Chapter Sixteen #2
The pile only adds to the general sense of disarray in the room. Shoes are flung everywhere, underwear litters the floor, and several pictures of Roland are scattered on the carpet—the ones still on the wall have been arranged into a heart shape over the windows.
“Is this a menstrual audit?” Philippa asks as she walks into the room with Chloe.
While they’re occupied, I hurry to my suitcase, pull the burner phone out, and stick it in the front pocket of my jeans. I dump my own supply of sanitary products onto the pile for good measure.
“They’re back!” Chloe squeals from beside the windows, and we rush to look out.
Through the center of the Roland-outlined heart, I see a convoy of cars pulling up the mansion’s driveway.
It’s like the first night all over again, but instead of drunk women, producers spill out like ants, then Roland and Addison, clinging to each other, giddy and laughing through the rain.
At the sound of the SUV doors slamming shut, the room quiets for a second, but then Olie rips open her shirt, buttons flying in all directions. “NAKED POOL PARTY!”
“Pool party in the rain!” Nina shouts.
From a bunk in the far corner, Monica says, “What’s going on?”
“You want to come?” Olie walks over to her bunk and peers down at her. “We’re going to get naked and swim in the rain.”
Monica laughs. “No thanks. I can’t risk a naked picture of me getting out.”
“Oh,” Chloe says quietly. “Maybe I shouldn’t either. The PTA moms at my school can be so judgy.”
“Come on,” Philippa wheedles, poking Chloe in the side. “No one’s going to take a picture, and the power’s all out, so there’s no cameras.”
Leaving Monica on her bunk, Olie grabs an armful of tampons and sprints from the room. The others follow cautiously, but I hang back for a minute and wander over to Monica’s bed.
“Do you need anything?”
She’s facing the wall, but flops onto her back to look up at me. “I just thought this would be easier.”
I blink at her in surprise. Our relationship hasn’t been antagonistic like with Addison, but we’ve hardly spoken.
“Me too,” I say, then push a little further. “Did anything happen?”
She bites her lip and tugs her pillow from under her head, her black hair fanning out on the mattress. Hugging her pillow to her chest, she says, “I’m really fucking good at tennis.”
I let out an involuntary laugh. “Hell yeah.”
She smiles a little. “What I mean is that it’s something I know, I’m really good at it, and I’ve been doing it for so long that I can’t imagine doing anything else.
If I have trouble with something, I train twenty-four seven until I’m the best at it.
But I can’t do that here. It’s like every time I mess up, they want to pick me apart—hang me out to dry.
And I can’t train to make myself better.
Like with my…” She pauses, unsure if she should go on, but then she does.
“I take medication for my anxiety, and when the producers found out it was like this dirty thing. I’ve never felt ashamed before, but…
” She breaks off, tears sparkling in her bright eyes.
I sink onto the edge of her bed and nod. “I know what you mean. Not about the tennis thing obviously. I suck at sports.” She laughs a little. “But the producers are ruthless. For what it’s worth, I think it just makes you seem stronger—being a real person.”
“Thanks, Georgia. I’m really glad Addison didn’t kill you on your date.” She winks at me, and I smile, but I’m also a tiny bit insulted. Did everyone think I was a goner? “Now go enjoy the pool party,” she says.
I leave her on her bed and head downstairs, where I find the others huddled around the bar, which Kevin seems to have abandoned.
Olie is rifling through the cupboards. She straightens up, her shirt hanging open, with several dozen tampons stuffed into her bra.
She holds out a bottle of tequila to me. “Georgia?” she says around the stem of a maraschino cherry. I hesitate, then take it and press it to my lips.
After Nina and Philippa both take double shots of the tequila, Olie downs about a fourth of the bottle and starts taking off the rest of her clothes.
“Where do you guys think Roland is right now?” Chloe asks, dreamily unbuttoning her shirt.
“No!” Nina shrieks, rounding on her. Chloe looks startled but stops talking. “No Roland talk,” Nina says. “Sorry, I just … if another person asks me how much I love him, I’m going to fucking explode.”
