Rosalie had to leave Monaco, after having her heartbroken and her youth taken by an unplanned baby, the city felt too small.
Years later, Rosalie is back with a content attitude and a childish four year old. She finally shows back up to a formula on...
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I have to stifle a groan when the bright sun peeks through the half closed blinds. My head feels like it's spilling open, especially so when I force myself to sit up in my warm bed.
The inviting warmth of the bedsheets begging for me to lay back down and just avoid the world for a little longer. However I have a four year old I need to look after and-
My mind stops dead and I look over to see where he fell asleep next to me last night. The pillow and sheets still look rustled and messed with, but other than that there's no sign of Charles.
I try not to let it, but it hurts.
My heart constricts are the thought of him leaving. Without even saying good bye?
No Rosa.
This is good, as much as it hurts. I need Charles to be like this, I need him to break my heart so it's easier to force myself not to love him. It's easier to stay away when he gives me a reason to.
The bitter realization brings memories of the night before. How stupid could I have been? Telling him all that? I don't remember all of what I said, but enough to know I will be cooking a lot to relax.
I rub two tired hands down my face and kick my feet over the edge. Ready to go see if Lando and Daniel are still here or if they left when Charles brought me in last night.
I swear under my breath as my head continues to pound inside my skull. But then a sound makes my head whip up- a movement I regret instantly.
I recognize Millie's soft and childish laughter, but there's another. It's not Daniels loud and contagious laughter, and neither Landos loud and excited one.
With strained and tired muscles, I push myself up and walk towards my closed door. It's almost like this isn't my own home the way I crack the wooden door and peer out.
I'm at a lost for words when I see my daughter and the familiar Monégasque in my kitchen, Millie sitting on the counter and Charles at the stove top.
I try rubbing my eyes, willing this to be a dream. It must be a dream if Charles us cooking and the apartment is still together.
Again, as twisted as it seems, wishing for Charles to not be the man I knew and loved. Why can't he be mean? Why can he leave me hanging? Why can't he make it easier to not love him?
If there was an award for most emotional, I'd have it in the bag as my eyes sting with unshed tears.
I run my sweaty palms over the larger t-shirt I'm wearing, nerves make everything seem harder as I finally push my door open wider.
It squeaks just loud enough to bring attention from both people. Millie's face lights up and she starts to clap her tiny hands.
"Mama! He's making pancakes" Millie says happily and turns to look at Charles.
