Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Pippa
I stand in front of my closet for the longest time, chewing on my bottom lip as I try to decide on an opera-appropriate outfit.
Sandra had joked earlier in the group chat that I should show up in a ballgown with elbow length gloves like some high society duchess from the nineteenth century.
The worst thing is, although she was joking, I know that’s how a lot of women will be dressed there, and I am wondering if anything less formal will make it look obvious that I don’t belong there.
Lucy had voted for sequins, the louder the better.
That one is a definite no.
After much consideration, I decide I want to look elegant.
Sophisticated. Sexy in a way that doesn’t scream it, but whispers it with confidence.
Something that would make George, if by some cosmic twist of fate, I really do run into him, regret every moment he has wasted since the second he told me our relationship was over.
My fingers brush over silk, chiffon, and velvet, before landing on a dress I almost never wear. It’s a bit much for the sort of lowkey events I usually go to, which tells me it’s probably my best shot at being close to appropriately dressed.
It’s a black off-the-shoulder gown with a structured bodice that hugs my waist and hips before melting into a sleek, floor-skimming skirt.
The neckline dips low enough to suggest, not declare.
It’s the kind of dress that makes me stand straighter and elongates every line of my body.
Hopefully, it will make me feel like I belong in the very space I’m nervous about entering.
I pair it with delicate silver heels, a matching clutch bag, and a pair of diamond drop earrings that my grandmother left me for that understated sparkle.
My hair is next. I twist it into a soft chignon and pin it in place, leaving a few tendrils loose to soften the effect.
For my makeup, I keep it classic: understated bronze eyes, with a deep red lip, the shade bold, but timeless.
When the buzzer rings, my stomach flips. I smooth my dress down nervously, grab my clutch, and take a deep, calming breath before heading down to meet Rhett. As I push open the door and step outside, the sight that greets me stops me dead in my tracks.
My, my! Dear God!
Rhett is casually leaning against the car, looking like he’s strolled straight out of a glossy magazine spread.
Every inch of his divinely tall, yummy body is wrapped in black tuxedo perfection.
A crisp white dress shirt, and a black bow tie, which is slightly loose as if he couldn’t be bothered to make it too perfect, but somehow makes it even hotter.
The jacket molds itself perfectly to his broad shoulders, and the trousers are cut in a way that makes him look utterly edible.
His hair, apparently devoid of hair gel and only supported with coconut shampoo, has fallen into careless precision that looks like a hairdresser spent hours on it.
And when his eyes sweep over me, slow and deliberate, they darken in a way that makes my pulse kick hard against my throat. I swallow hard and walk towards him.
He straightens, and his lips curve into a slow smile, his eyes dipping all the way down my body before returning to my face. “You went to town with the dress to impress thing. You look … amazing.”
Heat prickles the back of my neck. I laugh, too brightly, as if that can deflect the way his words settle like a hand against my skin. “Please, you’re the one who looks like every woman’s fantasy right now.”
“Every woman?” he teases. “I’ll settle for just yours.”
I roll my eyes, but the flutter in my chest betrays me. “Well done, Romeo. This is exactly the kind of stuff George needs to hear from you. Shall we?”
“Yes, but I hope you realize you’ve totally ruined tonight’s performance for me. I won’t be able to concentrate on anything but you.”
He opens the car door for me, his hand brushing my bare back as I slide inside. The touch is casual, gentlemanly, and yet I feel it like a spark against my raw nerves.
The drive is quick, the roads unusually quiet for a Saturday night.
Rhett and I exchange small talk. I am guarded with what I say, conscious of the chauffeur being able to hear us, but Rhett seems to barely even notice his presence.
I am glad when we arrive and get out of the car, and it’s just Rhett and me again.
The opera house is more dazzling than I imagined it was going to be.
Crystal chandeliers drip from high arched ceilings painted with gold leaf flourishes.
The marble underfoot gleams, polished to a mirror’s sheen, and grand staircases sweep up to balconies on either side.
