Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Pippa
-holding out for a hero-
The gin is cool against my lips, the taste sharp and the tonic just the right amount of fizzy, and for a moment, I find myself focusing on the little bubbles inside my glass instead of the man sitting opposite me.
It feels safer somehow, less like I’m being observed back.
Because Rhett, with his easy confidence, his chin dimple, and his eyes that look like they’ve been cut from the world’s brightest emerald, is definitely observing me.
“So,” he says, leaning an elbow on the table, his hand wrapped casually around his glass. “This famous forfeit you mentioned earlier. How did it happen? You don’t strike me as the type who launches herself into public dares lightly.”
My nose wrinkles, and I feel my cheeks start to burn at the memory. “I don’t normally. But alcohol was involved, and alcohol has a way of clouding a person’s judgment.”
He grins, his teeth white and annoyingly perfect. “Aha, the classic blame the booze defense. What kind of drinking game are we talking about? Beer pong? Flip cup? Truth or dare with shots?”
“Truth blitz,” I say, sighing.
“Truth blitz? I’ve never heard of that one,” Rhett says with a slight smile. “I thought I’d played every drinking game going in college.”
“Exactly,” I say. “It’s not a real game. Sandra, one of my so-called best friends, made it up, so naturally, she had an advantage.”
“How did they get you?” Rhett asks, grinning.
“Pretty much like you think it did. We each got to ask the other one questions, and we had to answer honestly. You lost a point for hesitating, lying, or refusing to answer. But like I said, it was Sandra’s game, so she had forever to think up questions to throw me, and I had like five minutes.
Obviously, I lost, so Sandra and Lucy, my other best friend, came up with the forfeit. ”
“Which was?”
“Wearing that stupid dress, walking up to a stranger that they picked out, and asking him on a date. The stranger they chose was you.”
His grin widens. “I’m honored.”
“Don’t be,” I say, shaking my head. “The only reason they pushed me into it is because they’re sick to the eyeballs of hearing me talk about George.”
Rhett lifts an eyebrow. “George?”
“Yeah.” My throat tightens a little, and I take another sip of my drink to cover it. “George is, well, George is my soulmate.”
The words slip out easier than I expect them to, maybe because I’ve said them so many times before. To Sandra. To Lucy. To myself, late at night when I can’t sleep. To anyone who gave the slightest hint that they might listen. And now to an American called Rhett.
Rhett studies me, his expression curious but not mocking. “If he’s your soulmate, why aren’t you with him?”
I let out a small laugh, though it doesn’t sound very convincing. “Because life’s cruel like that. We broke up a few months ago.”
“His idea or yours?”
“His,” I admit, trying not to wince. “He said we’d grown apart, and that he needed space to figure out what he wanted. But I know it’s just a phase. We had… have something special. We are meant to be. I think once he has had enough of ‘space’, he’ll see that too.”
Rhett doesn’t say anything for a beat, and I find myself filling the silence.
“He’s into all this high-cultured stuff like the opera, the theatre, and art galleries. He’s going to see Madame Butterfly this weekend. He posted it on Facebook earlier. I was actually thinking I might, you know, just arrange to be there too.”
“Arrange to be there,” Rhett repeats slowly, as if he’s tasting the words.
I nod my head, suddenly defensive. “Yes. But not in a creepy way. Just in a fate has brought us to the same place kind of way. Just so he can see me again, remind him how good we were together.”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t laugh. Instead, he leans forward slightly, his eyes glinting with something I can’t quite read. “That’s a hell of a coincidence.”
“What is?”
He takes a slow sip of his drink, watching me over the rim of the glass. Then he sets the glass down with a soft thud.
“A client gave me two tickets to see Madame Butterfly on Saturday night. I wasn’t planning on going.” A wicked little grin plays on his lips. “Why don’t we go together? Let’s make George jealous.”
I laugh, but Rhett doesn’t. He just watches me with those amazing eyes. My jaw drops a little bit.
“Wait. You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
The idea sends a rush of adrenaline through me. The image flashes in my mind. Me walking into the opera house with Rhett, and George catching sight of us across the lobby. He’d see that I’ve moved on, or at least that I could move on. He’d realize what he’s lost. He’d want me back.
It’s perfect. Too perfect. Which immediately makes me suspicious.
“What’s the catch?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at Rhett. “You don’t even know me. Why would you offer to help like that unless you want something in return?”
Rhett shrugs, all lazy confidence. “You’re quite right. I do want something in return.”
I knew it. If something sounds too good to be true, it usually is.
He leans back in his chair, one hand running along his jawline.
“I’ve got a clingy ex. She doesn’t seem to understand the concept of it’s over.
She keeps showing up wherever I am. She kept texting me to the point where I had to block her number, and then she started trying to find excuses to talk to me in person. It’s messy.”
A sharp pang shoots through me, unbidden. Is this how George sees me? Clingy. Messy. A nuisance. Unable to let go. I push the thought away almost as quickly as it comes. No. That’s ridiculous. George and I are meant to be together. Rhett’s situation is different.
“What’s her name?”
He hesitates. “Vanessa.”
“I see. So, you want me to what?” I ask carefully. “Beat her up or something?”
“Beat her up? God no,” he says. “How would that help?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“I want you to come with me to a wedding,” he says simply. “She’ll be there, and I need her to see that I’ve moved on. That I’m not available. You’d just have to play the part of my date for the evening, no fighting required. Someone easy on the eye who won’t complicate things with feelings.”
The phrase easy on the eye slips into my ears and warms me before I can stop it. I catch myself smiling and quickly school my expression into something a bit more neutral.
“Easy on the eye, huh? You’ve got the flattery lines down to a pat, I’ll give you that.”
“It’s not flattery. It’s just an observation.”
I roll my eyes, trying not to let my ego puff up like a balloon. He’s just buttering me up. That’s all.
“So,” I say slowly, turning things over in my mind. “If I agree to this, I get to make George jealous at the opera, and in return, I have to pretend to be your girlfriend at a wedding so that your ex gets the message. That about sums it up?”
“Pretty much.”
I tap my finger gently against my glass, thinking it over.
It doesn’t sound like the worst arrangement.
Actually, it sounds mutually beneficial.
And Rhett is easy on the eye and someone I think I could have fun with on our pretend date too, which is nice.
But something in his tone makes me pause before I agree to this.
“There’s a catch, isn’t there?” I ask finally.
His smile spreads, slow and deliberate. “You’re sharp.”
“Well?” I prompt, folding my arms.
“The wedding I want to take you to,” he says, dragging out the words. “It’s in New York.”
My eyes widen. “New York as in America?”
He nods, still smiling. “That’s the one. Don’t worry, it will be an all-expenses-paid trip. Flight, accommodation, the works. You’d get a free trip out of it.”
I laugh, a little incredulous as relief floods me. I don’t know what I was expecting the catch to be, but it definitely wasn’t that.
“That’s not a catch, Rhett. That’s a freaking bonus,” I say with a big, happy smile.