A Wish a Iss All Amiss

Once again, my special thanks go to Chas, who made this chapter significantly better.

There is

technically

a sex scene in the middle. Be warned.

*****

Rosaline drifted into consciousness to the scent of minty lemon mixed with the summer air in between the sheets. It felt like a promise. And warmth. So much warmth. And naked skin, wrapping around her and...

She opened her eyes.

What had she done?

Why was she still here, sleeping in his arms like she belonged there?

They had almost had sex. Almost. She had moaned, writhed and begged for Gabriel, naked and aflame, reduced to a puddle of need and want. And she had almost told him everything, except she still could not bring herself to admit that she and her powers erased

everyone's

existence from her mother's memory because her wish had spiraled out of control, and Rosaline had personally condemned her mother to a lifetime in the institute...

No! Don't go there.

But Gabriel had looked into her eyes, and he had kissed her and hugged her, like he understood the shame and guilt, like he understood her. And she had let him help her. In a moment of weakness, she let herself believe that she was worth helping, and she would not be so alone in this endless cat-and-mouse game with The Order. But eventually everyone would die alone, right?

Like mama.

It was a mistake.

She should not have let him help her. People had never made good on their ability to stay or fulfill a promise and men left for no reason.

But why was he still here?

Gabriel stirred and Rosaline paused the thought, squeezing her eyes shut.

"This is what we do now? Fake sleep?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes behind her closed lids and frowned. Who smelled this nice in the morning? She would not know because she had never slept with anyone. Then how would she know people should not smell nice in the morning? Because she stank herself. God. This was not how she imagined the morning after would be. Her poignant tragedy was turning into a farce, at her expense. He should have left her.

She opened her eyes and saw him grinning at her.

"Good morning to you, too," she said.

The corner of his mouth lifted before he kissed the top of her head.

"What are you still doing here?" she asked.

His eyebrows snapped together. "I thought I was the one with memory impair—"

The vibration of his phone against the wooden bedside table startled him. Leaving his sentence unfinished, he reached for his phone, and Rosaline wriggled out from his arm, covering herself with the sheets.

His face was blank when he looked at his phone. "I have to go to my parents'"

This was good. She wanted him gone anyway so she nodded, turning her back to him and pulling her knees to her chest. Why was she not feeling relieved?

"I will see you later?" he asked, shuffling on the other side of the bed.

She nodded again. Or did she shake her head because he repeated, and this time the pitch at the end of the sentence fell flat, "I will see you later."

When she did not respond, he spoke again, "I promised I will help you."

She turned to him, tightening the sheets around her shoulders. "I don't need your help."

"Too late. You already thanked me." Smiling, he bent over to kiss her cheek and she wrinkled her nose.

"This really is just terrible timing," he said while pulling on his jeans.

She could not help but let out a bitter chuckle at those words, an echo of their first meeting.

"Miss Playwright, I am perfectly able to hear the irony in that myself, but I'm glad at least one of us finds that amusing."

"I didn't say anything," she mumbled into the sheets.

"Isn't that refreshing." He shot her a look before putting on the t-shirt.

Then he leaned down for a lingering kiss before pulling away slightly, a smile in his eyes. "Terrible timing."

"See you later?" he asked, his fingers raking through his hair in an unsuccessful attempt to tame it.

She looked into his eyes, rich chocolate in the golden eastern light, and she nodded.

When the apartment door clicked shut, she let out a long breath. Would she? See him later?

He had been right about one thing; this had been nothing but a series of unfortunately timed events, starting from the moment Gabriel walked into the café. She had been sure she would run and hide because running was so much simpler. Then he showed up again at her office, decreeing that she should work with him. And then again at the party seducing her away, and just like that, he ran into her at the bookshop. And last night...

If she thought hard with her brain and not with her nether regions, the timing was so impeccable that she was either the luckiest girl on earth in a romantic comedy, and the man of her dreams simply fell from the sky and landed right into her lap. Or she was the lead actress in her own farcical tragedy, and the man wanted something else from her. Like her powers. Or The Order. Was he working for The Order? That could explain everything. And last night.

