Chapter One

For two years, I lived in and out of houses of friends, family, and complete strangers. I didn't have a job, or money, or a place to stay. I managed to get some money from friends to eat and stay alive, but it wasn't enough. I had to hide from CPS so they wouldn't put into a group home or with adoptive parents, but that was easy enough to do. I was still in school, and I had my report cards and other school mail sent to one of my closest friends' house. But the irony was, I didn't look like someone that lived from house to house, from friend to friend. I still had all of my old clothes from the academy, and a few of my other street clothes from my Aunt and Uncle's house, and a few of my mother's things that I had taken with me. They were the most valuable things that I owned, and I was never going to sell them, no matter how poor I was

I had finally found a job; a courtesy clerk for the local store, and I was making steady income for a while there. I finally had enough money to rent out a studio apartment, and I was starting to make a life for me; a life off of the streets. I lived there in the apartment for a while, held a steady job, when my good luck was short lived, and bad luck took it's place.

I was at work, helping an elderly woman with her groceries. We walked out to the parking lot, got to her car, and I started to load the groceries into the trunk. The old woman, walked to the drivers side of the car, unlocked the door, and started to get inside. After I was finished unloading the groceries, I shut the lid of the trunk and started to push the cart back into the store.

"Wait! Thief!" I suddenly heard, and she was running toward me, screaming with her fists in the air. "Thief!" She pointed to me, and I stopped dead in my tracks.

"What are you talking about ma'am?" I asked her, looking at her confusedly. She wagged her forefinger with me.

"My purse, it's gone! I had it in the store, and now I don't have it. It was sitting right there!" She exclaimed, pointing to the child seat in the cart. I glanced at the cart, and then back at the old woman.

'Ma'am, it wasn't there," I protested. Her screaming had brought some attention to us, and soon, the store manager ran out of the store.

"What is going on here?" He demanded, glaring at me. The old woman proceeded to tell her story of how I allegedly stolen her purse.

"Mademoiselle, what did your purse look like?" He asked calmly. I groaned and looked around in distress. A man who was walking out of the store watched me curiously and started to stroll over. Great, just what I need, spectators, I thought. He surveyed the situation for a minute, and then interjected.

"Excuse me sir," he said, his voice low and cold. I looked at him curiously, wondering what he was doing. "I think this is a big misunderstanding-"

"Sir! If you would please step out of the conversation, we could find out what happen to this madame's purse," the manager snapped at him. The man looked at me, winked, and stood in front of the manager.

"Sir, you have the wrong culprit!" The man yelled. The manager and the old woman stopped talking and looked at him. "Your purse is inside of the store. You left it at the register," he added. The woman looked at the manager, then to me, and then mumbled to herself, walking into the store. After the woman was out of earshot, the manager, who never liked me, turned to me and said, "Do not show up tomorrow, because you have been fired." He grunted and walked away. It happened so quickly, I didn't even have time to protest. Tears filled in my eyes, and I sighed, taking off my apron and walking away from the store, going to head home. So much for keeping a steady job.

"Wait!" The man yelled, running after me. I stopped, head low and waited for him to catch up.

"What is it sir?" I asked softly, wanting to go home and sleep.

"Please, come with me," he said. I raised my eyebrow in question. "You look like you could use some help," he said. I looked up. His eyes were warm and comforting, and I nodded and followed him to his car.

"I'm sorry that had to happen," he said, fishing through his pocket for his car keys. I shrugged.

"It was bound to happen," I muttered, standing by the car. He looked over at me and frowned.

"But there will be others, right?" He questioned, unlocking the passengers side door and I quickly got into the car, my head low.

"Probably not," I admitted, fearing that my statement was true. I wouldn't be able to pay the rent, and I would get kicked out of my first stable home, and once again, I'd be out in the streets, bouncing from house to house.

"Where do you live? I'll drop you off," he asked, starting the engine. I looked over at him and faintly smiled. He was very handsome, with dark brown hair, and blue eyes that sparkled with amusement. His smile was large and bright, and he could radiate happiness. If only I could get some happiness...

"Downtown," I murmured, leaning back in the seat and closing my eyes which burned with tears. He nodded and pulled out of the parking lot, going down the road.

