Never The Best (Savannah's Best #5)

10. Pearl

CHAPTER 10

Pearl

S ix months! That's how long it had been since I returned to Savannah. I'd never thought I'd have the courage to come back. I never thought I'd want to. For me, it was a reminder of trauma—but now, as the days passed, that had changed. I was adapting to my new reality. Savannah wasn’t just a ghost town of memories anymore. I could now exist without constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the past to ambush me.

But old insecurities clung to me like Spanish moss. Even now, sometimes, I'd find myself looking at a dress in a shop window, and I was, once again, the fat girl who hated to buy clothes because nothing looked good on me—and when I did find the one thing I could stand to wear, I was made fun of.

As a teenager, I’d stopped socializing, afraid of being ridiculed. It was no wonder I preferred reading a book rather than going to a party .

Now, as I stood under the shade of a tree in Aunt Hattie's garden in a dark blue sundress, my hands were itching to smooth my dress over my hips, my belly, to feel that I had less flesh, there was less of me, less of teenage Pearl.

I felt so out of place, but when the party was taking place at my doorstep, I couldn’t hide.

Aunt Hattie’s estate was old Savannah grandeur at its finest. It was a sprawling plantation-style home with a wide, white-columned porch that wrapped around the house. The well-maintained lawns stretched for acres, dotted with vibrant gardens and a shimmering pond in the distance. That same pond greeted me every morning, its glassy surface visible from the porch and windows of the cottage where I lived.

When I first considered moving to Savannah, I assumed that staying in a cottage in the Odom Estate would be temporary. However, I liked it a lot, and so did Aunt Hattie, so we decided to make it semi-permanent.

We ate dinner several days a week together at her place, and her housekeeper, Missy, also took care of my cottage. It was like I finally had a family member who loved me unconditionally for who I was, not who I could be if I lost weight, became more outgoing, or?—

"Some party," Diego Perez broke my reverie.

He worked with Anson Larue, a real estate developer who worked with Savannah Lace and shared office space with us.

Diego, like me, had been born and raised in Savannah and, like me, had left. He'd moved back when his friend Anson offered him a job. Now, he commuted between Sentinel, where Larue Constructions’ headquarters were, and Savannah, where he lived. We'd become friendly as our offices were close to one another.

"Aunt Hattie knows how to throw a party," I agreed.

Harriet Odom never did anything halfway, which is why red, white, and blue bunting draped the verandah rails, enormous floral arrangements spilling over with roses and hydrangeas sat on nearly every surface, and strings of fairy lights zigzagged between the oaks, ready to come alive as soon as the sun set. On the porch, a live jazz band played a slow, sultry tune, their brass notes mingling with the chatter and laughter of the gathered crowd.

The BBQ was what you’d picture when you thought of July Fourth cookouts—luxury edition. There were grills out back, manned by chefs in crisp white aprons, but they were flipping steaks and salmon instead of burgers and hot dogs. Lobster rolls sat next to artfully plated slaw, and a long buffet table covered in white linen held everything from truffle mac and cheese to caviar-topped deviled eggs. Even the iced tea had been fancied up, served in delicate glasses garnished with sprigs of mint and lemon slices cut into perfect stars.

Diego raised his glass of Hattie's special punch, and we toasted.

"What's in this?" he mused after a sip.

"Ninety percent champagne and ten percent…who knows," I told him.

"It should be too sweet for my liking, but I can't stop drinking the damn thing," Diego complained good-naturedly.

"It's Aunt Hattie's secret recipe. I think the mystery ingredient might be honey-soaked bourbon," I stage whispered.

Diego looked at me with narrowed eyes. “So, I’m getting drunk on champagne?”

“Mixed with bourbon, yeah.”

Diego was a handsome man, and I had a slight crush on him—well, me and the entire female population of Savannah Lace. No matter how we all lusted after him, Diego was very respectful and didn't flirt with anyone, well, except, incongruously, Nina Davenport. Now, no one flirted with that woman because she was indomitable, but that didn't seem to deter Diego.

"Are you hiding here?" Diego asked.

I sighed. "Yep! I needed a break from navigating the endless stream of Savannah's elite."

