Chapter 40 Game Face – Rhodes
GAME FACE
RHODES
I might not have had a great game face while I was growing up, but I’d perfected it later in life. It was the one saving grace I had that evening, faced with the wedding rehearsal dinner from hell.
Of course, it was hell only in my mind. The ballroom was decorated beautifully, with fresh flowers, candles, and an enormous crystal chandelier sparkling above. The guests were dressed in crisp suits and flowing gowns. If I were in less of a hellish mood, I might appreciate it.
But that wasn’t the case.
I didn’t know where Rory was. I wondered if she was going to hide in her room all night.
But I fake-smiled, shaking hands and greeting guests that I had zero interest in speaking with.
I made excuses for my bride to be. “You know how women are,” I said, as if I had a clue.
“She’s still getting dressed.” Fuck. I was so over all of this, I needed a new word for over.
I wasn’t the only one in a dour mood. Cousin Andrew stood at the bar, frowning at his martini. I approached him with my regular trepidation. “Why the long face, Andrew?”
“Oh. Hello there.” He shrugged. “I was just thinking about the wedding tomorrow.”
“Ah. And it’s giving you angst?”
Andrew scowled. “I’m getting tired of having my plus-one be a martini.”
“Well, consider the upside: a martini doesn’t require a pre-nup.” Andrew’s most recent divorce had cost him a fortune.
“True, but with everything that’s happened, I’ve been thinking.” His scowl deepened. “Life is short—look at what happened to your father and your poor brother. I don’t want to spend the rest of my time alone.”
He leveled me with a stare. “And now even you found someone.”
I arched my eyebrows. “Is it really that unfathomable?”
“Yes. It is.” It was the first time in maybe forever that he seemed authentic, something other than his typical blowhard, half-drunk, grabby Cousin Andrew self.
“Why’s that? Am I so unlovable?” My tone was joking, but real curiosity twinged inside me.
“No, but you’ve been an island unto yourself for as long as I can remember.” Andrew scratched his head. “My first wife told me I needed to go to therapy. She said otherwise, I was going to die all alone.”
“That’s harsh.”
“She was harsh. But maybe she was onto something,” he mused.
I turned around, leaning back on the bar and surveying the party. The well-dressed guests were smiling, socializing, enjoying the gorgeous atmosphere, and their handcrafted cocktails. They were all here for me, for the Barrington celebration, but… I didn’t care about any of them.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Rory, hesitating by the entrance. She was a vision in violet silk, her hair hanging in loose waves over her shoulders. My heart leaped.
I didn’t care about any of them but her.
“See? That’s it right there,” Cousin Andrew said, pointing at me. “The look on your face when you see her. That’s what I want.” He put his martini back on the bar, as if dismissing it. “Life is too short. I’ll have some of that, please.”
I glanced at him. “You know if you ever check her ass out again, I will end you.”
“Exactly.” He nodded. “You’re proving my point. I want to feel like that about someone.”
Something quite unusual happened, then: I smiled at him. “Good for you, Andrew. Every journey starts with a single step.”
With that, I left my cousin at the bar and took a step toward Rory. At the sight of her, my darkness started to subside a little.
When she caught my gaze, worry crept into her eyes. Fuck. She’s still upset. But I went to her anyway. Not because everyone was staring at us, though they were.
I went to her because she was the only person I wanted to stand next to.
“Good evening.” I bent and chastely kissed her cheek. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you.” She smiled tentatively up at me. “Philips did it. He’s really something with a curling iron.”
“I’ll have to compliment him.” I took her arm. “There are people here—lots of them. We need to mingle, unfortunately.”
She nodded. “I know. That’s what we’re here for.”
Her tone gave nothing away. Her expression was frustratingly neutral.
I needed to clear the air. “I’m sorry about the scene with Gigi earlier.”
Rory looked around nervously. “Is she here?”
“No, thankfully. I had Philips serve her several bottles of Veuve, and no one’s seen her since.”
She nodded. “That’s good. I talked to Maria a little while ago. She said Luke took a long nap, which isn’t normal for him. I’m sure he needed a break after what happened.”
“Of course he did. And I’m sorry that I didn’t handle it well—”
“You handled it, which is the important thing.” Rory nodded. She was so damn beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. “Both Gigi and my mother are nuisances, but we managed them.”
She squared her shoulders and looked out at the vast crowd, taking a deep breath. “Do you want to get this over as much as I do?“
I straightened my shoulders, too. “Absofuckinglutely.”
I deposited Rory at my suite at the end of the too-long night.
We’d survived round after round of smiling, discussing our origin story, lying about Rory‘s background, and saying how excited we were for the wedding. Once dinner ended, we snuck out undetected. Abigail Furst was not able to make newlywed jokes, at least not in front of us; I couldn’t have borne it.
Rory stayed by my side all evening, but her mood was unreadable. She wasn’t outwardly cold, but she wasn’t warm, either. The easy camaraderie we’d shared seemed broken. It felt as though I’d lost her even though she was right next to me.
“I’m going to be old-fashioned and suggest we don’t share a room tonight,” I said outside the door. “I don’t want to see you before the ceremony tomorrow and jinx things.”
She nodded slowly, as if perhaps she’d been expecting this.“If that’s what you want, fine. As long as you think it looks okay.”
I tried to mask the disappointment rising inside of me. She was perfectly agreeable. She wasn’t rocking the boat. I had no idea what she was thinking. “I’m actually less concerned with appearances than I am with tradition.”
Rory raised her eyebrows. “Really? You’re superstitious?”
“I never have been before.” I shrugged. “But maybe it’s not a bad time to start paying better attention.”
“Because you really don’t want to jinx things?”
I caught a glimmer of something in her expression—hopefulness?— but she slid her mask back into place before I could decipher it.
“Because we need all the luck we can get.”
“Fair.” She finally smiled. “I’m going to turn in. I’ll see you at the ceremony, Rhodes.”
“See you at the ceremony, Rory.”
We sounded like business partners. Which we were.
Fuck.
I headed to my guest suite with an odd mix of emotions. On the one hand, I was mentally holding my breath, steeling myself. Rory had neither been warm nor open with me during dinner. She was composed, staged, and appropriate.
But on the other hand, I felt an unreasonable spark of hope. I didn’t know how Rory felt, but I noticed a change in myself.
I’d done so very many things wrong in my life. Professionally, I was about to take over Barrington Enterprises to actualize my greatest ambition. But my personal life was still a desert, barren and downright inhospitable to growth.
Rory was an oasis. The feelings she’d stoked in me might be perilous—her very goodness might be a mirage. And she might have decided I wasn’t worth falling for.
But for once, I was going to take a risk.
I’ll have some of that, Cousin Andrew said.
I’ll have what he’s having. It was right in front of me, even though I might have messed it up for good.
There was only one way to find out.
I closed my door, stripped out of my suit, and turned on the television. Then I fired off a quick text to Rory.
It’s Game 3. We’re up 2-0.
I already have it on.
I’m sorry about a lot of things.
Not the least of which is that you’re a Mets fan.
She didn’t respond for a full minute. And then:
Well, I am. So is my Grammy.
Being a Mets fan actually taught me a lot.
We know we aren’t defeated when we lose. It’s when we stop trying!
So take that, Evil Empire.
I read her text once. Twice. Three times.
Then I turned off the television and the light.
The sooner I got to sleep, the sooner it would be tomorrow.