Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
KENNEDY
It’s Wednesday morning—three days since Rowan Mayberry made me come next to an empty swimming pool.
He hasn’t returned to see me. Nor has he visited the set. The only glimmer of him is in the little contraband Christmas tree that I take out of my closet every time I lock myself into my room. In fact, I’m looking at it now, remembering the slightly petulant expression on his face when he gave it to me—like he thought I might accuse him of sentimentality for doing something nice for me.
It’s ridiculous, but I miss him. I even miss the sight of him on the sidelines of the show, watching with a scowl or smirk.
There’s a knock on my door, and I jump out of bed to hide my Christmas tree, taking it down from the low bookshelf beneath the shuttered window and carefully tucking it into the closet, before calling out, “Who’s there?”
I already know it’s not Rowan. He’d come by at night, if he came at all, under cover of darkness—a thought that shivers through me. So I hope to God it’s Harry. Although I managed to put the horseback riding expedition off until today, every single guy in the house came to visit me again on Monday, and then for a third time on Tuesday. I know they’re getting bored because Colton actually wrote a poem for me. He compared me to a profitable investment portfolio. I should be spending time with them, obviously, but the only man I’m thinking about is Rowan.
Also, it’s really hard to look Jonah in the eye after what I overheard in the pool room. Is he actually attracted to Nana…er, Maeve? Or is he just giving her favors in the hope of getting more screen time?
“It’s me,” Harry says, and relief flows over me.
“Come in.” When I open the door, I find him in a pair of brightly checkered pants, a white button down shirt, and his usual beanie. I beckon him over to the fainting couch arranged at the side of the room, and we both sit. “Do you have any news?”
He blushes. “How did you know?” He lifts a hand to his face. “Could you tell because I trimmed my nose hair? I wondered if it was overkill, but there was one really long one, and I didn’t want that to be the only thing he fixated on over dinner. It could really kill the atmosphere, you know?”
“You’re having dinner with Oliver after filming wraps today?” I deduce. The only things on the docket at the house are the horseback riding date, followed by a picnic with Jonah and Marcus, one-on-one interviews, and then quiet time.
“Yes,” he says, turning toward me. “We’re going to a place called Salt and Bone. I don’t want to order anything though. We already know I have an issue with dairy, and I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a salad without getting something caught in my teeth. You know, I read a statistic that forty-one percent of respondents judge a first date by what they order.” He pulls off his beanie and worries it with his hands. “Would it be weird if I didn’t order anything?”
“Yes,” I say. “Besides, don’t you want to enjoy a nice dinner? Don’t worry what he thinks. He’s not much of a catch if he loses interest because you got something in your teeth.”
He sighs. “I really want this to go well.”
“So do I,” I say with a smile. My mind makes a leap to Rowan potentially giving Oliver a pep talk about the same date. He’s partially responsible for this happening. He engineered the whole Christmas tree outing, which only endears him to me more. “When I asked for news, though, I meant about the whole Jay thing.”
“Oh,” Harry says, his eyes widening. “Of course. Well, Jay’s still in the hospital, but it sounds like he’s going to be released soon. Their sister, Ivy, is in town.” His gaze narrows on me. “Are you ready to tell me what happened between you and Rowan the other night?”
He’s already told me that Rowan refused to say anything about it, other than that he’d come by to give me an update about Jay and we’d decided on a late-night swim. I know Rowan doesn’t see himself as Prince Charming. He’d probably claim not to have a noble bone in his body, yet here he is, trying to protect me. It’s enough to mess with a girl’s head.
I sigh, leaning further back on the couch. “It doesn’t matter,” I say, even though it feels like it really does. “We both know I shouldn’t be thinking about him.”
Harry sits up, slapping his hat down on the couch’s one and only arm. “Of course it matters. You’re my friend. He’s my friend. What kind of a matchmaker would I be if I ignored the sparks between you?”
I’m tempted to tell him that he’s not a matchmaker at all—that’s supposed to be Nana Mayberry’s schtick, but Harry’s earnest and sweet, and it’s honestly nice to have someone to talk to about this.
“I like him,” I admit. “But he seems pretty determined to stay away from me, and he’s right. Nothing else can happen between us. Even if I wasn’t on this show, I live in Chicago, and he lives here. Anything that happens would have to be temporary.”