"You and me both, querida ,” he agreed.

I thought I'd be fine, and I had been for the most part, but every time I turned, I felt like I was being assaulted with saccharine politeness that barely masked the sharp edge of people's curiosity—it was becoming exhausting.

“Oh, you’re Cash’s sister, aren’t you?”

"Did you hear about Rhett and Josie's engagement? Are you okay about it?"

"Don't Rhett and Josie look lovely together? Just look at them. So, is it true that you and he were…well…together all those years ago? "

"Well, women work until they get married, darlin'. So, are you in the market? 'Cause I have a brother/friend/uncle/cousin/someone single and ready to mingle."

"You're so brave to have come back to Savannah. If what happened to you happened to me, I'd never be able to show my face here."

I'd plastered on the polite smile I’d perfected over the years, nodding and responding with noncommittal pleasantries, while mentally calculating the distance between the hub of the party and the pond by my cottage.

"I better get to Nina before her dance card fills up," Diego murmured when the music became louder and people started to dance.

“Good luck.” My gaze followed him as he approached Nina. In the blink of an eye, he had wrapped his arms around Nina and gotten her onto the dance floor. He was a smooth operator, I had to give him that.

Speaking of smooth operators , I saw Rhett and Josie dancing and smiling at one another. Of course, that didn't mean anything because, in Savannah society, couples kept up appearances. You'd see them together and think, "Oh, they're in love,” and a minute later, you’d find out the husband had a mistress ensconced in a house a respectable distance from Savannah.

“Pearl Beaumont,” came a voice to my left, almost playful. I turned to see Raphael “Rafe” Rhodes, his smile as disarming as the red, white, and blue bowtie he wore with a linen blazer. Rafe was not what one expected from the Rhodes family. Where his brother Gabe was buttoned-up and serious, Rafe looked like he belonged at an art gallery opening. He had the kind of charm that didn’t feel rehearsed, paired with an intelligence that made you want to lean in closer to hear what he’d say next. The fact that he was handsome as sin didn’t hurt at all.

I gave Rafe a quick hug. "Enjoying the spectacle?"

Rafe chuckled. He was a tenured professor of quantitative economics at Emory University. He was a few years older than me, so we didn't know each other in high school. However, we had gotten to know one another by accident in LA, where he'd been living for a semester, working on a project at USC. I'd met him through a friend, and as was the case with transplants, we connected over our joint hate for Savannah society.

“Immensely." His grin widened. "It’s not every day you get to eat a steak grilled by a Michelin-star chef while listening to a jazz version of the national anthem. It’s good to see you here."

"Well, I live here." I tilted my chin toward my cottage.

"I heard," Rafe remarked. "How're you holding up?"

In LA, we’d talked a little about my life in Savannah, and he had the Cliff’s Notes version. “It’s been going well overall,” I said, “but right now, my ecosystem’s feeling a little murky, thanks to all the Savannah elitism. And since I’ve eaten, drunk, and been polite well past my limit, I think it’s time I leave and clear the air around me.”

Rafe draped an arm around me and kissed my cheek. "You are, darlin' Pearl, as always, a delight."

There was a short time when I'd hoped that I could be attracted to Rafe. He was straightforward, accessible, handsome, intelligent…everything a girl could want. But we had no chemistry, which was such a pity.

"Well, well," Rafe remarked.

"Well, what?" I looked around to see what he was talking about when my eyes fell on Rhett, who was looking straight at us.

"Yeah, I've heard every variation of ‘ Aren't Rhett and Josie a great couple ?’ and ‘ Are you doing okay about their engagement ?’ Why does everyone assume I'd have a problem?" There was an edge to my voice. Rhett Vanderbilt was rattling me again .

"He's not helping by staring at us." Rafe was amused. "The rumor is that he's not happy with Josie."

"Rafe, I'm appalled that you're indulging in gossip." I gently slapped my hand on his chest.

He grabbed the offending hand and kissed my fist. "When in Savannah, you know you must partake in the official sport." He then winked at me. "He's pretty pissed about seeing you with me.”

"Is that why you're being so physically affectionate?" I demanded.

"Absolutely," he replied silkily and drew me close to him.