"What's your name?" He asked. He seemed to be full of questions, but he was keeping a lively conversation going.

"Rosalyn Clairmont," I said softly, and I could see a wide smile from out of the corner of my eye.

"A beautiful name," he announced to himself, and chuckled. Hearing him laugh brought a small smile to my face.

"Ah, a smile!" He exclaimed, and I laughed, despite my depression. "I am Monsieur Nicholas Fugue," he announced regally and tilted his head up with pride. I foolishly giggled.

"Do people call you Monsieur?" I asked, looking out the window.

"No, it just sounds better," he said, and I laughed again. Suddenly, I didn't care that I had lost my job; I was laughing for the first time since I could remember. We were approaching the downtown area, and Nicholas turned to me for directions.

"Just go down this road," I instructed, biting down on my lower lip. Monsieur Nicholas was obviously a very wealthy man, and when he pulled up to my apartment, I felt lower than a sewer rat.

"Is this where you live?" he asked, looking around carefully. My heart sank a little bit, and I opened the door.

"Unfortunately," I murmured, walking up to the building. I heard footsteps behind me and I turned to see Monsieur Nicholas following me.

"I don't want to leave you alone; something might happen," he said, stepping up beside me. "Besides, it's a gentlemen's duty to walk a lovely lady to her door."

I smiled, not feeling so ashamed anymore, and we walked into the building, up the two flights of stairs and over to number 323. I pulled my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the door. Monsieur Nicholas peered inside and gasped.

"You can come in if you want," I said, trying my hardest to ignore the gasp of surprise. I walked inside, dropped my purse on the floor and looked around. There was very little in the apartment. A small love seat sat in the middle of the large living room, and a lamp was sitting on the floor beside it. A tiny black and white TV was sitting onto of a crate that I had found behind the building. The kitchen was very empty; the fridge was hardly full of food to last for the week. The studio bedroom had a mattress lying on the floor with off white sheets to substitute for blankets, and stacks and stacks of notebooks sat by the mattress.

"You live in these conditions? You're only...17? How did you get to this point?" Nicholas asked as he gaped at my living conditions.

"It's a long story," I explained, turning on the TV.

"Well, please explain it to me," he demanded, and leaned against the wall. I sighed and ran my fingers through my long brown hair.

"My mother died when I was five, I was sent to the Poitier Academy for young girls, got thrown out, lived with my Aunt and Uncle, and then I ended up here," I said quickly, bearing no details. He shook his head.

"I can't let you stay here. If I left, I would be constantly worrying about you. Gather some of your things; you're staying with me," he decided.

"Are you sure? Monsieur, I am an inconvenience to you, I'm sure," I explained.

"Nonsense, and don't call me Monsieur," he snapped with a smile. I returned the beam and I gathered my most precious and needed things.

"Are you sure that's all you want to bring? I'm not letting you come back here," he said, standing in the doorway. I looked around at the apartment, looking to see if there was anything else that I needed. I shook my head, glad to see that I was finally leaving place and that I was going somewhere better than this dump. We walked down to his car and we sped away from the downtown area.

"You'll be staying in a wealthy area," he described as we raced down the roads. "In the Garden District. Are you familiar with it?"

"I used to live in the Garden District," I said, and Nicholas's head snapped my way.

"Get out of town," he said, lightly hitting my shoulder. I chuckled nervously. "And you mentioned earlier that you went to the Poitier Academy for Young Girls?"

"Yes. My grandmother was very rich, and after my mother died, she sent me there," I explained, watching as we pulled onto the main street in the Garden District.

"How did your mother die?" He asked. I felt a pang of pain in my heart, and sooner or later he would know, so it was better to tell him now.

"We were out in the front yard when a bullet struck her brain. She died instantly. I was five," I said softly, tears filling my eyes. Nicholas looked over at me and touched my hand gently.

"That must have been horrible," he said softly, darting his eyes back and forth at me. I nodded, wiping away a stray tear. "Tell me more."

"After my mother's death, I was sent to the academy. When I was thirteen years old, my grandmother died of a stroke. She was paying the tuition for the school, and since there was no one else to pay, I was taken out of the school by CPS. They sent me to my Aunt and Uncle's home to live there for a while, but they didn't like my behavior, so they kicked me out of the house."

