Chapter 16 Rose
“And then we had to reroute through Chicago before we got to Savannah. A train would have been faster! Isn’t that ridiculous? I just can’t believe it.” Marnie takes a big sip of her red wine, teeth already stained near the color of her lipstick, cloud of white hair shaking in time with her head.
One of Dad’s oldest colleagues and friends, Marnie has been at his side as his assistant through thirty years of hospital politics and department reshuffles before they settled into private care.
She’s the kind of woman who remembers every birthday and never misses a reason to party.
She tried to save a few bucks on her ticket to Georgia, which earned her an unplanned layover due to the storm, and she is not letting it go.
I don’t mind her stories, honestly. It’s easier than looking across the room at my father laughing with his bride, thinking about the fact that I’ve only seen him once since I arrived and only because I went looking for him. I wonder if he even noticed I wasn’t standing up there with Pearl.
Logan told me he wants me. Not just for this week.
Not just a little. And I don’t know what to do with that either, so I just keep nodding along in agreement while Marnie tells me about her vacation last year to Bermuda, which was also a nightmare, only that one was on a cruise.
She leans in slightly as she adds the gory details of being locked on a boat with five thousand people, when a warm hand finds my back.
I turn to find Logan smiling down at me. His dark hair is swept back, a few strands loose at his temple. He’s wearing a dark navy suit that fits him like it was made for him, and for a second, everything else in the room, all the worry in my head, fades away.
He looks so good in that suit. Really good. He holds my gaze for a beat too long before he looks up.
“Ladies. Do you mind if I steal Rose?”
Marnie giggles bashfully and raises her glass in greeting. I can’t say I blame her. “Of course, of course. You young people go have fun. We old folks are just happy with our wine. I’ll be in bed soon, anyway.” She winks suggestively at me, and I say my goodbyes and take Logan’s hand.
“Where are we going?”
“I got you a seat.”
“Yeah? How’d you manage that?”
“Your sister, actually. Apparently she and Tommy had a falling out, and he thought now was a good time to call it quits.”
“Huh.”
I don’t push for details. Logan is already steering me through the crowd, and anyway, I’m not sure I want to know. I knew Pearl was just biding her time with Tommy, but I can’t help think her sudden change in relationship status has something to do with the way Logan is squeezing my hand.
He seems unconcerned about it as I follow him across the room.
A silver-haired man in a tuxedo stops him to talk about an article his father published in the New England Journal of Medicine.
Someone else shakes his hand over a recent case, something about a mitral valve.
This room is full of doctors, a few surgeons and nurses, but apparently Logan is something of a celebrity in their field.
He smiles, shakes hands, knows exactly what to say. Nobody introduces themselves to me or asks me questions. Half these people probably don’t know Roger has two daughters. I drift a half-step behind him and pull at the hem of my size twelve thrift-store dress.
Logan is oblivious to my discomfort, but eventually steers us back toward the table. My palms are damp with nerves by the time we get there, seeing two empty seats, Pearl parked between them.
“Pearl, do you mind?” Logan asks politely. She grits her teeth, lifts her napkin, dabs the corners of her mouth, and then turns to us with an enormous smile.
“Of course not. Rose, so glad you could join us. How are you holding up? How’s Marnie? I’ve barely had a chance to say two words to her—wedding duties, you know how it is.” Pearl shifts into the empty seat beside her as servers move in around us, clearing plates.
“She’s enjoying herself. And thank you for the seat,” I say, though she’s already turned her attention to Logan, leaning toward him like I’m a piece of furniture stuck between them.
I’ve never known what to do with Pearl when she’s doing her whole polished, fake-nice routine. I prefer the real version—she might be a massive bitch, but at least then she’s honest. So it’s just as well that she ignores me.
Beside Dash, a woman I don’t recognize tries to help stack dishes, and the servers tease her and tell her to relax and enjoy herself.
Logan’s hand rests on the back of my chair.
Every one of his friends clocks it, but nobody says anything.
They carry on talking, and I don’t join in.
His words from earlier are still running through my head—that he wants this to go somewhere after we leave.
This isn’t just vacation sex. I didn’t know what to say when he told me that. I still don’t.
He actually wants this. With me. I think I do too.
I just don’t know what we do about everything else, how to trust that he won’t keep putting my sister first. Every time I tried to tell him something real about her, he shut it down.