The lobby is alive with chatter, laughter, the clink of glasses, and the soft rustle of gowns as guests mill about.
Quite frankly, it’s intimidating.
It looks like a gathering of high net individuals and their snobbish wives and mistresses.
It’s class, class, and more class, baby.
The women are in exclusive gowns of jewel tones and shimmering fabrics, and the men are all in black suits.
Even the bar staff manage to look posh. For a moment, I feel like an impostor, like security is going to pull me aside and ask who let me in.
Thank God, for Rhett.
He offers me his arm and confidently sweeps me in like we’re royalty.
His presence is steady and grounding, and I remember what I always tell myself in situations that feel too big for me.
I belong here because I’ve chosen to. And this time, it’s not just my choice.
I belong here because Rhett belongs here, and because he asked me to come.
Because George doesn’t get to own this world anymore. I’m here now, and I mean to stay.
Rhett gets us a couple of glasses of champagne, and we raise our glasses to each other.
“May the best man win,” he says, a mocking twist to his lips.
“May we both get our hearts’ desire,” I say.
The bubbles fizz against my lip as I take a sip, scanning the crowd. And that’s when my heart stops.
George. That’s George. He’s leaning against the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
His hair is shorter than I remember, styled quite neatly.
His dark brown curls look lighter under the light from above.
The cut of his tuxedo is impeccable - of course it is, he always did care about appearances - but it’s his smile that jolts me.
That easy, charming grin that once convinced me the world revolved around me.
My heart gives an uninvited flutter. I’ve made the right decision choosing to try to win George back.
I mean, look at him. He’s clearly meant to be mine.
Then I see her.
And I feel like I might be sick. The woman at his side is striking in a way that makes me instantly catalogue every detail of her.
Tall, willowy, her gown is a deep emerald green that hugs her like a second skin.
Her back is quite bare, and she has small breasts, so she can get away with not wearing a bra.
Her long blonde hair is up in some kind of complicated up-do, and her lipstick is a perfect shade of nude.
She looks polished and expensive, the kind of woman who eats beluga caviar (yuck) from a tiny silver spoon, and serves lobster hors d'oeuvres at her sophisticated dinner parties.
And George has his hand on the small of her naked back.
That hand stops me from being able to convince myself they aren’t together, that she just happens to be standing there. The butterflies fluttering in my chest die, replaced with something cooler. Cleaner. Meaner. Sure, George’s date is hot, but mine is hotter. I point George out subtly to Rhett.
“Don’t look now, but three o’clock by the bar. By that slutty blonde in the green dress. That’s George.”
“That’s him? I expected him to be taller,” he says.
I don’t have time to try to read any sort of meaning into that comment. “Remember,” I murmur, pressing my nails lightly against Rhett’s sleeve. “You’re besotted with me.”
His brow arches, amused. “I don’t even have to act.”
I’ll properly process that statement later, but for now, I maneuver us toward the bar with practiced nonchalance. My heels click against the marble. And then, with perfect timing, we accidentally bump into George and his blonde slut.
“George?” I feign surprise, widening my eyes just enough. “Wow, what are the odds of running into you here?”
He turns his head to look at me, and the effect is everything I hoped for. His jaw drops. I could bottle this moment and sip it on rainy days. His gaze rakes down my body, lingering at the neckline of my dress before snapping his attention back up to my face.
“Pippa.” His voice is a low, shocked gasp. “What are you doing here? You … you hate opera.”
I let out a tinkling laugh that would make Sandra proud. “Oh, I thought I did. But Rhett here …” I snuggle into him and glance up adoringly. “He loves it, so I let him drag me along. And now I see the light. It’s amazing, isn’t it, Rhett?”
Rhett’s eyes stay fixed on mine, warm and intent, as though no one else exists in the room.
He runs the pad of his fingers lightly along my bare arm, from my elbow to my wrist. A casually affectionate gesture that could almost be dismissed.
