Chapter Forty-Two
Phoebe
Jake. Jake. Must. Find. Jake.
And thoroughly break up with Jake.
Unfortunately, I was going to call in sick to work like Hailey, but Chelsea begged me for the extra hands since half the staff are no-shows and likely nursing hangovers from Halloween parties last night.
Two birds, one stone: I told Jake to meet me at the country club.
I’m an hour into my shift, and I haven’t seen any sign of the Konings’ third heir. I’m antsy as a lady with pearl earrings peruses the drink menu, keeping me hostage.
“I’ll give you a minu—”
“No, no, no,” she refutes with the wave of a hand. “I just about have it.”
She does not.
Patience. I inhale a little breath and remember Ms. O’Neil is a sweet older woman who spends most of her time doing crossword puzzles. I’m being prickly, and she doesn’t deserve that.
“Can I help make it easier?” I ask her. “What are you looking for?”
“That drink.”
This time, her vagueness makes me smile. “A tea? A spirit? A soda—”
“It’s a soda.”
Great. One step forward. I try to subtly scan the dining room for Jake. It’s packed this afternoon, nearly every chair occupied, and Chelsea is practically sprinting from table to table.
“My daughter was talking about it yesterday. It’s new.”
“Pepsi? Coke? Fizz?”
“Fizz!” She catches my wrist, remembering. “That’s right. It’s called Fizz Life.”
I frown. What? “Uhh, I know we have a lot of Fizzle products stocked, but I’m not sure if I’ve heard of Fizz Life.”
“It’s new,” she assures me, letting go. “My daughter said it’s healthier than the diet stuff. I’ll take one of those.”
“Okay, I’ll check to see if we have it.” Doubtful. “Can I get you anything if we don’t?”
“Just the Fizz Life, dear.”
All righty then.
With this, I spin on my heel, and what do you know—Jake is leaning against the dining room bar and chatting with Katherine, of all people.
At least he’s here.
At least he’s right next to the bar where I need to be.
Without wasting another second, I hightail my ass to the bar, and as I approach, Katherine air-kisses his cheeks in a polite goodbye. She side-eyes me on her way out, and it’s disturbingly familiar to Jake’s side-eyes.
I let it go and try not to come in super hot. “Do you know anything about Fizz Life?” I ask him, resting an elbow on the bar like him.
His brows crinkle. “You mean Diet Fizz?”
“Nooo, Ms. O’Neil was adamant there’s a drink called Fizz Life and that we have it.”
Jake takes out his cell. “I’ll look it up.”
So I think we should break up, like, today. Now. Right now. That shouldn’t be a tough request considering our breakup fell through yesterday.
I’m nervous about his reply since he seemed... relieved when I left the pool party last night and our fake relationship was still intact.
“She said it’s new,” I tell him.
He scrolls on his phone. “It’s an aspartame-free soda.”
Holy shit. “It exists?” I peek at his phone. He’s reading a news article.
“It’s not being unveiled until January,” he explains. “She must’ve heard about it through her social circles.”
“So we don’t have it,” I realize.
He pockets his phone. “No. Not unless you have a time machine.”
Dammit. I round the bar and open the fridge. Grabbing an ice-cold Diet Fizz, I pop the can, but before I pour the drink into a glass, I stop myself.
She won’t know the difference. It’s not like she’s ever tasted Fizz Life.
The deceit sits more strangely. After Hailey brought me here for a reason, after the doubt surrounding our parents and what they could’ve done, I realize I still want to try and live a more honest life.
For myself, this time.
I set the soda down.
That also means ending my fake relationship. “Jake.” I face him across the bar.
“Yeah?”
I motion him closer, and as he stretches over the bar, women in the club seem to watch us with rapt fascination, as though Jake and I are sharing flirty secrets in the corner. My face burns. Thankfully, we’ve yet to share a fake kiss to establish credibility. I’m very glad we’re ending things before taking the next physical step in this pretend relationship.
“We need to wrap this up. You and me,” I say in a hushed breath. “Like, now. You can yell at me, storm away—I don’t care. We just need to rip off the Band-Aid.”
Jake tenses. “About that...”
I read the hard lines of his face. “No, we’re not delaying—”
“I just need this to go on for another month.”
“A month?” I try not to yell. My heart is skipping beats. “Jake—”
“The family dinner, Phoebe.” Urgency is all over my name. “You don’t understand. I really need you there for that.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “If I don’t bring you, my mom will invite Mrs. Kelsey’s daughter, Julia, as my date. That’s her plan, as of right now. She blatantly told me this morning.”