Especially

last night.

Rosaline shot up from the bed and got herself dressed. She needed to leave. Now. The destination was the least of her problems. It just needed to be as far away from Gabriel as possible. Pulling out the trunks from under her bed, she started grabbing everything she needed in the bedroom, stuffing it into her sad trunks, burying her sad heart along with it.

Then her hand grasped the edge of the bedside table and felt the silken book cover.

What if she was wrong? Her sad heart begged her to reconsider. If she left, she would never know what his true intentions were. She would never know if she was worth loving. And if she was wrong, she would never recover that piece of herself that was so freely given to Gabriel.

But if she was right, and she stayed...

*****

Striding through the arched porch, Gabriel did not remember the drive up here.

He tried to ignore the contentment that filled him when he woke up with Rosaline in his arms and suppress that smile when she pretended to be asleep like he had not been feeling her fidget. He could feel her everywhere.

Then the text message from The Order forced him out of his reverie to look at his phone and the time. "Get her ready. We are coming." The text read. It was good that he had convinced her to stay; that was what last night was about, although the means was as questionable as it was enjoyable and perhaps a little selfish. Extremely selfish.

But he was just a man. An extremely lucky man it seemed; he got everything that he wanted. He had been lusting after her from the start. And last night he had her beg for him to fuck her, and in the same act, he had got her to stay. If he continued to get his way, by the time The Order came to collect her, he would have fucked her out of his system and he would be more than happy to exchange her for his freedom. Either way, he could not lose; he had already won. So what more could he possibly want?

Nothing.

Running a hand through his hair, he swung open the solid wooden door with the other and checked the burglar alarm. He knew they would be home on Sunday mornings. It used to be the only time that he could see them.

"Gabriel." The call of his name pierced through the foyer with a haughty precision.

"Evelyn." He greeted his mother in the dining room with a small nod after winding his way through the rich mahogany interior.

"You could have called," his mother said from behind the papers, sitting at the end of the long antique table. She nodded her silver head towards one of the empty seats next to her. "Please sit."

"I need to ask you something," he said, hanging by the threshold.

Her gaze scanned him from head to toe, seeing through him. "You look well, despite the state of disarray your clothes are in."

"Where is Andrew?" Gabriel asked, ignoring his mother's comments.

"Did you spend the night somewhere else?"

She smiled knowingly when he did not answer. He was not here to be interrogated by his parents who, after more than three decades of absence, decided to suddenly take an interest in his love life.

God.

Did he just say love life?

"I should like to meet her."

"No," he said.

Her smile broadened. "You have never introduced us to any of your girlfriends."

His heart constricted in his chest. "She's not my girlfriend."

Evelyn's eyes widened slightly. "Your father doubted if she has the powers."

Gabriel leaned on the doorframe and chose to remain silent.

"Ah. I see you doubt her as well even when you know it's true. Please sit down, Gabriel." Then Evelyn rose and headed towards the kitchen. "Do you want some jasmine tea perhaps?"

This had to be a joke.

He pulled out the seat two chairs away from hers and perched on the edge of it. "Where is my father?"

She returned with a tray of matching tea set with three teacups, answering his question.

"You did not tell us you were back on the continent."

He shrugged.

"For her?"

For myself.

He looked out the window behind her and nodded. The incorrigible floorboard on the third step of the staircase squeaked; his father was coming from upstairs.

"I assume you found her?" Andrew's baritone resonated from the doorway.

Rosaline's sleeping form flashed, the sheets draping around her naked body like a goddess slumbering by the riverbank.

"They spent the night together," Evelyn said.

Gabriel's jaw tightened and Andrew's dark eyebrow rose as he looked to Evelyn as he settled into the chair next to hers.

"Who in The Order is involved in this? I want everyone's names," Gabriel asked. He did not know about the text message that Rosaline received on the day that they met, and that was why he was here. If anyone, his parents would have people run like the grease between the intricate cogs inside the workings of The Order.

When they did not reply, he continued, "I made a deal with The Order. I deliver and I'm done. I don't need unexpected complications. I want names."