"They just threw you onto the streets?" He asked with surprise. I nodded. "That's absurd. You were fifteen years old; you couldn't fend for yourself!" He added with outrage in his voice. "If I ever see those people Rosalyn, I will kill them." Hearing him talk so violently put a little fear in me, but I shrugged it away. "What happened after you lived at your Aunt's house?"

"I was living on the streets, staying at friends houses for a long time," I replied, sinking back into the past. "I knew I couldn't keep staying with friends for the rest of my life, so I got a job, and when I earned enough money, I rented out that apartment. I didn't have enough money for food, or to buy furniture, but it was a home to me," I said with a little sadness. Nicholas, who had been holding my hand, squeezed it tightly.

"Things will get better from here; I promise," he vowed, and we pulled into his driveway. I threw my eyes at the massive house, and I gasped. It was a typical New Orleans home; tall with two stories with Roman columns. The house was painted white with a forest green trimmingand had many patches of flowers by the entrance. Nicholas hurried out of the car and opened my door, greeting me.

"We arrived to Tara," he announced proudly, looking for my reaction. I couldn't stop staring. It was truly a beautiful house.

"Tara," I said, chuckling. "Gone with the wind."

"Of course. It only seemed fitting. Come inside. I'll have Richard, the butler, get your things," he said, pulling me up to the front doors. They swung open, and a tall man in his mid fifties was standing there with a bright smile on his face.

"Welcome home Mr. Fugue," He greeted with a nod. "Good evening Madame."

"Richard, this is Rosalyn Clairmont. She'll be staying with us for a while. Her things are in the car," Nicholas said, walking into the house. Nicholas hung his coat up in the foyer, and we walked inside. Immediately, a large staircase was dead ahead in the house, and three corridors were in the North, East and West of the house. On the left was Nicholas's study, along with the den and the dining room. On the right side of the house was the large living room and the family room, along with the kitchen. I was amazed at how big things were here, and Nicholas walked into his study. I followed after him, not knowing were to go.

"Have a seat," he said, pointing to one of the leather chairs that sat in front of his Cherry oak desk. "Make yourself at home." I smiled broadly at the thought, and I sat patiently, gazing around the room. He checked his messages on his answering machine, sifted through the mail, and then turned to me with a big grin.

"I really think you will like it here, Rosalyn," he said, nodding at his own comment.

"You don't have to call me Rosalyn," I said. "Rose is just fine."

"Rose," he whispered, pondering the thought. "I like it. Rose it is then." I smiled. "Come with me. I'll give you the grand tour of the house." I stood up from my chair and followed him around like an obedient puppy. The house was wonderful; it literally took my breath away, and he took me into the West wing to show me where I would be staying.

"There are your rooms," he said, opening up the bedroom door. A large four poster canopy bed was on the left wall, next to it were two night stands. The far wall had a large bay window with Crimson drapes covering it, and I smiled because red was my favorite color. The dresser sat next to the window with random ornaments and statues on top. Across from the bed on the right was, was an armoire with a TV, DVD player and a stereo. In bottom corner of the room was the bathroom, and it was the finest bathroom I had ever seen! The closet was in the opposite corner and was empty, but Nicholas promised that it would be full soon. On the right side of the armoire was another door, and this led to a private sitting room.

"This is too much," I whispered, looking around.

"You deserve it. After what you've been through," he said, and I looked up at him with tears in my eyes.

"Thank you so much," I said, and I ran to him to hug him. He gratefully wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead.

"You're welcome," he said softly, and we stood there for a few minutes, and I was so happy.

"I have some work to do if you're going to become my ward," he announced, pulling away. I wiped my tears away and nodded. "My wife should be home soon, and my son. We're going to have a grand dinner in your honor, so be prepared for anything," He said, as he walked out of my room. I looked around, still amazed that this was happening to me. I walked over to the bed, sat down on its crimson comforter and smiled.

"I'm home."

I went to sleep for about an hour, and when I woke up, I heard screaming downstairs.

"Nicholas, how could you do such a thing? Bring a girl in this house without my permission! Without my knowing?" A woman's voice yelled. I presumed her to be Nicholas's wife.

