Raindrops on Roses: Book One of the Favorite Things Trilogy (2 page)

I've never even seen one
of her movies,
he thought, as he caught
sight of the glistening white casket up ahead. He looked around the
church, eyeing everyone, and tried getting his mind off of his mom
and sister. Instead he focused on a few of the celebrities, who had
arrived in their long, sleek limousines and were surrounded by
legions of security detail.

Of course, just about everyone was wearing
black and Michael felt engulfed in a sea of dark cloth, pushing him
slowly down the aisle to witness death once again.

Quieting the discomfort in his heart and
mind, he closed his eyes and waited patiently for his turn to pay
respects.

Suddenly a hand clamped down on his
shoulder. "Hey," said Larry Frost, his deep voice interrupting
Michael's thoughts. "I'm right behind you."

"Dad," he said, turning
around. "Let's just go
now
. I hate this."

"Look, we drove all this way," his father
whispered. "Just forget those crummy reporters out there. Let's
appreciate that we got the chance to send Mrs. Bauer off with our
best regards and wish the family well, okay? It's the least we can
do."

Really?
Michael thought, knowing his father's real
motives had more to do with
client
retention
than best regards or well
wishes.

When the line moved again it was finally
their turn. Michael stepped forward, held his breath, and looked
down into the casket. He gently laid a red carnation beside the
silver-haired legend, amongst all the other flowers.

Glancing only briefly at her waxy face, he
focused instead on how the red of his carnation stood out amidst
the plethora of pinks and whites surrounding it. He couldn’t help
staring. It lay just below her elbow and looked like a fitting
symbol of respect and admiration for a woman who had lived her own
life, and had certainly lived it well.

When the service was over and they were back
outside, most of the media vultures had packed up to follow the
procession to the burial ground where she would be laid to rest.
Michael rode along with his father and left his own car at the
church.

Once they reached the cemetery, with
everyone gathered around the coffin, the pastor spoke kind words
and led a prayer in a soft and comforting tone. A few hymns were
sung and several mourners wept openly into handkerchiefs.

As he stood there staring at nothing,
Michael found himself wondering if this lady was now in the same
place as his own beloved ones...

Suddenly, the casket began its descent into
the ground and scattered his thoughts. He was transfixed as he
watched it going down, the crank gears squeaking ever so quietly.
The crowd then began to disperse, leaving mostly grieving family
members behind.

The men had begun shoveling in the dirt, and
Michael was turning to leave when he noticed something yellow fall
in. Leaning forward, he saw that it was a bright yellow rose. He
glanced up to see where it had come from—and then froze.

Wow,
he thought, staring.
She's
gorgeous
.

She was wearing a simple, yet sophisticated
black dress and jacket. Her raven black hair held dark sunglasses
in its lushness and she had somewhat of a Mediterranean complexion
with a face of fine features that almost stopped Michael's heart.
He couldn't stop staring.

Who is
that? he wondered.

Unmindful of those still standing around
them, Michael found himself walking over. "Why yellow?" he heard
himself ask her gently.

She looked up in surprise, and he saw tears
glistening in her dark blue eyes. They were also red and swollen,
heavy with apparent grief.

Oh, no
, he thought as an urge seized him. He wanted to reach out
and draw this lovely girl in to his chest, but he resisted and
didn't move, so his arms hung heavily by his sides.

She was looking at him curiously now, and
Michael just stood there, still staring.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She cleared her throat.
"You mean the rose..." She turned and glanced back down into the
grave. Taking a deep breath, she said, "It's for sunshine. She
always said I was her sunshine. So it's like she's taking a bit of
it with her."

She was almost whispering, but Michael was
so captivated by her mouth that he could've read every syllable,
word for word. "Well, that’s a nice gesture," he said, following
her gaze. "Who is she to you? If you don't mind me asking."

They watched as the yellow rose disappeared
beneath the dirt.

