Her face changes. I can see it. Tightens. Withdraws.
I rush to explain. “I didn’t agree with her. I told her you weren’t like that.”
She doesn’t speak.
“She called the morning after the gala. She has spies everywhere,” I say, trying to add some humor. “I told her you weren’t like that. I knew it then, and I know it now.”
Still nothing. Just that flicker in her eyes. A step backward in real time.
Then Carter’s interrupting again—with the damn food—and he pulls up a chair. Rhea slips back into cheerful sister mode, all composure and good humor.
When he finally disappears, I lean closer.“Hey. What I said earlier… about Gina…”
“It’s okay,” she says quickly, cutting me off. “I get it. It’s her job to protect you from women like me.”
I flinch. “Women like you?”
“Yes. Women whohaveless, but mightwantmore.”
My jaw tightens. “It’s not like that. You’re not like that. Iknowyou’re not.”
But I can already see it in her eyes—I’ve missed something. Something important. I said something wrong. Again.
She stands. “It’s time for me to turn in. Big day tomorrow. It’s been good to… catch up a bit.”
Panic rises in my chest. I can’t let this be the end. I stand too, trying to stay casual, trying not to let my angst show.
“Let me walk you to your room,” I say, instantly regretting it. Everything that comes out of my mouth tonight makes me sound like Mr. Smooth.
“I’m okay,” she says—too quickly. Like she’s trying to convince us both.
I reach out and touch her shoulder, just enough to get her to face me.
“That came out wrong,” I say. “I just. . . how about breakfast? Can I take you to breakfast tomorrow? Or lunch if you're not a breakfast person? Hanover’s a great town. Lots of good food.”
She studies me again, like I’m a map she’s trying to figure out how to read. Whether or not I’m safe terrain.
At last, she says, “Okay. Sure. I’d like that.”
“Great,” I say, smiling. “How about you text or call in the morning and let me know what works? I think we have to be picture-ready by 2:30.”
She laughs. “Actually, the women get to start playing beauty shop at 11:30, so… breakfast it is. I’m an early riser.”
I laugh—partly because I’m happy. Partly because I know what’s coming next.
I pull out my phone. “I’m not sure I have your number…”
She waves me off with a smirk. “I’ll textyou.Just to remind you whose name my number belongs to.”
She pulls out her phone and types aloud:
Spencer, my name is Rhea. We met at the Pixel and Paper Gala in Washington, D.C., two years ago in June. Turns out I’m Carter Ellingson’s kid sister.
We’re both laughing when she hits send. The little swoosh sound rings from her end.
But on mine? Nothing.
“I’m not getting it,” I say, still grinning. “Damn. Now I’ll never remember who you are.”