"Annabelle, she needed help. The girl is seventeen! She was living on her own in the streets, and she just got fired from her job! I took her in, and I felt compassion for her. She's a wonderful girl, I'm sure you'll like her," Nicholas argued.

"That's beside the point!" Mrs. Fugue shrieked. "How are we going to afford her? We can barely afford to have Zachary in the house!"

"That's a lie!" Nicholas yelled. "If you didn't spend four damned hours shopping all day, we'd have a lot more money!" I walked out of my room quietly, creeping downstairs to listen in.

"I'm offended Nicholas!" She cried, placing her palm over her mouth in shock. Nicholas turned away in anger and saw me standing at the foot of the stairs. Immediately when he saw me, his face grew softer and a small smiled settled onto his lips. "Rose." Mrs. Fugue turned my way and gaped at me. I chewed on my lip nervously.

"I heard yelling and I came to see what it was about," I said softly, slightly trembling at the way that they were both looking at me. Annabelle was a very beautiful woman, with long curled dark brown hair, and brown eyes that lit up with fire when she was angry. She had a slim figure and was much shorter than Nicholas.

"Oh, don't worry, just a married couple's arguments," he said with a nervous chuckle. "Rose, I would like you to meet my wife, Annabelle Fugue," he said, gesturing over to her. She removed her hand and smiled.

"Nice to meet you Rose," she said, obviously flushed with embarrassment. I smiled at her and walked down the stairs with as much poise as I could. I walked over to Nicholas and stood by his side. Annabelle was still gaping at me; later on, I found out that it was because she thought I was so beautiful. There was an awkward moment but Nicholas put on his best smile and turned to me.

"I have to prepare for dinner. It should be ready within fifteen minutes," he said. Annabelle dragged herself out of her staring and walked out to her car to get her bags from her long shopping trip.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I was going to be such a problem," I said. "I can leave after tonight," I said, going to go up into my room and pack my things.

"Rose, wait!" He cried, running after me. He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him. "Please, don't do that. My wife is a drama queen; she loves to stir things up, and she thinks that she's the leader of this household. Once she saw you; she couldn't believe how beautiful you were. You're staying here, and that's final," he said firmly. I pulled my arm away from him, and smiled. "I have to go prepare dinner. Please dress nicely; Annabelle doesn't like informal dinners at all," he stated, and I nodded. He smiled and ran off into the kitchen, and I turned up to the stairs and started to head back to my rooms. As I was walking back, I ran into someone, and I toppled to the floor.

"Oh, Gosh, I'm sorry," a young male voice said, and I was pulled up from the floor. Once I made sure I was OK, I looked up at the boy. It must have been Zachary, because he looked just like Nicholas, which meant he was very handsome. He was dressed in a bare naked ladies T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and his hair was longer than average and hung in his eyes. "Oh. You must be Rosalyn."

"Yes, that's me," I said, feeling nervous about meeting him.

"Well, it's nice to meet you," he said shortly, and then walked past me. I watched him walk down the stairs and shrugged, walking back into my room to pick out something nice for dinner. I had a few hand-me-downs from a few of my friends that I stayed with, and most of the clothes were street clothes. But I picked out a light blue blouse, and a pair of dress pants. Hopefully, this would be formal enough for Annabelle's liking, because I wanted to make a nice impression on her. I pulled my hair back into a bun, put on some makeup, and then went downstairs.

"You're a little late," Annabelle said as I entered the dining room. Everyone else was seated and was starting their salads.

"I'm sorry," I said, hurrying to the seat next to Zach. He looked over at me, smiled, and then turned back to his salad. I looked at the silverware, and saw that it wasn't an ordinary table setting. I suddenly remembered when Mother sat me down at the grand dining room and taught me how to use each eating instrument, and I silently thanked God that I remembered that. I picked up the salad fork and started to eat, and Annabelle had been watching me. She somewhat wilted with disappointment that I knew how to eat, but she somewhat swelled with great pride. Nicholas winked at me, and he started a lively conversation.

"Rose, where were you born?" He asked, sitting back in the tall dining room chair. I wiped my mouth with my napkin and smiled.

"Here in New Orleans. At Saint Mary's Hospital on 32 street," I replied, pronouncing every word very clearly and spoke at an even tempo.

