Warning
Please note this is an extremely taboo story. If any taboo is your hard limit, this story will hit all those boxes. It’s not dark, but rather a love story of two people who shouldn’t be together, but find love anyway.
There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable.
Mark Twain
Prologue
Vincent
Present Day
I walk into the greenhouse. It’s a public space. I shouldn’t visit her here, but it’s safer than being alone, somewhere that my feelings will show. I’ve kept them hidden for so long, I haven’t thought of anything else but seeing her again.
The botanical gardens are filled with so many beautiful spring blossoms, and rows of colorful buds, but she’s the only flower I see. Even with all the beauty—pinks, purples, and reds—it’s the golden tresses that lure me closer.
I didn’t think I’d be this nervous seeing her, but now that I’m here, I feel like a teenage boy about to ask the most popular girl on a date. You wouldn’t think I’m a grown man, older, wiser, more mature. She’s always done this to me, left me speechless, and yearning for something I couldn’t ever have.
It’s been a long time since I pushed her away. My life took me on a path I never wanted for her and having her far from me was the only option I had. I couldn’t allow her to grow up around the darkness that surrounded me. That’s what I tell myself, but it’s not true. The lies I forced myself to believe are nothing compared to the truth.
She doesn’t know me, not anymore. And I’m sure she wouldn’t want me around if she knew who I was underneath the armor that hides my pain, my confusion, and the indecent craving that’s haunted me for years.
The moment my gaze flits over to her, I know it deep within my soul—she’s mine. Long, shimmering golden waves hang to the middle of her back. She’s focused on the rose in front of her, so she doesn’t pay anyone any mind. Slowly, almost unsteadily I stalk closer.
The moment I am in her bubble, it’s as if electricity crackles in the air. Her gaze turns toward me, landing on mine, focusing on the person that’s nearing her. The stranger. The late afternoon sun shines through the glass, and her green eyes appear luminous.
I shouldn’t have come, but I needed to see her just this once. Even if it’s the last time I lay my eyes on her. She smiles, her full pinkish lips curl up at the corners, and the plumpness of the flesh makes every part of me harden.
She turns around, her gaze landing on mine, and she offers a small, shy smile. “Can I help you?” she asks.
It takes her a moment before she recognizes me. She sees me. Her mouth falls open in shock, or perhaps anger. It’s been years. Too many years. She won’t recognize the cut because I never wore it around her. The long hair, and the beard are new as well, but the love in my eyes for her hasn’t changed. It’s become more. With every ride I take, each time I lose myself in women who aren’t her, I fall deeper into the black hole of despair. I could never leave her. I could never cut her from my veins, because she is a part of me.
“I…” Her words taper off as surprise paints her pretty face.
“I was just intrigued by the rose you’re working on,” I smile down at her. I don’t acknowledge that it’s me, or that I know her. I’m merely another man passing through the greenhouse. She’s a head shorter than me, and I can’t help but note how familiar she looks. How she reminds me of my younger years. When I was falling in love and feeling things I should never have felt.
It feels like a lifetime ago.
I guess it is.
As if realizing what I’m doing, she nods slowly and turns to the flowers. “The pigmentation is actually not natural. Since roses are normally red, white, or yellow, these are genetically modified.” With a glance at the flower, she doesn’t touch the petals, but merely runs her finger along the air, above them. As if just that singular movement will connect her with the rose.
“I suppose a blue rose would be rather strange.”
“Unique.” She turns her gaze on me once more before offering a smile. “Did you know a blue rose symbolizes secret love?” Her brows lift slightly, as if she’s waiting for me to say yes, but to be honest, I know nothing about flowers, or nature for that matter.
“I didn’t.”
“I suppose, love can be quite forbidden if it’s for the wrong person,” she tells me sadly, and her voice tugs at my chest. She looks so much like her mother it’s haunting.
“You’re far too young to know about unattainable love,” I chuckle. The sound is low, gravelly, because I’m so damn affected by her, I can’t focus.
“Age is merely a number, it doesn’t have anything to do with the amount of experience someone has in their life,” she counters, challenging me causing me to grin like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Touché,” I offer a slight bow. Intelligent, beautiful, and so magnetic, I feel a pull toward her. I shouldn’t do this. She should have a life without me. But after five years of watching her, seeing how she’s blossomed, I’m lost to wanting more from her than I should.
“So, what are you here to see? A specific flower?”