Almost. Except his touch sends shivers darting through me like sparks from a firework, leaving my skin alive and traitorous.
It’s lust.
Just pure lust, I tell myself firmly. Nothing more. Any girl would melt under his touch. The man looks like a Greek God, of course, I would be tempted. It means nothing. Nothing. Nada. Nichts.
George’s companion clears her throat pointedly. His head jerks toward her, his cheeks coloring faintly as it occurs to him that he has ignored her since he spotted me.
“Oh … excuse me,” he stutters, clearly flustered. “Pippa, this is, uh …”
Her eyes narrow with consternation, and I can barely hide my delight when I realize he has completely forgotten his date’s name.
“Claudia,” she supplies coldly for him.
“Yes, of course, Claudia,” George says, turning beetroot red and still fumbling his words.
She extends a hand toward me, her smile polite but sharp. “Lovely to meet you.”
I shake it with equal politeness. “Likewise,” I say, then gesture to Rhett. “This is Rhett. My boyfriend.” I look deeply into Rhett’s eyes. “Darling, this is George, my ex, and his … friend, Claudia.”
“Claudia is starting her own business,” George blurts out. “She’s really smart.”
It’s an odd thing to say, and Claudia looks visibly uncomfortable. It’s as though George is trying to make up for forgetting her name by bragging about her assets.
“What sort of business are you starting?” I ask, more to be polite than out of any real interest in her work.
“It’s a tech company. We are going to provide hosting services for small businesses who are sick of being pushed aside in favor of their larger competitors,” she says.
“Rhett is in the tech industry, aren’t you, darling?” I say, and swing another adoring glance up at him.
“Yes, I am,” Rhett agrees affably. “My main office is in the US, but I am stationed in the London office right now.”
“It sounds like a pretty successful firm you’re working for,” Claudia says, her eyes and voice showing interest.
“Remington International,” he says.
Her jaw drops, then snaps shut. Her eyes glitter.
“Wow, that’s the holy grail of tech. Look, I know this might seem a little bit forward, but I am having a party at my place on Wednesday.
Nothing fancy, just a little get-together with friends.
I would love it if you would come, and Pippa, obviously. I’d love to pick your brains.”
George looks like he wants to be anywhere but here, his head almost vanishing inside his shirt collar. “I’m sure Rhett isn’t interested in that.”
Rhett let his hand graze up my back and looks down at me. “Are you up for it, honey?”
Yes, yes, yes, I want to scream, but of course, I don’t. “Sure, but I thought you hate talking shop when you’re not at work.”
Rhett, to give him his due, plays along faultlessly. “Normally, I’d hate it, but I don’t mind if it’s to help someone get off the ground.” He beams at Claudia, the picture of innocent charm. “We’d love to come.”
I am so grateful to Rhett that I could do a little dance. Obviously, I refrain.
Claudia excitedly gives Rhett her address, and he types it into his cellphone.
An awkward silence, mostly due to George sulking like a child, falls over us after that.
Yes, that is another one of George’s little faults.
He sulks. Sometimes for days. We stand together for a few minutes, throwing awkward little smiles whenever one of us catches the eye of another.
Fortunately, the lights in the lobby dip, the chandeliers dimming as a bell chimes. A ripple of movement spreads through the crowd as people begin heading toward the velvet draped doors.
“We should take our seats, honey,” Rhett says, steering me gently.
“Of course.” I smile brightly at George and Claudia, delight buzzing through me like champagne bubbles. “See you both on Wednesday.”
As Rhett and I walk away in the opposite direction, my steps feel lighter than air. I can’t stop the words spilling out, my voice animated and giddy once we are out of their earshot.
“Did you see his face? He couldn’t believe it. And then when I said I loved opera now, oh my God, he nearly choked to death. That went perfectly. And I get to see him again on Wednesday. While you’re talking shop with Claudia, I can casually remind George of how good we were together.”
Rhett just smiles, and quietly watches me with that infuriating calm of his.