Harry looks offended by the suggestion. “When I met Oliver for the first time, I lived in Asheville, and he lived in Highland Hills, and look—now we’re both here. You never know what’s going to happen in the future.”
My mouth lifts up slightly. “So I should start hoping they’re going to fire me from Leto’s Hands?”
He makes a face. “They should really reconsider that name.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“And no, that’s not what I meant.”
“Aren’t you worried I’ll ruin the show?” I ask, surprised. According to Tina, he left a really good job to accept this gig as Nana’s co-host. “Tina said working on a dating show is your dream.”
“Oh, it is,” he confirms. “And it’s every bit as thrilling as I thought it would be. I mean, imagine how ah-mazing it would be if you end up with the handyman instead of any of the rich men Nana Mayberry has paraded in front of you. Now that would be a season of TV that people would want to watch. It’s the kind of thing they’d talk about for years. Centuries! Okay, maybe I’m getting carried away, but it’s exactly what would make the show memorable. Like keeping Jonah around even though he—” He makes a face because while I didn’t tell him everything, I did tell him about Nana Mayberry.
“Harry,” I say, “I’m pretty sure Rowan wants nothing to do with the show. He basically admitted he’s just helping on set because he thinks it’s his duty to watch over his grandmother.”
Actually, now that I think about it, Rowan’s explanation doesn’t totally square. It’s obvious there’s no affection between Nana Mayberry and her grandchildren, and I completely understand why after the behavior I’ve observed from her and what I’ve been told. Rowan’s eldest sister is marrying a billionaire. If their grandmother needs help and they feel obligated to provide it, surely they could hire someone. So why has Rowan, who holds contempt for the show and his family’s matchmaking history, spent so much time here?
He isn’t coming anymore , a voice in my head whispers. He’s staying away because of you.
Harry and I sigh at the same time. “Still,” he says, “it would make for memorable TV.”
“You’re right,” I admit, because I’ve seen plenty of dating shows too. “But it’s not going to happen. It seems like he wants to stay away from me.”
“For now,” he agrees. “But you never know what the future might hold. Maybe we should have Tina read your tea leaves when she visits the set. That would be good for the cameras.”
“Are they still going to be here on Friday?” I ask greedily, because I’m sick of being here by myself. I’m lonely. I know the guys have been hanging out in the brandy room most afternoons, and I got six separate invitations to join them yesterday evening, but I found myself making excuses.
“Yes,” he says. “They’re set to arrive a few hours before the Rolex ceremony.” A feeling of relief wraps me up like a hug. I want them. I want to be around people who like me for me, not for the five minutes of fame they might get if I let them keep their Rolex watches for another week. (The watches are returned to the polished wood box prior to the ceremony, and the eliminated guys’ watches are removed. Jonah was very disappointed to learn he wouldn’t be getting a new one each week, and also that the winner is the only person who will walk away with one at the end.)
“Are you going to send Jonah home?” Harry asks, pursing his lips.
“Wait, you don’t want me to?” I ask in disbelief. “He was making out with Nana Mayberry.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “And you were you won’t say- ing with Rowan Mayberry. So maybe you have something in common. You both have a thing for the Mayberrys.”
I mime throwing up. “That’s vile, Harry.”
“My point is that you’re not in it for the right reasons either, or at least I hope you’re not. I’ve spent a little more time with the guys over the last couple of days, and…” He scrunches his nose as if he smells something unsavory. “Let’s just say, I couldn’t in good faith try to push you toward any of them. I thought Colton was okay, but then he told me a story so boring that I felt resentful about the two minutes of my life it stole from me. And I’m going to be totally honest with you, Marcus seems more interested in Jonah than he is in you.” He tilts his head. “Another good reason to keep Jonah around. He makes for good TV. Even better TV if someone finds out he’s seeing someone else.” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down.
“You want Nana Mayberry to get fired?” I ask, because I’m surprised he’d be so vicious.
“I didn’t say that. And I’m not saying that you or I should be the ones who tattle on her. If we’re lucky, it’ll all come out organically. But yes, obviously I want her to get fired. She calls me Sweet Tea because she spiked my drink at our first one-on-one meeting, and I passed out on her couch. Holly and her boyfriend had to save me.”