I’ve met Julia at an afternoon tea. Best part: the teeny-tiny cucumber sandwiches. That I didn’t have to pay for—thank you, Mrs. Kelsey. What I learned: Julia is shy and lets her mother do most of the talking. His fears aren’t exactly unwarranted. I can see Julia being overly agreeable to Claudia’s requests and demands, but I don’t even know exactly what those are.
It’s not like I’ve had a formal sit-down with Claudia. She treats me like a literal skunk, not just an outsider with the cutesy (slightly demeaning) town nickname.
I frown. “If this is just about Julia, you could warn her—tell her don’t come.”
He lets out a laugh like that’s an impossible ask. “I warn her, but her mother pushes her to go. Who do you think she’ll listen to?” His blue eyes cradle my gaze with tenderness. “I’d rather you come with me. We’re already together.”
Fuck, fuck. “We were supposed to break up last night,” I whisper, careful of the watchful eyes around us.
“But we didn’t. Everyone believes we’re still a couple, and let’s let them.” He adds earnestly, “Julia is only twenty-two. She’s never been around my brothers—”
“Neither have I,” I cut in. And I’m only two years older.
“If you can handle your ex, you can handle them.” He has the utmost confidence in me, but it’s mildly disturbing that he’s comparing Rocky to his brothers. He places a comforting hand to my wrist, and his touch should feel heavy, burdensome—but it’s become familiar and reassuring.
Still, I waver.
He sees. “It doesn’t have to be forever.”
“Jake—”
“Please. Just a couple more months.”
“Now it’s two more months?”
“One month,” he amends fast. “One month.”
I shake my head. “I can’t—”
“I’m begging you here—”
“I can’t.”
“Please—”
“I’m with Rocky,” I whisper-hiss, and my face is on fire. This is not how I wanted to tell anyone my real relationship status, and I can’t believe Jake—of all freaking people—is the first to know the truth.
His face freezes. “You’re back with your ex-husband?”
Okay, he also knows some lies.
I nod tensely. “It just happened... recently.”
He’s unenthused, but I never thought he’d throw confetti seeing me reunite with a guy he believes is bad for me. Plus, I think he really hoped I’d get over Rocky by dating him.
I clear my throat, adding, “And if you want our fake relationship to extend past five minutes from now, I need to call him.” I can’t let this go on without Rocky knowing. If our positions were reversed, I’d be crushed.
Jake takes a tense breath. “Let me talk to him.”
“Fine,” I say. “You talk to him...” My voice tapers off as a slender fortysomething woman dripping in Chanel approaches the bar.
Stella Fitzpatrick. She’s the kind of person who demands attention when requested. Her son, Archer, a professor at Caufield, was at the boathouse party months ago.
I think she’s headed for Jake, but she zeroes in on me. She must want a drink.
I’m about to ask what I can get her.
“Phoebe, sweets.”
Sweets?
She’s only ever called me you and hey. Even after I started dating Jake. It’s no secret she’s Claudia’s best friend and firmly against me dating a Koning boy.
“Yes?” I say, hoping this’ll be a quick flyby for her.
“I need to chat alone with you for a moment. Jake won’t mind if I steal you for a bit.”
Jake starts, “Actually—”
“Oh please.” She swats him with a playful smile laced with arsenic. “It’ll only be a moment. You can spare your girlfriend that much.”
I detect her slight cringe at the word girlfriend.
Jake turns to me. “You okay with that, babe?”
We really are prolonging this another minute, aren’t we? “Yeah. That’s fine.” I’m a teensy bit curious what Stella actually wants, but I’m praying this isn’t a curiosity-killed-the-cat situation.
With reluctance, Jake begins to leave me at the bar with his mother’s friend, but not before he warns Stella, “She’s not an enemy. Remember that much.” He doesn’t offer her the chance to reply.
I’m a little impressed, but then again, I haven’t seen Jake in the upper-crust wild among his brothers and mom before. Maybe he isn’t such easy prey.
As he exits the dining room, I’m hoping he’s taking this opportunity to call Rocky.
Stella examines the bottles behind the bar. Her dark hair is center-parted and slicked behind her ears to flaunt teardrop diamonds. “I’ll take a mimosa.”
Okay. I swallow a snarky retort as I find the carafe of orange juice and bottle of Pommery champagne. “Is that all you wanted?”
“Hardly, sweets.” She rests her rouge Chanel clutch on the bar counter, and I frown, wondering why she’s still pretending to be semi-nice when Jake isn’t here anymore.
“Then what?” I start to whip up her mimosa.
“You’ve made quite the stamp in Victoria.”
She wants me to leave?
She’s going to pay me to break up with Jake?
She’s going to pay me to skip out on Jake and this town?
