Chapter 15 Rhea
FIFTEEN
RHEA
“Rhea!”
I hear Carter’s voice rise over the crowd and turn toward it instantly—grateful to have a purpose in this sea of unfamiliar faces and the scent of money and superiority.
I spot my brother standing beneath a wrought-iron chandelier beside the bar. But it’s not Carter that makes my stomach drop.
It’s who’s standing next to him.
Spencer.
Oh. Shit.
Spencer and his little tulip are here for the wedding?
What the hell? What the hell is the connection?
He looks… relaxed. At ease. Like he’s been coming to family weddings his whole life and knows exactly how to play the part. Confident without effort. Charming without trying. His hand rests lightly on the blonde’s back—possessive but polished, like it belongs there.
I stop dead in my tracks.
My breath catches. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t think.
Our eyes meet.
Just for a second.
It’s enough.
I feel the world stutter.
And then, out of nowhere, Brad is at my side, a quiet lifeline. “Rhea. Can I get you a drink?”
“Yes,” I manage, grasping at the anchor. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.”
He turns toward the bar, but I follow, watching the bartender make my drink as though everything is happening in slow motion. Brad takes the drink and turns to hand it to me with that same steady kindness he always carries.
I thank him, murmur something about leaving my phone in my room, and step away, toward the lobby, then the corridor, then the elevator.
Back to my room.
Back to safety.
Back to anything but this.
I press the button once, and then two more times for good measure.
That’s when I feel it—a hand on my shoulder. Soft. Gentle.
I turn.
Spencer.
“Rhea,” he says, my name a question in his voice. His tone is low. Tentative. Maybe even concerned. Neither of us speak for a beat, but our eyes lock again.
“How are you?” he asks, tipping his head.
What is that? Concern? Confusion? Hurt?
My tongue is heavy. My mouth won’t work.
Then, with a hint of apology, he says, “I had no idea Carter was your brother,” as if I understand how the hell he is connected to Carter.
I don’t. I don’t think I even want to.
And then I feel it—hot and sharp—the sting of tears pressing behind my eyes.
Just in time, the elevator dings, the door opens, and I step inside.
I don’t look back.
Upstairs, I pace the room like a caged animal.
What just happened?
What the actual hell is happening?
There are twenty-five minutes left before I’m supposed to be back downstairs for the rehearsal. I can’t face him. Can’t see him with her, whoever she is.
I grab the room phone and call the front desk.
“Hi, yes—can you tell me the easiest way to get from room 207 to the room for the wedding rehearsal, without navigating the mob in the lobby?”
There’s a pause. Then: “There’s a staircase at the end of your hallway. It’ll take you down to the west corridor, just outside the ceremony space.”
Perfect.
I’ll take the back way. Avoid anyone who is not in the wedding party. Meet this so-called Cash Banks. Learn how to walk in a straight line without embarrassing Serena, the ice statue. And maybe—if I play my cards right—feign illness to skip the dinner altogether.
I think about calling Laney. I think about asking to speak to Esme, just to hear her voice.
But I don’t, because I’m consumed.
By what? Panic? Fear? Anger?
Yes.
But also something else.
Something that feels suspiciously like heartbreak.