Rhett lifts an eyebrow. “George?”
“Yeah.” My throat tightens a little, and I take another sip of my drink to cover it. “George is, well, George is my soulmate.”
The words slip out easier than I expect them to, maybe because I’ve said them so many times before. To Sandra. To Lucy. To myself, late at night when I can’t sleep. To anyone whogave the slightest hint that they might listen. And now to an American called Rhett.
Rhett studies me, his expression curious but not mocking. “If he’s your soulmate, why aren’t you with him?”
I let out a small laugh, though it doesn’t sound very convincing. “Because life’s cruel like that. We broke up a few months ago.”
“His idea or yours?”
“His,” I admit, trying not to wince. “He said we’d grown apart, and that he needed space to figure out what he wanted. But I know it’s just a phase. We had… have something special. We are meant to be. I think once he has had enough of ‘space’, he’ll see that too.”
Rhett doesn’t say anything for a beat, and I find myself filling the silence.
“He’s into all this high-cultured stuff like the opera, the theatre, and art galleries. He’s going to see Madame Butterfly this weekend. He posted it on Facebook earlier. I was actually thinking I might, you know, just arrange to be there too.”
“Arrange to be there,” Rhett repeats slowly, as if he’s tasting the words.
I nod my head, suddenly defensive. “Yes. But not in a creepy way. Just in a fate has brought us to the same place kind of way. Just so he can see me again, remind him how good we were together.”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t laugh. Instead, he leans forward slightly, his eyes glinting with something I can’t quite read. “That’s a hell of a coincidence.”
“What is?”
He takes a slow sip of his drink, watching me over the rim of the glass. Then he sets the glass down with a soft thud.
“A client gave me two tickets to see Madame Butterfly on Saturday night. I wasn’t planning on going.” A wicked little grinplays on his lips. “Why don’t we go together? Let’s make George jealous.”
I laugh, but Rhett doesn’t. He just watches me with those amazing eyes. My jaw drops a little bit.
“Wait. You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
The idea sends a rush of adrenaline through me. The image flashes in my mind. Me walking into the opera house with Rhett, and George catching sight of us across the lobby. He’d see that I’ve moved on, or at least that I could move on. He’d realize what he’s lost. He’d want me back.
It’s perfect. Too perfect. Which immediately makes me suspicious.
“What’s the catch?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at Rhett. “You don’t even know me. Why would you offer to help like that unless you want something in return?”
Rhett shrugs, all lazy confidence. “You’re quite right. I do want something in return.”
I knew it. If something sounds too good to be true, it usually is.
He leans back in his chair, one hand running along his jawline. “I’ve got a clingy ex. She doesn’t seem to understand the concept of it’s over. She keeps showing up wherever I am. She kept texting me to the point where I had to block her number, and then she started trying to find excuses to talk to me in person. It’s messy.”
A sharp pang shoots through me, unbidden. Is this how George sees me? Clingy. Messy. A nuisance. Unable to let go. I push the thought away almost as quickly as it comes. No. That’s ridiculous. George and I are meant to be together. Rhett’s situation is different.
“What’s her name?”
He hesitates. “Vanessa.”
“I see. So, you want me to what?” I ask carefully. “Beat her up or something?”
“Beat her up? God no,” he says. “How would that help?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
