Chapter 24
TARA
As the Spencers' week in Mountain Springs winds down, I’ve been taking extra shifts at Luzia. More shifts mean less time for awkward family events, fewer stolen glances across crowded rooms, and way more tips.
It’s a win-win.
There’s just one last thing standing between me and freedom—brunch. One final, perfectly arranged Spencer gathering where I’ll play the role of devoted fake girlfriend one last time. After that?
It’s over. Done.
Squashed like a tiny, insignificant bug.
Good.
Because I can’t do this anymore. The other night was a mistake.
Okay, fine, we’ve made a few mistakes. But that was the last one. It has to be.
We are not right for each other.
We are not right for each other.
I repeat it like a mantra, trying to make myself believe it. Because after tomorrow, we’ll go back to what we were before—barely friends, semi distant acquaintances, just a footnote in each other’s lives.
It’s better this way.
It’s definitely better this way.
But when I close my eyes, all I can see is Alfie on his knees, mouth between my thighs, wrecking me like it is his only purpose.
I’m wiping down glasses when I catch Becky’s sharp intake of breath. “Oh no.”
I follow her gaze and my stomach drops. Drake leads the parade guiding a little group to the best table in the house. Mrs. Spencer, perfectly dressed in an outfit that makes me a little envious, Lisa hanging on Drake’s arm, and Marcie.
Of course, they brought Marcie.
She looks stunning, obviously.
Alfie appears last, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. When our eyes meet, his expression is almost apologetic.
Earlier today, after we agreed to stop fake dating, he told me they were leaving tomorrow. That we wouldn’t have to pretend again.
We may have also had freakin’ mind-blowing sex before that—sex I still can’t stop thinking about.
“I’ve got this section,” Becky says quickly. “You take bar tonight.”
“No.”
James materializes beside us, making me jump. “Tara will handle the VIP section. Including our special guests.”
“James, please—”
“Is there a problem?” His smile is all sharp edges, nothing friendly about it. “Surely you can handle serving your boyfriend’s family?”
The way he says boyfriend makes my skin crawl.
Across the room, Alfie is watching. His jaw is tight, shoulders tense—like he’s barely holding himself back.
“I can take it.” Becky tries again.
“I said Tara.” James’ voice leaves no room for argument. “They specifically requested our best table. Let’s show them our best service.” Becky clicks her tongue at both the rejection and the insult. Her face is furious and I jump in before she says something stupid.
“It’s fine Becks, I got this.”
She searches my face for a moment before shooting a final glare at James and walking away.
Alfie breaks away from his family, approaching the bar. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “They thought it would be amusing. I tried to talk them out of it.”
“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. Nothing about this is fine.
“Tara,” James calls, “they’re waiting.”
I grab my notepad, straightening my shoulders. I can do this. I’ve handled worse.
“Remember your training,” James adds with that smile I’m starting to hate. “VIP customers deserve special attention.”
Alfie’s jaw clenches, but he keeps his promise. Doesn’t intervene. Just watches me walk toward his family.
“Welcome to Luzia,” I say, impressed by how steady my voice sounds. “What can I get you tonight?”
Drake’s smile is all teeth. “Well, if it isn’t our favorite bartender. Tell me, what do you recommend for celebrating…new beginnings?”
They all laugh like Drake’s just told the most hilarious joke. Even Lisa, who usually can’t be bothered to show genuine emotion, throws her head back in amusement.
“It’s just too perfect,” Lisa trills. “Our little bartender.”
I force my lips into something resembling a smile, gripping my notepad so hard my knuckles turn white.
“Sweetie”—Mrs. Spencer waves her manicured hand—“I’ll have a dirty martini. You do know how to make those properly, don’t you?”
“Mother.” Alfie’s voice carries a warning.
“What? I’m simply ensuring we get proper service. Oh! And I am so happy you’re feeling better. Nasty, that food poisoning is.” Her smile is razor-sharp.
“Tell me, Tara, what would you do for a good tip?” Drake drawls, thumbing through his wallet—thick with cash. “Though I suppose we could always tip extra for... special attention.”
“Drake, stop fucking around.” Alfie’s voice is deadly quiet now.
“Language, darling,” Mrs. Spencer cuts in smoothly. “We wouldn’t want to cause a scene. Not here. Not in such a... public venue.”
The threat in her voice is unmistakable. I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat won’t go away. My eyes burn.
The others place their orders without another cruel comment, thankfully.
“I’ll get your drinks,” I manage, turning before they can see the tears threatening to fall.