“What?” I ask in disbelief. “And you still came to work for the show?”
He picks up his hat and starts messing with it again. “I really did want to work on a dating show, and what was I supposed to do? Leave you here alone with her? No one deserves that.” He cocks his head. “Well, maybe Jonah would deserve it, but we’re not altogether sure he wouldn’t like it.”
“Huh, well, this is all certainly some food for thought.”
“Good talk,” he says, putting the hat back on and getting to his feet. He gives me a skeptical look. “You were just pretending to be sick, right?”
“I haven’t been sleeping well,” I admit.
“I’m going to ask Tina to bring you some of her sedative tea.” He pauses. “I don’t know how to say this and make it sound nice, but you’re not wearing that on the riding date, are you?”
“I’m still in my pajamas, Harry,” I say dryly. “I have the outfit that was selected for this outing, but I have to tell you, I think it’s ridiculous.” It looks like something an equestrian would wear in a Victorian novel.
“You should see what they have Jonah and Marcus in,” he says with a grin.
Then, because he’s a good friend, he gets me coffee while I change.
Jonah and Marcus are wearing identical equestrian outfits, only Jonah’s is white and red, and Marcus’s is white and blue. Their pants are baggy around their crotches and tight at their calves. We were supposed to take a nice, pleasant ride through the valley, but they’ve spent the past hour racing each other, although they’ve each circled back twice to pretend they wanted to talk to me.
The cameramen have been following us in an all-terrain van. Harry’s inside too, and every time the van careens past me to catch up to the guys, he gives me a wave of solidarity, his mouth in a grim line that speaks of motion sickness. Nana Mayberry is there too, sitting back with a dour look on her face. Maybe she was up late with Jonah.
The third time the guys gallop off, leaving me and my borrowed horse, Lady, in the dust, they don’t come back. The van follows them, and I’m left to make my own way to the valley where the picnic has been set up.
I’m annoyed, but it’s much more pleasant to ride alone through the towering pines—and if that doesn’t say it all about my feelings, or lack thereof, toward Jonah and Marcus, I’m not sure what does.
When I arrive at the valley, cameramen are crouched on either end of a long white-and-red-checkered picnic blanket, filming Jonah and Marcus, who’ve apparently been making themselves at home. While Marcus is sipping from a crystal flute, Jonah has piled a plate high with what looks like caviar. It’s not what I was expecting from a picnic, but I’ve learned Nana Mayberry has very pointed opinions about what we should eat, drink, and wear to pull off the premise of the show.
As soon as I ride up, both of the guys set down their things and hurry toward me. The cameras follow their movement.
“I’ll help you down,” Marcus says.
“I got here first,” Jonah tells him, sulky, trying to edge him out of the way. Marcus is bigger and doesn’t budge. I dismount on the other side of them because I’m sick to death of their never-ending game of one-upmanship.
“Oh,” Jonah says sadly, as I walk my horse over to one of the production assistants.
“Would you like some champagne?” Marcus asks, trailing me. He’s as handsome as ever, even in the ridiculous costume, but I feel another surge of annoyance. Couldn’t he have just trotted along with me and let Jonah posture?
Still, I nod as I hand over the mare’s reins. “Sure, that would be nice.” There’s a scuffle of quickly moving feet behind me, and the production assistant and I share an amused glance before I gather myself and turn back around.
As I approach the blanket, I watch Jonah heap caviar messily onto a plate as if it’s a casserole while Marcus pours me champagne from a bottle in a bucket of ice.
When I reach them, they both practically shove their offerings at me, like whoever gets there first will be given a prize.
“Thanks,” I say, even though I don’t really feel like champagne, and the pile of caviar, without any crackers or silverware to eat it, doesn’t seem all that appealing.
I take a seat. For a second, they both stand there scowling at each other, but then they sit too, one on either side of me. I take a long sip of the champagne to settle my nerves, because I suddenly feel hemmed in.
“Did Marcus bring you a gift while you were sick?” Jonah asks.
“Yes,” I say with a sigh. “All of the gentlemen did.”
“Whose was your favorite?”
“Jeff’s,” I say quickly, and if it’s a mark of bad character that I’m pleased to have disappointed both of them, then guilty as charged. “He gave me a Christmas book.”
