Chapter 1She Gave Him Roses But Left Me Thorns

I had a severe pollen allergy. Even the slightest exposure could leave me struggling to breathe. By some coincidence, my girlfriend happened to be a renowned luxury floral designer.

On the fourteenth of every month, she would come home with a bundle of greenery. No flowers, just leaves and bare stems.

I kept them in glass propagation vases for three years, convinced she had chosen them especially for me so I could still enjoy something beautiful without putting my health at risk.

Then, her floral studio was hired for the wedding of the century.

I stood well outside the venue and watched as tens of thousands of exquisite roses filled the entire hall.

The groom was her childhood friend, Alec Scott. He posted a photo online of the most flawless bridal bouquet I had ever seen.

[She knows how sensitive my skin is, so she personally removed every thorn from all ten thousand roses. She wanted me to touch nothing but the softest petals.]

I enlarged the photo. Beneath those roses were nothing but short, neatly trimmed stems, stripped completely bare.

Suddenly, I thought of the stems she had been bringing home to me, month after month. They had always been covered in uneven little nicks where something had been clipped away.

So, that was it. What I had treasured as proof that she loved me in her own special way was nothing more than the scraps left behind to make sure Alec would never prick his fingers on a rose thorn.

When I got home, I snapped every last stem sitting in those glass vases and threw them into the trash.

“Your roses turned out so beautiful. You can keep them, and you can keep your love too.”

* * *

At eight that evening, I heard the electronic lock disengage at the front door.

Lindsay Payne stepped inside carrying an elegant white cake box.

As soon as she walked in, the living room filled with the overpowering scent of roses. It was so sharp that I could not help coughing.

I remained on the couch.

She set the cake on the kitchen island and headed toward the sink to wash her hands.

The instant her eyes landed on the trash can, she froze.

“Ivan, what have you done?”

She turned toward me with a deep frown and pointed at the green stems snapped into pieces in the trash.

“Just clearing out some junk.”

My voice was calm as my gaze dropped to her long, slender hands.

After working through the night with countless flowers, she had two or three Band-Aids wrapped around the tips of her index fingers and thumbs.

“I pick out these eucalyptus stems and decorative greenery especially for you every month! Do you have any idea how expensive imported foliage is? What is wrong with you?”

“I passed by the wedding at the Olnsea Hotel today.”

The room went completely silent.

Her hand stopped halfway through unbuttoning her coat.

I looked at her. For a split second, her expression stiffened. It was not guilt. It was the look of someone caught off guard when a secret they thought was safe suddenly came to light.

“What were you doing there? You know you’re allergic to pollen. What if you had a reaction?” She tried to hide her panic behind concern.

“I saw Alec’s bouquet. There were over ten thousand roses, and you had personally removed every thorn.”

“That was what the client asked for! This wedding is one of the biggest jobs my studio has had all year. I’m the lead designer. Of course I had to handle it myself,” she retorted immediately, speaking twice as fast as usual.

“The client asked for it?”

I scoffed.

“Alec spelled it out pretty clearly in his post, Lindsay. Every one of those stems you brought home to me was covered in fresh cuts where the thorns had been clipped off.”

She fell silent.

Lindsay took a step back and leaned against the edge of the kitchen island. She patted at her pockets as though she were looking for something, then stopped when she came up empty.

Lindsay always did that when she had something to hide.

“For three years.” I looked her straight in the eye. “Every month, what you brought home to me was just what you cut away so Alec wouldn’t get pricked by a thorn.”

“I was putting it to good use!”

Her voice shot up, sharp with the anger of someone who had been backed into a corner.

“You’re allergic to pollen. You can’t even be around flowers. I brought home the greenery I trimmed off because it was better than throwing it away, and it gave you something decorative too. What’s wrong with that?

“I even took the time to choose the nicest stems for you! If you insist on seeing them as trash, that’s on you!”

There it was again.

Whenever she could not defend what she had done, she made it about me “choosing to see things that way.”

I got to my feet and walked over to the trash can. Then, I pulled out the bag and tied it shut.

“Don’t throw those away!”

She reached for it. Irritation was creeping into her voice.

“Do you have any idea how many all-nighters I pulled for this wedding? The second it was over, I went and stood in line to get you your favorite chestnut cake. Can you please not start a fight with me right now?”

I looked at the branded cake box and found the whole thing utterly absurd.

“I don’t even like chestnut cake. Chestnuts upset my stomach.”

She froze. Her hand was still suspended between us.

“Alec is the one who likes chestnut cake.”

The silence stretched on.

It lasted so long that the scent of roses clinging to her began to tighten my throat.

“You’re clearly upset tonight. We both need to cool off.”

She pulled her hand back. Her expression darkened as she turned toward the study.

The moment the door shut behind her, I picked up the cake box and tossed it into the hallway along with the bag full of thorn-covered stems.