He takes her side, trusts her version of events, asked me more than once not to bring her up.
Defended her, even when I told him she straight-up lied about so many things. He just… didn’t want to hear it.
She’s in love with him, and I always wondered if he wasn’t a little in love with her, too. He told me she was like a sister, but I don’t know.
Without Tommy here, Pearl’s full attention is on Logan. Every word out of Logan’s mouth, she’s leaning in, laughing a half-second ahead of the rest of the table. Her fingers trail to her collarbone, to the neckline of that low-cut dress—the same one from the sexy picture she sent to him.
He said nothing has ever happened between them. I’m supposed to trust his word, even though he doesn’t trust mine.
“Something to drink?” A server appears at my elbow. “Dessert this evening is a chocolate panna cotta with basil and mint.”
“Oh, that sounds amazing. I guess, a glass of red? Merlot, if you have it?”
Under the table, Logan’s hand settles on my thigh. It’s comforting amidst my spiraling thoughts. I put mine over his, feeling like a teenager, the way my heart flutters when he touches me.
Reign, Harlow, and Griffin keep talking, though their eyes keep sliding over to me.
Across the table, Dash has forgotten the rest of us exist—Sunshine, his date, is gesturing broadly, laughing with her whole face, and he’s watching her like she’s the only person in the room.
This isn’t the Dash I’m familiar with. Then again, neither is Logan. Maybe it’s something in the air.
“So, Rose, Logan told us about the crash. I’m sorry you got hurt,” Harlow says, gesturing toward my forehead. “That must have been scary.”
“Oh. Yeah. Crazy, right? It could have been a lot worse, though.”
“So, you two were stuck together for what, like three days? What was that like?” Griffin leans back, whiskey in hand, a knowing, mischievous grin spreading across his face.
I feel the heat climb up my neck. “It was mostly a lot of driving and bickering.”
“It’s funny how you two bicker so much, considering you barely know each other.” He swirls his glass, eyes cutting to Logan, then back to me. “You know what they say about couples who fight?”
“Griff,” Logan growls.
“I’m just saying, all that heat, all that back and forth—”
“Griffin.”
“Yeah?”
“Be quiet.”
“Sure thing,” he chuckles, dimples carving into his cheeks as he lifts his whiskey. My wine arrives then, and I take a long, much-needed sip, trying not to think about how right Griffin is.
“That suit fits you perfectly, Logan. I’m so glad you finally called my tailor.” Pearl leans forward slightly to address him across me. “Isn’t she just the best?”
“She is. Thank you again.”
“So much better than that man near Daddy’s office. Do you remember him?” She laughs, touching her throat. “You called me in a complete panic—he’d split the pants you were wearing and you needed me to run you a new pair. You were so helpless.” She shakes her head fondly.
Logan chuckles awkwardly. “Yeah. That was something.”
Pearl smiles and reaches past me for her wine.
I’ve seen them together a handful of times.
She talks about him as if he were her best friend in the world.
So I don’t know what to make of the way he’s acting right now—stiff, like she’s someone he just met.
Maybe it’s because I’m here. Maybe he doesn’t know how to be around her with me sitting between them. I’m probably reading into it.
I cut into the panna cotta. Logan eats left-handed, his right staying put on my thigh. I don’t know what I thought would happen, but it wasn’t this—him folding me into his world like it’s the most natural thing, in front of everyone.
He wants to keep this going. He asked if I trusted him. He keeps touching me, drawing me into the conversation when I go quiet.
It’s still a lot.
Pearl, beside me, is behaving herself, which almost makes it worse. Their friends are warm in a way they’ve never bothered to be before, and I feel a low, quiet irritation at how easy it is for them now that Logan has declared it’s okay to be nice to me.
“Have you seen your dad since this afternoon?” Logan asks beside me.
“No. We’re meeting for breakfast tomorrow, before everything starts.”
“Breakfast is already planned,” Pearl interjects. I turn to her. Her mouth is set, expression ironed smooth. She’s been perfecting that angelic, innocent look since we were kids.
It never mattered how sharp her words were. With that face, she got away with everything.
“Right, he mentioned,” I say carefully. “I was going to join him.”
“Well, unfortunately, the guest list is already—”
“Pearl, she’s your sister. And Roger’s daughter. Shouldn’t she already be on the guest list?” Logan asks evenly. I’m not used to people defending me around her.