Maybe it will be the adventure of a lifetime.
After organizing my things, I give up my heels for flip flops and go back downstairs. Sliding back the tall glass doors, I slip out to the beach. The ocean is endless, wild, and reassuringly impersonal. The sand is deliciously warm under my bare feet, and the sound of the waves is hypnotic. I walk along the shoreline, letting the salty breeze whip at my hair. How absolutely wonderful a dream to have a private stretch of beach to yourself.
I think about the wedding, about George, about Rhett. About how far I’ve been pulled into a life that is overwhelming, but utterly intoxicating.
By the time I turn back, the sun is lower in the sky, casting long gold streaks across the water. The mansion looms behind me, welcoming and daunting in equal measure.
Rhett is in the kitchen when I walk back in. He’s leaning over a pan, stirring something that smells incredible. The golden light from the windows catches his hair, his strong jawline, the line of his shoulders. I couldn’t picture him cooking before, but he looks effortlessly domestic and devastatingly attractive all at once.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” he says, turning with a smile. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“I could eat a horse,” I admit, smiling back at him. “What have you made?”
“The only thing I know how to cook. Chicken with lots of garlic, rosemary, and a big splash of cognac.”
We sit at the kitchen island, the scent of garlic and fresh herbs filling the air.
“You survived Maria?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.
I nod and laugh. “Barely. She’s insane, but in a good way. I feel like I’ve run a marathon just keeping up with her conversation.”
He laughs and nods his head. “That’s Maria. She’s a trust fund kid, and she’s got enough money to buy the whole city, and she’s not scary, is she?”
No,” I admit sheepishly.
“And did she judge you?”
I shake my head. I tell him about the shopping trip with Maria - the disasters, the triumphs, the blush dress, and yes, even the scandalous teddy. His eyes widen at the mention, but he says nothing.
“So?” he prompts, leaning forward, elbows on the counter. “Do you still want to leave?”
I shake my head, and I am pleased I do because I see Rhett’s shoulders relax.
“I’m ready for the wedding,” I say. “Well … mostly. I feel … more prepared. More like I can handle your world, at least for a few days.”
He smiles, satisfied, and reaches over to brush a loose strand of hair from my face. The touch is casual, effortless, and yet it makes my skin heat up. I can’t help it; his presence is magnetic, a current I can’t resist.
We eat the garlic-infused chicken with creamy mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables, and the world feels almost normal. The waves crash softly in the distance, the kitchen smells divine, and for the first time since we arrived, I feel like I belong, just a little, in Rhett’s world.
Chapter Twenty
Pippa
The wind in New York does not mess around. The second we step into Battery Park, it comes barreling off the Hudson like it’s auditioning for a disaster movie, whipping my hair into my face and slapping it across my lip gloss. I claw it back, muttering under my breath, but it’s useless. My hair drags across my face, smearing lip gloss across my cheeks. It is not my finest moment.
I dig in my purse for a hair tie and attempt to put my hair in a ponytail. The wind fights me at every opportunity, and strands of my hair break free no matter how much I clutch at them. I dread to think how bedraggled I must look. Meanwhile, Rhett’s dark hair moves, but settles back into place beautifully. There is not a strand out of place, like he’s on some kind of secret contract with the wind gods. He grins at me, plucking one rogue strand from my mouth.
“The ‘wind machine’ look suits you.”
I narrow my eyes. “Wind machine look?”
“Yeah. Very Hollywood.” He sweeps a hand in front of me like he’s unveiling a red-carpet poster. “The windswept heroinewho doesn’t know she’s the star of the movie. Mind you, her hair blows out behind her. It doesn’t stick to her face.”
“If I’m the heroine. What are you? The leading man?”
“I’m the sidekick, remember.”
“Sidekick? Are you kidding?” I bark out a laugh. I tilt my head and regard him speculatively. “Actually, I don’t think I have decided what you are yet. The villain or the antihero …”