I leaned into Rafe. He smelled of sexy cologne and man. "Why couldn't you and I have clicked?"

"Yeah, a pity that we didn't."

"In any case, you sleep with girls who're way too young, like Leonardo DiCaprio. ”

"The young women I date are very mature," he protested.

"Please, they’re young and your students," I shot back.

"I usually wait until they're not my students," he corrected.

I watched Rhett as we talked. I couldn't help myself. He stood near the buffet table with Josie at his side. He was the epitome of the Southern golden boy, ready to go yachting in his light-blue button-down, and crisp white slacks.

Josie was everything a Southern Belle should be in her red and blue sundress cinched at the waist with a white belt that screamed effortless elegance and Independence Day. She smiled up at Rhett, her hand resting lightly on his arm, while his eyes…they were on me.

His eyes flicked briefly to Rafe and then back to me, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow, and the chatter and laughter around me faded into the background.

Rafe leaned in slightly, breaking the moment. “Now he wants to rearrange my face. Did something happen between the two of you recently that he's feeling so possessive?”

I shook my head quickly, forcing a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but thankfully, Luna appeared before he could press the issue.

“Well, aren’t you two cozy?" She eyed Rafe, sizing him up with the kind of no-nonsense energy only Luna could pull off. “You hitting on my girl here, Rafe Rhodes?"

“Absolutely not. Scout' s honor."

"You were never a scout," Luna muttered.

"True." Rafe hugged Luna and then sighed as he looked over her shoulder. "I'm having no luck today."

"What?" Luna murmured, and turned around to see Dominic Calder. "Everywhere I go, he's there."

“And every time I touch a woman, a man is looking at me like he wants to fuck me up,” Rafe muttered dryly.

"Hello, Moonbeam." Dom slid an arm around Luna, which she tried to unsuccessfully shrug off. He brushed his lips against her cheek, and she looked part exasperated and well…a little giddy.

I’d been told that whatever was happening between Dom and Luna wasn’t a relationship…at least, not yet, but it was brewing, big time.

"You hitting on my girl, Rafe?" Dom asked the same question Luna had a few minutes ago.

Rafe sighed. "I don't know why everyone thinks I'm hittin' on anyone. I'm just bein' friendly."

"I'm not your girl." Luna pushed Dom away. "I see Camy Channing is here, and I have it on good authority that she's expectin' a proposal from you by Labor Day."

"Does that bother you, Luna, darlin'?" Dom winked at her.

I fanned myself with my hand. "Rafe, I think I need a cool drink, 'cause the sparks between these two are making me uncomfortably hot," I teased, suddenly feeling alright about being at a party because I was with friends.

But eventually, the introvert in me wanted me time. The party continued, but I managed to slip away. No one would notice I was gone. The summer night wrapped around me like a warm, heavy blanket. The air smelled of magnolias, fireworks, and barbecue—a strange combination. The hum and chatter of conversation mingled with the distant hum and chirping of cicadas as I got closer to my cottage.

It had been a strange evening. I had a good time with my new friends. My family ignored me. My mother had given me air kisses so that no one would say, " Did you see how Birdie and Pearl didn't even say hello? I hear there's trouble in paradise ." Caroline had done the same. Since Alice and Maddie were not at the party, I didn't see any reason to hang around my family.

If I'd lived in Savannah my whole life, maybe I'd have more patience and desire to build bridges with my brother and mother, but I'd been gone for so many years and enjoyed my freedom, that being in their presence and experiencing their constant censure was stifling.

I rounded the corner that took me to my cottage and, on impulse, walked up to the gazebo with a view of what I liked to call my pond. The gazebo was gorgeous, tucked away near a cluster of hydrangeas that glowed pale blue in the moonlight. It was small but elegant, with white latticework and vines of jasmine curling up the posts. I came here to have coffee in the mornings as I checked the news and my emails on my phone. I stepped inside and leaned against one of the wooden railings, letting out a long, unsteady breath.

“Escaping, too?”

I jumped at the sound of Rhett’s voice, spinning around to find him standing just outside the gazebo, his hands in his pockets.

"I live here," I told him.

"Well, I am escaping," he announced.

