooed, shaved my legs and pits, lathered and rinsed, staying under the stream for an extra thirty seconds just to feel the hot water pound against my neck and shoulders.
Instant massage.
Shutting off the water, my cooling skin immediately missed its cocooning warmth, I wrapped myself in a fluffy bath sheet, using a smaller towel to dry my hair, and gingerly stepped out of the claw foot tub. If not for my need to get to work - the case was still calling me and I wanted to double check our facts on the arrest, it just wasn't sitting right with me - I would have loved nothing more than to wake Bette and have her join me in the shower, a particularly favorite morning ritual that we'd established early on in our relationship.
Bette and I had almost not made it. As a couple, anyway. Just before my mom had been killed she'd tried to break it off with me, we'd barely begun and already she was ending it. I'd almost let her, too. I'd almost walked away, mistaking her words for truth rather than the misguided self-preservation that they actually were. But, after licking my wounds, thinking it over, feeling it, healing over, I'd realized she was just as scared as I had been. So, I'd forced my way back into her life, and while it hadn't been easy, particularly not after my mother's death, and my dads problems with alcohol, we'd managed to make it work.
And then it had blossomed, and thrived, and after I'd finished college, we'd moved back to New York together. I'd entered the Academy, at first to her dismay, but given the circumstances of my moms death, she understood it was what I needed to do, so she ultimately supported me. She pretty quickly landed a job curating for the Met, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Some days, it really seemed like I was living a fairy tale.
As I wrapped my hair up in the soft white towel and then rubbed my face with day moisturizer, I wondered what might have happened if we hadn't stayed together. Who would I be with now? Would I have gone back to dating men? Or, would there have been another woman out there who would turn my head?
I heard the bathroom door creep open behind me and a bleary-eyed Bette stumbled in, her hair haloed around her head in an untamed jet-black crown, her body wrapped in the hand knit throw we kept at the foot of our bed. She extended her left arm, my cell phone in her hand - I hadn't heard it ring and wondered why she'd bothered to answer it. As though reading my mind, she explained, "He wouldn't stop. Just kept calling back."
I felt my eyebrows tug together as I stared back at her, reaching for the phone. "Who is it?"
She yawned loudly, turning around to return to bed and answered, post-yawn, over her shoulder, "Rick Castle."
Of course, Castle calling me had only been to make sure I wasn't already at the precinct so he could sneak in and steal the Kyle Cabot file, I'd caught him at my desk red-handed, but he'd temporarily charmed his way out of the bullpen with the file by offering me a signed copy of his book – accompanied by an awkward kiss on the cheek.
He might have gotten away with it, except it was the kiss that had made me suspicious. A guy like that is probably used to being able to take women, and probably a few men, with his charm and good looks. But, not me. I was already taken. By someone with far more charm, and far better looks, than Richard Castle.
So after I'd spoken with his mother, and found him at the New York Public Library, nestled at a research table with the file spread out in front of him, I'd had him arrested.
It was, hands down, the best part of my day.
His mother, a charming and charismatic older Broadway actress, and daughter, who seemed far more mature and responsible than her father, had come to bail him out. It was then that Montgomery had finally said the sweet, sweet words I'd longed to hear. No more interference with this case, Mr. Castle. Do we understand each other? To which Castle had replied, Yeah.
Hallelujah!
But then, suddenly sober, his baby blue's catching my gaze, he'd warned, But you still got the wrong guy.
I wanted to kill him.
Because, the jackass was right.
XXX
I was halfway home when the text from Bette came through. Peggy Peabody is hosting a dinner party tonight at Le Caprice. Please, please, babe, will you meet me there? Please?
Gawwwwwd. This was the stuff I hated about being in a committed relationship. My thumbs flying over the keypad, I typed back, Yes, I will come, but you owe me, big time. I was about to put the phone back in my jacket pocket when it buzzed with her reply. I promise, I'll pay you back in sexual favors. I smiled, my body tingling in just the right spots - she never ceased to have that affect on me.
I jumped in a cab to head to the restaurant, wishing I'd had time to drop my gun and badge off at home first, but grateful that I'd decided to wear a suit to work this morning, the dark jacket would hide my sidearm, and I could tuck the badge in my purse. Bette had dressed me, telling me to wear the green blouse instead of the white because it 'brought out my eyes.' Thinking of this, I narrowed them, wondering if this had been her plan all along. To spring Peggy Peabody's dinner on me, thereby not giving me time to weasel out of it.
The cab dropped me off at the Upper East Side restaurant, and, offering a generous tip to the cabbie for his speedy service, I jumped out, slammed the car door shut, and approached the entrance to the restaurant.
And then my heart stopped, or sped up, I don't remember which, but whatever the case, it was reacting to the very recognizable silhouette of the man standing just inside the doorway.
Richard Fucking Castle.
A/N: I want to thank all of you who left reviews after the last chapter. I'm sorry I wasn't able to respond to them individually. Life just got ahead of me. Please know how much I truly appreciate it when you take the time to leave me your thoughts. It is a true gift. Thank you!