"She's my grandmother," she replied. "I'm
Priscilla Bauer."

"Oh." Instinctively,
Michael's hand raised and touched her shoulder in a gesture of
comfort, but he quickly drew it back.
Don't touch her, you idiot
. "Well,
I'm Michael Frost," he said. "And I want to tell you how sorry we
are for your family's loss, Priscilla. Frosted Designs has worked
for your grandmother for a very long time now." And as if on cue,
he noticed his father tapping his foot, tall and strapping off in
the distance.

Then a dark-haired young man in a black suit
appeared, saying, "Cilla, it's time we got back to the house."

Michael looked him over, wondering who he
was.

Priscilla Bauer dried her face with a
Kleenex and turned to go but hesitated, looking back at
Michael.

He didn’t know what else to say, but he
didn't want her leaving just yet either.

The man addressed Michael as he took
Priscilla's arm. "Have you been invited to join us back at Emerald
Leas, Mister...?"

"Frost. Michael Frost."

"Oh, Michael, yes—it's nice to finally meet
you. I'm Douglas Bauer." They shook hands. "I know your father.
He's done some excellent work for us over the years. I'm a big
fan."

"Thank you," said Michael. "He's always
spoken very highly of Mrs. Bauer and Bauer Enterprises."

"Glad to hear it," said Douglas. "So we'll
see you back at the house, then?"

"Absolutely. I'll go find my father."

•~•

When they were back on the road, heading to
the church to pick up Michael's car, he tried to avoid his father's
gaze as much as possible but he knew what was coming.

"I saw you out there,
Michael," he finally said. "What in the
hell
were you thinking?"

Michael let the question go unanswered, not
wanting to validate his father's paranoia, especially since he knew
he hadn't done anything wrong. So biting his lip, he kept his eyes
on the stretch limousines up ahead. "What are you so uptight
about?" he ventured to ask when the silence had turned unbearably
tense.

For a moment it seemed his father wouldn't
answer.

"I don’t want to lose the account, all
right? Now that Mrs. Bauer is gone, God only knows who'll be in
charge. Suppose some other outfit moves in on us? Convinces them to
go for a fresh look, or even completely rebrand?"

Michael shook his head. The thinking was so
cynical—and so predictably Larry Frost.

So keeping his head averted, he kept his
mouth shut and didn’t say another word for the rest of the
ride.

•~•

Night had fallen by the time they arrived at
the Bauers' guard-gated estate. The residence had been built at
least a mile from the main road, the full length of which was
covered by a canopy of towering green trees. The sprawling area
surrounding the main house was very brightly lit, a blunt contrast
of the somber occasion.

Michael's mind was racing as he parked and
left his car. When he turned toward the house, he caught a glimpse
of her exiting the limousine and going up the front steps.

She's young, but so poised
and graceful
, he observed, completely
turned on.

They were quickly ushered inside where
family members, close friends and some hotel employees were having
drinks, eating food, mingling and chatting in an atmosphere that
echoed the sting of a recent loss.

Michael and his father mingled as well,
making small talk with the other guests. Soon after, Douglas Bauer
approached them with a drink in hand. "Mr. Frost, thank you so much
for coming," he said with a smile. He had a vague European accent.
"You know how much she loved your work. It's unfortunate this
happened before she could sign off on those ballroom sketches you
sent in for Blue Satin. But after seeing it, I'm pretty sure it's a
signature design she would be proud of."

"Oh, Douglas," said Larry Frost sadly,
shaking his head. "It’s one of our very best. I know she would've
loved it. She was so excited about a new look for the hotel. It
pains me that she didn't get to see it before—"

At that point in the conversation, Michael
tuned his father out, only nodding at the appropriate times as his
eyes discreetly combed the room looking for Priscilla Bauer.

Finally,
he thought a few minutes later.
There she is.

She was coming down the staircase, having
removed her jacket and sunglasses.