“Ah,” says Jonah, his voice slightly contemptuous. “You’re one of those Belle women.”
“Bell women?” I ask in confusion.
“Yeah, one of those chicks who’d sleep with a beast just to get at a good library. You know, Beauty and the Beast .” He gives me a significant look. “There’s a very large library in Highbury Manor. We even have one of those swinging ladders.”
This is the first thing I’ve found to like about him, although it would be poor form to say so. Odds are, it’s not even his library. “Really, do you have a photo?”
Jonah goes to reach for his phone before remembering. He lifts his hands. “I don’t have my phone.”
“I have three hundred leather-bound books,” Marcus interjects.
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond to that, so I just nod and say, “That’s nice.”
“I’ll bet you bought them in bulk,” Jonah says.
The wounded look on Marcus’s face, plus the ease with which he recalled the exact number, suggest that’s true. “I’ll bet you haven’t read a single book in that library,” he snaps back. “You probably only went in there to fuck around with the swinging ladder.”
Also probably true.
I drink more champagne.
There are a few moments of awkward silence and snacking, and then Harry and Nana come over. The cameras follow them, so it’s obvious they’re not coming over just to chat. There’s a plan.
“We thought you three might enjoy playing some ice-breaker games,” Harry says with unearned enthusiasm.
“Like Truth or Dare,” Nana Mayberry says, the words so frosty they almost burn.
I suck in a chill breath of air.
How does she know? What does she know?
Her face tightens. “Such a pity you got so sick, Kennedy. We were originally planning a larger game with the other gentlemen.”
“Yes, well, bad fish eggs will do that to a girl,” I say, pushing the plate away woodenly.
Harry’s eyes widen. Speaking to the camera, he says, “She’s not speaking about these fish eggs, obviously. These fish eggs are lovely and crunchy, and…I don’t know what caviar taste likes. I have an aversion to fish eggs. I’m sure they’re lovely, though, if you enjoy that sort of thing.”
He’s obviously trying to shill for whatever brand gave us free food, but he’s flubbing it worse than I did. His look of utter panic says he knows it. I pat him on the arm. “That’s what post-production is for.”
“Oh, thank God, you’re right.”
“Keep it together, Sweet Tea,” Nana says primly and pats her perfect snow-white bun. “You’re more tightly wound than a snake in a watering hose.” Her cold glare moves to me. “Well, Kennedy, who would you like to go first? We wrote out some suggestions for you.”
Meaning there’s already some sort of script for this. Interesting. Hopefully that means the whole Truth or Dare thing is a coincidence, because I hate the thought of someone spying on us or, worse, of there being a camera in my room. I already know I’ll be searching the whole place, top to bottom, when we get back.
Harry fumbles with his leather messenger bag, then mouths, “Sorry,” at me, which isn’t a good sign.
I scan the list after he hands it over, my attention snagged and held by the first item on the “suggested dares” list.
Meet me in the pool to go skinny dipping.
Horror knifing through me, I glance up sharply. Nana Mayberry observes me without comment.
Rowan didn’t tell her about our night, did he?
No, he wouldn’t. Never. He’s not the kind of man who shares personal information easily, which makes it that much more meaningful that he was so open with me. But if he didn’t tell her, then who? I know Harry wouldn’t have betrayed me willingly.
“Thank you, Nana,” I say. Then I tear up the paper and pocket the pieces, because a lady doesn’t litter. There’s a gasp from someone, but I don’t know who, because my eyes are fixed on Nana, hers on me. “But I think I’ll be going off-script for this one.”
“By all means, dear .” She pats her perfectly coiffed hair and sits on the blanket. Harry lowers down next to her.
“Who wants to go first?” I ask the guys cheerfully.
“Why don’t we all tell each other when we first lost our virginity?” Jonah offers, apropos of nothing.
A distasteful suggestion. I’m not exactly surprised since he’s the one who made it.
“Fine,” I say, even though I don’t like thinking of Brandon, and I like speaking about him even less. “I was nineteen.”
Marcus grins at me. “Fifteen,” he says proudly. His gaze shoots to Jonah. “Think you can beat that?”
Ugh.
Jonah shoots him a victorious look, then surprises both of us by saying, “I’m a virgin.”