"Good for you." I was about to walk away, but he stepped inside the gazebo, cutting off my access to the stairs that would take me down the garden to my home.

"I run by here most mornings," he told me as he walked to the other end of the gazebo, looking at the little pond dressed up with lotus flowers and a few ducks.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy but not entirely uncomfortable. He leaned against the rail, facing me. I could walk away now if I wanted. I didn't have to be here.

He sighed.

I arched an eyebrow. "That sounded profound."

"Did it?"

Go home, Pearl. You don't have to talk to this asshole.

"Yeah, like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

He seemed more reflective in the moonlight. He didn’t have the polished, Savannah-golden-boy facade. He looked tired. Not physically, but definitely emotionally. I knew how that felt; I could recognize it.

"I sometimes feel like I am." He looked past me at the garden behind me. "I needed a break."

“From what?" I challenged, folding my arms, my posture defensive .

He didn’t respond right away, he just watched me with a quiet intensity. “From pretending,” he said at last.

I stiffened. “Pretending to be what?"

His jaw tightened. “A Vanderbilt."

I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Are you having a case of the poor, little rich boy blues?"

He smiled sadly. "Can't blame you for thinkin' that, Pearl."

It unsettled me. When we were teenagers, he'd have responded barb for barb.

"Well, I'll leave you to?—"

"I'm sorry," he blurted out.

I stared at him.

"What I did was cruel, horrible, and…I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. It haunts me, Pearl."

How dare he make this about how it affects him?

"Me too," I threw back at him.

His eyes lowered. "I can only imagine. I am sorry."

"You behave like you slipped up and, oops, made a mistake." I felt the need to purge my thoughts so intensely, I couldn’t stop myself from letting him see what was inside of me: the pain, the struggle, the heartbreak. "You chose to hurt me, Rhett. You made a bet, you slept with me, and then you let everyone in Savannah rip me to shreds because of it.”

"I know."

"And you think your measly apology makes up for it?"

"Nothing can make up for it, Pearl. Do you think I don't know that? I hurt you. I?—"

"We were friends, Rhett," I accused him, my eyes filling with tears I didn't want to ever shed in front of him. "Well, I thought we were. I didn't think you were capable of saying the things you did about me."

"I know," he said tenderly. "I had a rot inside of me, one that made me want to fit in, live up to my reputation of being an asshole."

"You were my first, and you made it ugly with your words. Do you know how hard a climb it has been for me?"

The words hung in the air between us, raw and jagged. His face twisted with shame, regret, and pain—but he didn’t look away.

"You are one of the bravest people I know," he told me sincerely. "Believe me when I tell you, Pearl, that I’ve hated myself for it every day since.”

"No more than I have," I cried out.

I saw him take a step toward me, but I held my hand up so he would stay put. "Why did you do it? Why did you hurt me? I'd never done anything to you."

"Because I was a coward.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

I blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice.

"Because I wanted to show everyone what a big deal I was. I fucked Pearl Beaumont over a bet. I didn't realize how that demeaned me and showed everyone how low I was."

The honesty in his words overwhelmed me, and before I could stop myself, the tears came. Hot and fast, they blurred my vision, and I turned away, trying to hide them. But Rhett didn’t move, didn’t look away .

"I'm so sorry for hurting you," he continued, his eyes shining with emotion.

That made me only angrier. “You don’t get to cry about this.” My voice broke. “You don’t get to feel bad about this. You don't get to take that away from me."

He stepped closer, his voice thick with emotion. “Pearl, I?—”

“Don’t,” I snapped, cutting him off. “Don’t apologize. Don’t say it was a mistake. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Okay.” The gentleness in his tone made me hate him a little more because it made me like him again . One apology, and I was already swaying.

“I need to go." I didn’t know what to say to him. My emotions were a tangled mess of anger and confusion.

“Pearl,” he started, but I shook my head.

“No. I can’t do this. I won't ."

I left him standing in the gazebo and retreated to the quiet solace of my little cottage, where I cried until the stillness of the early morning.

I wasn't over what happened to me, I realized. I needed to heal if I wanted to move forward. I set up an emergency appointment with my therapist on his online portal and fell into an exhausted sleep.