A pleased smile spread across Michael's
lips. His father gave him a disapproving look, but he didn’t
care.

"Lovely Priscilla," crooned Larry Frost as
she joined them. "It’s so nice to see you again, and I'm very sorry
for your loss."

She nodded. "Thank you. And thanks so much
for coming. We're really big fans of your work, Mr. Frost. Your
designs have basically become synonymous with the hotels."

They exchanged a few other pleasantries
before Priscilla excused herself to find something to eat. Michael
took the opportunity to excuse himself as well and joined her. He
felt his father's piercing glare as they walked away.

The catering was elegant and varied; and
while most people merely pecked their food, Michael did notice a
few gorgers—people with plates piled so high it was ridiculous!

He watched Priscilla closely as she sipped a
glass of red wine in a dimly lit hallway off the kitchen. She
looked both well put together and fragile at the same time.

"Were you very close?" he asked. "To your
grandmother?"

She nodded. "Yes, very.
I've lived in this house with her since I was nine. And she was
the
perfect
Grandma—always happy and supportive. But she'd been working
so much lately. I just…I just wish I'd had some warning this was
about to happen."

Her words were flowing a little easier now
and Michael was encouraged. He loved the velvety tone of her voice.
It made him want her. A lot.

"I didn't get a chance to meet Mrs. Bauer,"
he said quietly. "But I wish I had." He smiled at her then, wanting
to encourage her to smile back.

But Priscilla only nodded graciously,
sipping her wine and eyeing the catering. She seemed unsure of what
she wanted, looking down at her strappy black heels, then back up
again.

As she fidgeted, Michael’s eyes swept the
length of her. Her fingers were stroking the wine glass. "Let’s get
you something to eat," he said with another smile. "I'm guessing
this'll probably be the first you've eaten all day, right?"

"Yeah, good guess," she replied, rewarding
him with a half smile. "It's been a pretty crazy day, as you can
imagine."

"I
can
imagine, actually," he said,
looking away briefly. "I lost my mom and my sister several years
ago"—he watched her eyes widen—"in a car accident."

"Oh, my God," she said,
touching his arm. "I'm
so
sorry."

"It's been a while now,"
he said, covering her hand with his, "but thanks. I just know a
little bit about loss, so I
do
know what you're facing."

"Yeah," she said, shaking
her head. "But to lose both your mother
and
your sister at the same time? I
can't even imagine that."

Feeling a little uncomfortable, Michael
said, "So you like Otis Redding? I'm loving these songs that are
playing."

"They were Gran's
favorites. They've really become a part of me over the years, so I
absolutely
love
soul music now myself."

"Is it awful that I've never seen a Veronica
Bauer movie?" he asked, slightly embarrassed.

Priscilla smiled, saying not at all.

They spent the rest of the evening together,
drinking plenty of wine and enjoying each other's company. She told
him stories about her grandmother's time in Hollywood, and how she
had given up acting to open her own boutique hotel in Europe, Hôtel
Blue Satin. But after a while, Michael noticed her words began to
slur. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, steadying her. "I think we need
to get you a seat, and a cup of coffee."

"Thanks," she said. "I just..."—she gave a
nervous laugh—"I didn't realize I was drinking this much. Now I'm a
little embarrassed."

"No, it's okay, really.
Don't be embarrassed—it happens." He could see she was indeed
feeling awkward, and maybe even on the verge of tears, but he
wasn't sure where to go from there. "Your grandmother's watching
over you, you know," he blurted, immediately wishing he
hadn't.
What a cliché!
But Michael felt so eager to connect with her; he didn't want
the night ending just yet. He had to keep her talking to
him.

For a moment Priscilla just sat there gazing
at him, looking quite delicate, but he saw lots of strength in her
eyes.

"You know, you're right,"
she finally said. "I believe she
is
watching over me." Her eyes traveled the length
of his face. "And it almost feels like she sent me
you
."