I make it halfway to the bathroom before the first tear escapes. Stupid. I’m being stupid. They’re just words. Just people being awful because they can be.
I push open the bathroom door and freeze.
Marcie stands at the mirror, reapplying her lipstick with perfect precision.
“Oh,” she says softly, “it’s you.”
Marcie Bollingdon. Perfect. Beautiful. Everything a Spencer should want.
“It’s me.” I snap, ducking into a stall before she can see the tears. I sit on the closed toilet lid, trying to breathe through the anger and hurt churning in my stomach.
I hear the door shut and let out a shaky breath, thinking she’s gone. But when I emerge, she’s still there, watching me with something like sympathy in her perfect face.
“Is everything okay?”
The gentleness in her voice breaks something in me. The tears I’ve been fighting start falling and don’t stop.
“Oh, honey.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I feel horrible for every mean thought I’ve ever had about her. She’s been nothing but nice, and here I am, sobbing all over her probably very expensive blouse. That I would absolutely love to steal.
“I'm sorry about Alfie,” I choke out between sniffles. “I know everyone wants you two together and—”
She laughs softly, shaking her head. “Honey, you being with Alfie is the best thing that could have happened to me.”
I pull back to look at her. “What?”
“You know what I admire about you? You walk into this world that terrifies me, that I've spent my whole life trying to please, and you don’t change a single thing about yourself. Not your clothes, not your laugh, not your passion. Do you know how rare that is?” I pull back to look at her.
“You’re just so…so you!” I can’t help but smile. “And I wish I could be brave enough to be me.” She gives me a sad smile.
She glances around, checking under the stalls. When she's sure we're alone, she says quietly, “I’m not into him. Or any guy.”
Oh. Oh.
“God, I’m so sorry for assuming! Everyone kept talking about you two, and I just...”
She waves it off. “Don’t worry about it. Actually, it’s been such a relief having you around. Takes the pressure off for once.” She fiddles with her bracelet. “I haven’t told my parents yet. Or anyone in the families. It’s... complicated.”
I nod, understanding hitting me hard. All those comments about suitable matches, family expectations, they must feel like a noose around her neck.
“But”—she shifts on her feet, looking younger, more vulnerable—“I was wondering if you knew... that other bartender? The one with the curls? Is she...”
“Becky?” I’m actually not sure about her preferences. “I can find out for you.”
She hugs me tight. “Whatever’s going on out there? Don’t let them get to you. They’re all bark and no bite.”
“Thank you.” And I mean it.
The words settle something in me I didn't know was unsettled. Maybe she's right. Maybe not fitting in isn't a weakness after all.
We go back into the bar together and I serve the Spencers with my head held high.
Drake makes another comment about my “service industry career path.” But this time, his words don't land quite as hard. I catch Marcie's eye and we share a secret smile - two different kinds of strength, recognizing each other.
The bar is winding down when Mrs. Spencer appears, poised and calculated.
I meet her gaze without hesitation, the same defiance that simmered in me when I learned the truth about my dad—the lie my family had crafted to protect my so-called “delicate personality.”
“Mrs. Spencer,” I say, setting the glass down, turning to face her head-on. “Is there something you need?”
She smiles—polite, practiced. “I’m curious about your decision, Tara. You haven’t responded to my email.”
“I considered it,” I reply, voice steady. “And I decided that I won’t be accepting your offer.”
Her expression doesn’t falter, but I see the flicker of surprise in her eyes. “I thought you wanted a career in this field.”
“I do,” I say. “But not one that comes with strings.” I’ve spent enough of my life being manipulated by people who think they know what’s best for me.
“Disappointing. You seemed ambitious. Guess I was wrong.”
I straighten, refusing to let her words sink in. “I am. But ambition doesn’t mean letting someone else dictate my future.”
Her expression shifts—subtle, but there—a crack in her armor. “This is a significant opportunity. I assumed you were mature enough to recognize that.”
And there it is—the dig. The implication that I’m too na?ve, too inexperienced to understand. Just like my family decided I was too delicate to know the truth about my father. Just like Liam decided I needed shaping, controlling.
“I do recognize it,” I say, voice unwavering, “and I’m not interested.”
Mrs. Spencer’s lips press into a thin line. “Is this about Alfie? Are you really willing to jeopardize your future over a fling?”
I exhale, a shaky laugh escaping before I can stop it. “This has nothing to do with Alfie. This is about me. About my choices.”
She studies me, probably calculating, weighing her next move.
But I’m done being calculated. Done being weighed.