Her home . . . Raphael couldn’t move past that thought. Her home . . .
Stalking to where she stood in her baggy clothes and sneakers, he took her hand and guided her down the stone stairs to the gravel path that led to the maze and fountain. Maria squeezed his hand when they approached the fountain, the sound of water filling the surrounding air. They passed the maze, and Raphael wasn’t sure whether he would show her the greenhouse until they arrived at the door. Her hand tightened in his. An unfamiliar sense of doubt ran through him.
As if she could feel it, Maria hugged his arm and asked, “What is this place?”
Raphael clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. Only he ever came in here. Not even his brothers touched this place. They knew better than to intrude. It was his and his alone. “Raphael?” The sound of his name made his eyes open and his gaze latch onto Maria. She is here. I want her inside. Without responding to her, Raphael unlocked the door and led her inside.
The heat of the greenhouse hit them first, a stark contrast to the blistering cold outside. Maria gasped when she saw what lay before her. Raphael hung back, releasing Maria’s hand as she walked slowly along the narrow path before them.
“Raphael,” she said, awed. Looking over her shoulder at him, she smiled wide. “Roses.” A lump formed in Raphael’s throat as she held out her hand and ran it carefully over the blooming petals. Over the roses grown by his hands.
Raphael made his feet move and followed her along the path, watching every single move she made. Maria turned and asked, “What is this place, my lord?”
Raphael swallowed the heaviness in his throat and touched the Eternity red rose that was fully bloomed. “Roses,” he rasped. “My rose garden.”
“Yours?” Maria said breathlessly, shock lacing her tone.
Raphael smiled. Maria’s cheeks bloomed almost as red as the flower still cupped in his fingers. “Mine.”
Maria looked around the garden. “You grow these yourself?”
Raphael kneeled down and checked the health of the stems and the soil in the ground. “Mmm,” he replied. His finger ran over the vibrant red petals. “I grow them from seed. I nurture them. I aid them to grow.” He looked at Maria. She had moved closer, as though drawn in by his gentle voice. Looking back to the rose, Raphael held the head in his fingers and moved it from side to side, checking its condition. It was perfect. “I guide it to bloom, bring it to life . . .” He dropped his hand to the stem and plucked the rose from the bush, ripping it from its home. He stood and turned to Maria, towering over her. “Then I cut them from their source.” Raphael took the pink rose from Maria’s hair and tossed it to the ground. He stared at the pink flower then pressed his boot over it, grinding it into the gravel path. When he stepped away, its petals were crushed and ruined. His eyes flared and his chest filled with satisfaction. Raphael tucked the Eternity rose behind Maria’s ear. The color suited her much better. “I make them all pretty as death begins to close in.” Raphael placed his finger under Maria’s chin and tilted it so she was looking right into his eyes. “Then it wilts and dies, losing its prettiness, its reason for living.” Maria sucked in a breath. He moved his cotton-wrapped finger to her pulse and felt it racing. “But there’s no sadness. The rose served its purpose, pleasing me for as long as it was alive.” Maria held her breath, eyes wide. Raphael ran his thumb down her soft cheek. “Then I start again. I replant. And wait for another to grow. The cycle starts again.”
Maria swallowed. Raphael bent his head and pressed his lips against hers. “Mmm,” he murmured. “You always taste so sweet, little rose.” He released her and walked along the path. He’d had yet to visit the garden that day. Raphael busied himself with checking the budding bushes, with monitoring the temperature and the filtration systems. When his eyes found Maria again, she was watching him closely.
His head cocked to the side. “Which is your favorite, little rose?”
A hint of a smile pulled on Maria’s lips. Raphael’s heart beat in a steady rhythm as he watched her close in on a particular rose. She looked up at him. “This,” she said. “This is my favorite.”
Raphael paused for a moment, a distant, stabbing pain piercing his heart. He cleared his throat and pushed the feeling away. He walked over to Maria. “The white rose.” She smiled and nodded her head.
“It’s so delicate. So beautiful. It makes me feel . . .” She shrugged. “At peace, I suppose.”