He had enough complications as it was.

"We raised you better than this," Andrew said.

"You didn't raise me."

There was a small pause before Andrew shook his head slowly. "We are not actively involved in The Order anymore."

"You knew I was back and apparently you knew enough about her," Gabriel said.

"We care about our son. You cannot fault us on that."

"Then tell me what you know." The words came out more loudly than he had intended.

Andrew raised the dark eyebrow, a replica of his own.

"Please," Gabriel added, more quietly now.

There was a long pause.

"I see you are set on your course," Andrew said.

"You know nothing else about this?" Gabriel tried again, even though he knew he had angered them.

"We know everything that you know."

"You mean you're only willing to tell me things that I already know."

He knew he had only one life for himself but there would be another woman with a smart mouth, tragic humor and incredible strength; there must be.

Evelyn smiled and shook her silver head. "We told you everything you need to know. You simply refuse to hear it."

What was that supposed to mean? He needed to know the names of the people who were involved in Rosaline's case, but he got jack shit from his parents.

Andrew said in the end, "Stay for lunch, son. It's good to see you."

*****

Gabriel paced back and forth in front of the façade of Rosaline's building, waiting for her to let him in. He checked for the time again. Since his arrival, Gabriel had called her a few times, texted a dozen more, but his phone refused to give him any human response. And it was fifteen minutes ago.

The red fiery sun hovered above the pointed façades, freely splashing the row of townhouses with raw vermilion, setting the rooftops ablaze, burning his patience.

He wanted to see her after this strange day. He wondered what Rosaline would have said if she had been there with him at his parents'. She would probably get along with them, especially with his mother, who seemed to already like her. Of course, Evelyn would like her. The smart mouth was probably the only person who could have a normal conversation with his mother.

But where was she? Rubbing a hand on his neck, he willed himself to calm down. Out for groceries? At eight o'clock in the evening on a Sunday?

The front door to her apartment building gaped open; one of the neighbors was heading out. Pretending to fish out his own key in his pocket, Gabriel nodded at her with his head bowed low, and the unsuspecting neighbor held the door open for him.

He did not know why but he took two steps at a time, running up the stairs to rush to her apartment, hoping for the best, hoping to see her. Ridiculous. Nothing was going to happen. She was just out for groceries. He had to keep telling himself.

The wooden apartment door was ajar, the flaming sun's rays seeping into the hallway like a shimmering river of blood, soaking the carpet. It was unbearably hot, the air stifling. Tucking down the collar of his t-shirt, he pushed the door wide open. The scarlet light drowned him, drowned the carbon dioxide around him.

He was overreacting. Everything was fine; the entrance looked exactly like where she had obstinately turned around to face the door last night.

Inhaling deeply, he dropped his gaze to the wooden floor, and he might have missed them if it were not for the blinding reflection from the sun glaring on them. Two sets of footprints absorbed more of the flaming sunbeams than the rest of the well-kept floor.

Gabriel looked for signs of struggle and excessive force in the surroundings, but he found none; Rosaline could not have been with them. Or she was, but she was not struggling, which could only mean one thing. He shook his head.

Just calm the fuck down.

He followed the footprints into the living room. The bloody sun rendered the highlights crimson and the shadows a listless brown. Everywhere he looked, he saw red.

And everywhere he looked there were books and paper, magazines, pans and pots, all emptied from their shelves and cupboards, strewn about in the small space. He turned around. Her bedroom was so pristine it was as if he had fallen straight into another movie set; the bed was made, sheets folded and pillows puffed, leaning on the bed like they were welcoming the next tenant. The books were gone; his book was gone. She was gone.

She had left him.

He knew there was hesitation in her voice this morning, but he did not want to arouse her suspicion or raise other doubts by giving in to her insecurities. He had thought she trusted him. But why would she? He had always underestimated her intelligence. That was how he kept getting outsmarted by her.

He stumbled backward. No, he had never underestimated her intelligence; he had always cherished that, enjoyed how fast her brain worked, relished in their conversations. He simply overestimated himself.