"Rose used to live in the Garden District a long time ago," Nicholas announced, and I somewhat blushed. That piqued Annabelle's curiosity.

"Oh really? Where at?" She inquired.

"I think the next street over, I'm not quite sure," I replied, shaking my head.

"What is your last name?" She asked quickly.

"Clairmont," I answered. She thought and pondered for a moment. "My Grandmother, who we lived with, her last name was Rosemont."

"Rosemont!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "You're Beverly Rosemont's Granddaughter?"

"Yes," I answered cautiously. What was she getting at?

"Oh my. Child, you came from a wonderful family," she gushed, and as she was thinking, her smile suddenly flew away. "Oh, oh my. You're mother, dear, I'm so sorry," she said. I bit on my lower lip and nodded.

"It's fine," I said, fighting hard to keep the tears away.

"It's awful what happened to her. They still haven't found him. It shocked the whole neighborhood," she announced. Please, stop this... "Your Grandmother, and mother, were wonderful people."

"Yes," I said, angrily stabbing my garden salad with my fork. Nicholas looked at me nervously and changed the subject.

"Is everyone ready for the next course?" He asked, standing up. Everyone nodded, and Annabelle kept her eyes on me. I was dying of agony inside, but I had to keep a firm face and not let everyone one know. There was an awkward silence at the table but when Nicholas walked inside, that all stopped.

"Here we are. Fettuccine pasta with an creamy Alfredo sauce with mashed potatoes and garlic bread." He set the heavy tray down and we served ourselves.

"So Rose, are you into anything? Like, music or art?"

"I'm a writer," I announced, thinking of the stories that I had neglected since I had been working so much.

"Oh, a writer? How pleasant," Annabelle said, stirring her mashed potatoes with her fork. "What do you write about?"

"Mostly fiction stories, romance, anything I can think of," I said, pleased that it was a different subject.

"You must get that from your mother. She was a wonderful writer," Annabelle gushed, day dreaming at the table. I sighed and started to quickly finish my dinner.

"Would you mind if I read one of your works?" Nicholas asked. I nodded.

"They're not very good," I warned him, and he laughed.

"I've read your mother's work; she was a fantastic writer, and I'm sure you are too," he said. I smiled at his laugh and I ate the rest of my meal. "May I be excused?" I asked.

"Are you sure? I have a wonderful vanilla bean cheesecake for desert," Nicholas announced. I declined.

"I'm not feeling to well; it's been a long day," I said, standing up. He nodded reluctantly and I walked slowly out of the dining room and hurried up the stairs and flung myself into my room, falling onto my bed and sobbing. Every time my mother was mentioned, I felt like sobbing for hours. Why had God taken her away from me? I loved her so much, more than anything in the world. She was my role model, she was my mother. Why did someone take her away from me. I reached over to the night stand and pulled out a framed picture of me and my mother shortly before she was killed. She was beautiful; like an angel sent down directly from heaven. I hugged this picture to my chest and tried to cease my sobbing, but my heart was aching and I couldn't stop. Finally, after a few minutes, I found myself drifting to sleep. A slide show of images ran though my head of my mother, and soon I was sleeping peacefully.

"Rose?" I heard, and I saw Nicholas standing over me.

"Hmm?" I asked, siting up. It was dark now, and I couldn't see anything around me. Nicholas turned on the lamb by my bedside and helped me up.

"What time is it?" I mumbled, looking around.

"It's around midnight," Nicholas answered. I stood up and yawned. "Are you OK? Dinner was an absolute disaster," he said.

"No, it was fine," I said, going into my dresser to find my pajamas.

"Don't lie Rose, I saw how uncomfortable you got when Annabelle mentioned your mother," Nicholas retorted. I froze for a second, and then continued.

"Yes, it was uncomfortable," I admitted, putting my pajamas on the bed.

"Well, it won't happen again. I promise," he said.

"Thank you," I replied, looking up at him.

"I'll let you get dressed for bed. You have a busy day tomorrow; Annabelle wants to take you shopping for clothes, and we're going to get you enrolled in school," Nicholas listed. I nodded. "Goodnight Rose," he said. He came over to me, kissed my cheek, and walked out of the room, winking before he shut the door. I quickly changed into my pajamas and crawled underneath the covers, ending a whirlwind of a day.