the 1 | chaennie

2. Melbourne

"You were raised in Melbourne, weren't you?"

Nodding, Rosie let out a pent up breath. That was an easy question to answer, in some regards, and she cleared her throat, leaning across to the coffee table to pick up the cup of water that had been placed there for her, holding it tightly in her hands so that she'd stop fiddling.

"I was, yes. Until I was fourteen. I don't have the accent much anymore," she said with a wry smile, rolling her eyes slightly, "too much time spent in Miami, I suppose."

"But Melbourne is home?"

Letting out a soft sigh, a wistful look dawning on her face, Rosie nodded, thinking about the place she'd grown up. Looking back, she realised how much she'd taken for granted, never truly appreciating the freedom that her childhood had offered her, or the comfort of home, until it was gone. As much as she'd wanted to go to Miami, it had never truly taken the place of the farm she'd grown up on. It had given her everything, in a sense. Miami had been the place that had launched her career, but that career had come with its downfalls. People would always tell her how lucky she was, and Rosie knew that, but it wasn't all good luck.

A part of her sometimes wanted to go back to Melbourne, to hole up in the ivy covered manor house she'd grown up in, and spend the rest of her life tending to rose bushes and reading at her favourite window seat that looked out at the tree in the driveway. A fond smile graced her lips as she thought of that place, thinking about how much she'd love to go there now. It had been nigh on a year since she'd last gone there, and it hadn't been under good circumstances then.

"Yes. Yes, it's home. It's the place I can see myself settling down."

"With a husband? A few kids, perhaps?"

Letting out a snort of laughter, Rosie struggled to bite back a smile. "All in good time. First, I think I should finish telling you everything."

"Right. So ... your childhood?"

-

Her father had been a stockbroker for the Central Bank of Melbourne, while her mother had been a homemaker, who had worked as a mutual fund marketing executive before meeting Mason. During the early years of her life, Rosie grew up on an estate in south Melbourne. A seventeenth century manor house sat on a four hundred acre piece of land, which functioned as a working farm, and it all seemed so picturesque to Rosie now.

They'd owned horses, which she'd ride across the acres of land, and in the summer, the house would turn green with ivy and the gardens bright with colourful flowers. In the summer, they'd go on holiday; skiing in Mt. Buller, staying at a vineyard in South Yarra. There had never been anything she'd wanted for, as a child. Her parents showered her love, and she forgot that she'd ever lived without them, growing used to their comfortable lifestyle in the countryside. Looking back, she knew she'd been lucky.

The first time she recalled showing any interest in music was with her grandmother on her father's side. She'd been an opera singer, for a time, and Rosie used to sit on her lap in front of the upright piano, four years old, and she'd clumsily press down on the keys as the old woman played and softly sang, her voice no longer as rich as it had been in her youth. There were videos of those moments, showing Rosie what she'd been too young to vividly remember. There was the distinct memory of those hands with the veins and papery skin pressing down gently on the keys, the smell of rose water and talcum powder, and the nagging feeling of remembering her sing. She'd died shortly before Rosie's fifth birthday.

It was her grandmother who had introduced her to music, and it had never left Rosie since. Those stolen moments spent at the piano with the old woman had ignited something inside her; a love for music that she just couldn't shake. One of the earliest videos of her singing was at the beach. She'd run up to strangers and sing for them, her hair a fuzzy cloud so blonde that it was nearly white. In that specific home video, she was singing I Just Can't Wait To Be King, from The Lion King, and she recalled it with fondness. At that point in time, it was just a childish love of singing, watching Disney movies and putting on performances for her parents as she grew older. But the thought of her being a singer had never even occurred to them. Even when she was enrolled in piano lessons shortly after her grandmother's death, showing a clear talent for it, it was nothing more than a respectable hobby for someone in a well-to-do family.