"You're back," Rosaline drawled.

Gabriel turned around and saw her. She was here. He did not lose her. He exhaled. She pushed that strand of stray hair behind her ear, but the curl bounced back to where it was the moment her fingers lifted. She huffed a frustrated groan.

She repeated her words, but this time he could only hear the vowels. He narrowed his eyes on her; her cheeks were flushed, eyes unfocused, balance precarious.

"Are you drunk?" Cold rage coursed through him and ran down his spine as his voice rang in her apartment. His hands fisted on his sides, fingers digging into the flesh of his palms.

"I'm not sure I wanted you to be back." She spoke as if he had not just raised his voice, as if he was not even there.

He scowled. "What are you talking about? I told you I would."

"You see, I made a tree."

"You made a tree?"

"Yes. A tree." She smiled like she was proud of herself.

He decided to ignore her untimely inebriation and get to the more pressing matter. "How long were you out for?"

"You don't want to hear about my tree?"

He glared at her. "If you say tree one more time, I will burn down every fucking tree on this fucking planet."

She smirked. "Maybe you should make a tree as well."

Coming closer to her, he wanted to shake some sense into her, but she wrapped her arms around his neck, draping herself on him like cooked spaghetti, stinking like alcohol. He looked up to the ceiling and put his arm around her waist to support her.

"You didn't know about the break-in?" He tried again.

She blinked at him for a moment. "What break-in?"

"Your lock was broken. There are footprints." He waved a hand towards the hallway.

"It wasn't you?"

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

"You swear a lot." She wrinkled her nose.

"When did you leave the house?"

She giggled and traced a finger along his jawline and down his chest and abdomen, sending his blood rushing down to his cock, and then she picked up his hand to lay it on her breast.

"Rosaline, when did you leave the house?" He retracted his hand, and she snapped her gaze to his, glaring.

"Don't you want me?"

"What?"

"Do you want me?"

He ignored her. "Can you answer my question? When did you leave the house?"

"Fuck me."

"What? No."

She laughed without humor. "Ladies and gentlemen, we eliminated yet another possibility. We are henceforth left with"—she counted with her fingers—"ah, now we are left with 'what does Gabriel want from me if he doesn't want to fuck me?'"

He closed his eyes at those words. "You made a decision tree."

Giggling, she attempted to tap the tip of his nose, but in reality, she was just jabbing her finger at his cartilage, so he caught her hand and returned it to the side of her body.

But the same hand found its way back to his person, sneaking along the front of his thigh and cupped his throbbing erection. "Ah, the plot thickens."

She looked to him and licked her lips. He felt pressure on his shoulders as she tried to use him as leverage to lift herself, then her fingers splayed into his hair, bringing his head down to her lips.

Rosaline sucked in his bottom lip and caged it between her mouth; her tongue urged him to open his mouth, and when he did not immediately oblige, she snaked one hand down to stroke his cock through the jeans. With a groan, he met her probing tongue and tasted the alcohol.

He pulled away. "Stop it."

"Why?" She taunted him with her eyes. "Now that I'm not acting like your blushing virgin, you don't want to kiss me anymore?"

"Don't say that."

Keeping her eyes on his, she stepped backward, away from his embrace. He suddenly missed the heat, even though the heat was turning into a wildfire.

Silence stretched between them as the air crackled. Gabriel's breathing became harsher with each second as anger compounded inside him.

Then she dragged her top up from the waistband of her jeans, pulled it over her head, then she unhooked the clasp of her bra, baring her breasts and torso. She gathered her hair into her hands and laid it on one side of her shoulder, forcing the errant strand to stay with the rest of her mane. She stalked towards him. "Fuck me and leave me alone."

"What?"

Advancing, she fumbled at the button of her jeans, pulled down the short zipper and peeled the fabric down her legs along with her panties like she was shedding her skin.

"I don't pretend I don't want to fuck you, and I think you at least want me enough for sex, so let's just resolve this sexual tension and get on with our separate lives," she said, stepping out from the confines of her clothes around her ankles.

"No." He looked around his shoulder; he was almost up against the wall.