A handful of theories buzz through my brain, and I say nothing as I splash orange juice over the bubbly champagne.
She examines me, like she’s searching for a crack. “Let me ask you something important, Phoebe.”
“I’m an open book,” I lie, sliding the mimosa over to her.
She neglects the drink. “How much do you care for Grey?”
Grey? My pulse skips; I wasn’t expecting her to surface Rocky. “He’s my ex.”
“That’s not what I asked.” She angles fully toward me, as though blocking out the rest of the dining room. “Your tempestuous relationship with your ex-husband has been the talk of the town for some time now, but even I can see there is love there.”
I have feelings for Jake is the lie I should fling to reinforce our fake relationship. Maybe even, I love Jake. Yet, the words stick cruelly and painfully to the back of my throat.
I haven’t said them to Rocky, and I feel sick at the idea of saying them about Jake first. And, of course, she’s wielding Team Grey flags. She’d likely be the largest benefactor of Rocky’s fan club if it meant he’d pry me out of Jake’s clutch.
I’m walking such a strange line right now.
I’ve just started a real relationship with Rocky.
I’m temporarily fake dating Jake.
And I’m not supposed to implode the fake dating scam yet.
“I’ll always care about my ex,” I say. “Jake knows this, and really, my relationships are none of your business.”
“You’re dating a Koning, sweets. If you can’t handle being daily gossip, then you can’t handle being with Jake.” It’s a warning.
“Understood,” I say tightly. “But I can handle everything just fine.”
I mop up a nonexistent spill beside her mimosa.
She pinches the stem of the flute. “There are those of us who feel it’s worth saving.” I don’t understand until she adds, “Your marriage.”
I shift my glare to the wall, not knowing the best way to bail myself out of this sinking ship. Staying quiet is likely the smartest avenue, and so I keep my lips shut.
“What if I told you there’s a way we can help you?” Stella asks, practically oozing over the bar.
“I’m not interested in your help.”
“Don’t be prideful, sweets.” She straightens. “We all need a little help now and then, and you should take ours.”
I don’t ask who “ours” entails. I’m guessing her bestie Claudia is partially behind this ploy. “Again, I’m not—”
“You care for Grey,” she cuts me off. “You likely even love him, but you can’t move beyond the baggage and the past. We can help you. Come.” She waves her fingers at me like I’m a poodle.
“I’m busy.”
“You aren’t. Come.” It’s an order, and from across the dining room, I catch Katherine staking a you better not piss off Stella Fitzpatrick glare at me.
For my job, I obey the command and abandon the bar.
This better be quick.
Sipping her mimosa, she guides me toward the crackling fireplace. “There are people in the business of love, soul mates, fixing marriages, matchmaking—that type of field. I know anyone who’s a big deal, and I only want the best for you, Phoebe.”
“I’m sure you do.”
She hears my dry tone and stops me in the middle of the dining room, a strict hand to my elbow. “Look, I understand why you wouldn’t want to listen to me or even Claudia. But if they truly believe your relationship with Grey is worth rehabilitating, then you should at least listen to them. They’re unbiased and professionals. They’ve likely dealt with worse issues than yours.”
I try not to roll my eyes.
Who the hell did she hire? A freaking prestigious marriage counselor? I cast a glance back at the exit, hoping to see Jake.
No sign of the Koning boy.
Great.
I face forward again, and as two women rise from chairs like larger-than-life figures, my soul leaves my body.
I recognize her honey-blonde hair first. With the fire behind her, she looks ready to take the whole town by storm. Mustard-yellow blazer, matching flared pants, white blouse, and small gold hoop earrings—she could have so easily stepped out of a magazine.
But so could the woman next to her, encased with the same powerful wealth.
White turtleneck, off-white slacks, tortoise glasses, and a fancy taupe leather belt. Her brown hair is tucked behind her ears and flows pin-straight down her back.
Addison.
And my mom, her blonde hair perfectly curled in loose waves, ones I used to run my fingers through as a little girl.
Self-preservation wipes my face of all emotion, even though I know them.
My mom’s radiant, charming smile and dazzling brown eyes dance over me. “Phoebe, is it?”
When Stella introduces them as the professionals, her voice fades like an echo in a tunnel.
They finally found us. I can’t move as I stare deeply at the two women I trusted, I loved—I still sort of love. Thoughts crash against me in searing waves.
Why didn’t you warn us you’d be here?
Why didn’t you loop us into what you’re doing now?
Am I really your daughter?
Did you kidnap all of us?
How can I ever believe anything you say?
Hi, Mom.
“Yes, it’s Phoebe,” I say softly. “Phoebe Smith.”