Probably already calculating how quickly she can take the $10K she’s being paid for the weekend and hire a car back to the city before the salad is served.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t ever athing. But—” I exhale. “I might’ve wanted it to be. I met her just before the accident. And after that, everything just… fell apart.”
Isabelle studies me for a long beat, her expression softening. “You really cared about her.”
“I did.”
“Well, then, maybe you shouldtellher.”
I shake my head. “It’s too late. I missed my chance.”
“Really?” she says, folding her arms, not unkindly. “You’re sure of that?”
I glance away, jaw tight. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is,” she says, voice gentle. Then, after a pause, “So. How can I help?”
I look back at her, grateful in a way I can’t put into words.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Let’s just… see how this rehearsal goes.”
I rub a hand over the back of my neck.
“I’m pretty sure,” I add, “she still has no idea we’re about to walk down the aisle together.”
SEVENTEEN
RHEA
Down the stairs. To the right. Open the doors. Just keep breathing.
There is music coming from the wedding room, and conversation, but softer tones than the cocktail room. I smooth the front of my dress, square my shoulders, and push through the double doors.
Carter spots me immediately.
“Rhea,” he says, striding over. “I was starting to worry you’d gotten lost.”
Only emotionally, I think.
He leans in, lowers his voice a little. “Hey, I still haven’t had the chance to introduce you to Cash. He should be here any minute. Great guy—bit of a mystery man, though. Keeps things close to the vest. And I’ll warn you—he’s also a dancer. But don’t you two try to outshine Serena and me on the dance floor, or she’ll ban you both from the premises.”
I smile tightly. “No worries, there.”
But my mind flashes—sharply, unexpectedly—to the last time I danced.
At the gala. With Spencer.
Who may have been the best dancer I’ve ever partnered with—confident, easy, like the music was something he understood on a cellular level.
I briefly, stupidly, entertain the idea of dancing with him again. Just once. Maybe just long enough to make his little blonde tulip squirm. Just long enough to remind him what it felt like. What he might have had.
And then, Carter turns toward the door.
“Speak of the devil,” he says brightly. “There he is now.”
And I follow his gaze.
Oh god. No.