The real question is where Addison is right now—and I have a feeling that wherever she is, Roland is too. But none of the others seem to be wondering about her.
“Bet he’s doing strength training,” Olie says, oblivious to Nina’s outburst. “He’s gotta train extra hard for Wimbledon—you know, with his bad knee.”
Nina gapes at her.
“What?” Olie asks innocently, her huge eyes twinkling. “We talk.”
Nina smirks and keeps undressing. “I think we better watch out for you, Olie.”
“Sorry,” Olie says, cheeks coloring.
“Don’t be.” Nina smiles at her. “I’m happy for you.”
Olie leads us outside and wastes no time jumping in the pool, followed by the others. The rain has stopped, leaving a muggy heat in the air.
I wrinkle my nose at the pool full of women. “This is such a good way to transmit diseases.”
“Which none of us have!” Philippa shrieks gleefully. “The producers made sure of that. Come on, Georgia, get in!”
Her words are punctuated by a loud splash as Nina, newly nude, jumps in beside Johnna, who winces as water splashes onto her pixie cut.
Not that we’ve talked much, but I wouldn’t have pegged Johnna as the naked-pool-party type.
She and Mara, a divorce attorney currently clinging to a pink pool floatie, have mostly kept to themselves.
What the hell. If a badass attorney can do it, so can I. I pull my top over my head and shimmy out of my jeans, dropping them onto a chair and kicking off my sandals. I’ve just peeled off my underwear when I hear a voice behind me.
“What the—”
Rhett doesn’t finish his sentence before I turn around, shriek loudly, and fling myself backward into the pool, where I collide with Nina. But I only have eyes for Rhett. Rhett who is now standing, fully clothed, poolside. He’s soaking wet, his black shirt sticking to his skin.
“Come on, Rhett, join us!” Olie yells, splashing merrily.
A catcall whistles through the air, and I look around to find Mara waving at Rhett. Someone’s really come out of her shell.
Rhett cocks an eyebrow at her, then his gaze finds me and the eyebrow hitches higher. I shrug as if to say, Can’t handle it? Keeping his eyes stoically on my face, he swallows, jaw tensing.
“Thanks, but not today, ladies,” he says. Then he turns on his heel and walks away.
“Isn’t he fiiine,” Mara sighs.
Olie cackles. “In your dreams, Mara. In your dreams.”
Rhett is almost out of sight inside the shadowy mansion. Ignoring Olie and Mara, I hoist myself out of the pool, grab a fluffy white towel, and wrap it tightly around myself. Maybe I don’t need Serena to find dirt on Rhett. Maybe I can find it all on my own.
“Bathroom,” I mutter, but no one except Olie, who salutes me, is listening. I stop to grab my clothes and sandals, and then tiptoe inside.
Rhett has split off toward his wing of the mansion.
Glancing behind me, I follow carefully, feet light on the cool stone floors.
I peek around the corner of a long hallway; the door at the end has been left ajar.
I sneak forward, listening hard. But the sounds I hear are coming from the other end of the hall, the way I just came.
My heart leaps into my throat and I turn.
Rhett must’ve gone a different way, because his footsteps are coming toward me. And he’s not alone.
“—a total disaster,” Lainey says. “You should’ve seen it.”
Heart beating fast, I look from the hallway to the door and make a split-second decision. Before they can see me, I push the door open and close it hastily behind me.
I seem to be in a suite. A freshly pressed suit hangs on the closet door, and men’s toiletries are strewn across the bathroom vanity. My eyes bulge at the open guitar case on the floor.
Rhett and Lainey’s voices get louder on the other side of the door.
I sprint into the bedroom and search frantically for somewhere to hide.
The door to the suite opens. I consider the closet, but what if he needs to grab something in there?
And the huge sliding doors leading to the deck might make noise if I open them.
There’s nothing else for it, so I throw myself onto the floor and wriggle under the bed, the towel the only thing between my naked body and the carpet.