Chapter 19 Rhea
NINETEEN
RHEA
There’s a knock.
Sharp. Two beats.
I wipe my face and pad to the door in my bare feet. I hadn’t expected company. Especially not now. Not like this.
When I open the door, I’m stunned into silence. It’s Isabelle.
Gone is the skimpy party dress, the heels, the red-lipped smile. She’s standing there in jeans, a T-shirt, and flip-flops. A small suitcase at her side.
She looks… normal. Real. “Hi,” she says. “Look, I know you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. . .”
“What are you doing here? What kind of game is this?” I ask.
“Please, Rhea. I just need five minutes. Can you give me that?”
“Why should I?”
“Because everything you see isn’t what it appears.”
I cross my arms.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I know what I’m seeing. Mr. Prince Charming, with a different woman on his arm for every event. I have no idea how long you two have been dating—or if he’s still married, for all I know.”
She smiles gently. Patient. Like she’s been here before.
“I’m not with Spencer. Not like that. I’m just his wedding cover. He hires me—or rather, his assistant does. Especially for weddings. It’s just… easier for him.”
I blink. “Easier?”
“It keeps the attention off him. Keeps the women with diamond agendas at bay. Keeps his mother from matchmaking. You’d be surprised how convenient it is to have a fake date when you’re Spencer Devereaux.”
I stare at her.
“What about his wife and son?” I ask, my voice brittle. “Don’t they make things easier?”
She looks truly confused.
“Wife and son? I have no idea what that means. Spencer’s divorced—has been for over three years. And he’s never had kids.”
I feel the floor shift beneath me. My palms sweat.
“Where would you even get that idea?” She asks.
I can’t speak.
What would I say, anyway? I saw a photo on a website. A woman at a picnic. A child with a caterpillar. I’d built a whole story from a snapshot and silence.
My head is spinning. I’m confused. Embarrassed and furious at my stupidity. And terrified about what it means.
“How do I even know you’re telling the truth?” I finally spit out.
She gives me a soft, knowing smile. “Look, I’m a professional actress. This weekend gig pays more than I’ll make all month. And besides—Spencer? He’s delightful. He’s funny, and kind, and—”
“And what?” I interrupt, sharper than I mean to be. “Good in bed?”
She raises her eyebrows, amused.
“Rhea,” she says gently. “I don’t know what your story is, or how he hurt you. But I can tell you this—I’ve never seen that man look as distressed as he did today. And it happened twice. Both times were when you were walking away from him.”
My throat tightens.
“And no, for the record, I have no idea if he’s good in bed. He’s not my type.”
I stare at her, skeptical. “Really?”
She laughs.
“I’m happily married to a woman named Joanna. We have two little girls who are our whole world. But I love Spencer—in pretty much every other way. He’s a really good man, despite the unfortunate reality that he has too much money for his own good.”
She reaches down, grabs her suitcase handle.
“Look. You do you, honey. But I’m leaving. I’m not going to stand between a man I truly care about and the potential for—whatever is between you two.”
She glances down at her phone.
“My car is almost here.”
I stare at her as if she is an illusion. But then she leans in and wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a warm hug.
“Don’t worry—I still get paid for the whole weekend.”
And I try to laugh, but my tears are spilling over. I hug her back, as though we’ve known each other forever, and choke out, “Thank you.”
She nods and steps back, holding my shoulders square in front of her. “Take care of yourself.” And she’s gone.
Not married.
No children.
And the girlfriend? Fake.
My head is still spinning.
I fix my mascara. Freshen my lipstick. And swipe the last smudge of eyeliner from beneath my eye. Squaring my shoulders, I head back downstairs.
As I step into the soft buzz of the reception room, the scent of wine, candle wax, and some kind of roasted meat hits me all at once.
I’m barely three steps inside when Carter intercepts me.
“There you are,” he says. “I was about to send out a search party. You missed dinner.”
“I know,” I reply, trying to sound casual. “I—it’s just harder than I thought. Being away from Esme.”
He pauses, studying me a little more closely. “You okay? You look…”
“I know,” I say with a short laugh. “Tired. Weird. Emotional. All of the above.”
But even as I’m talking to Carter, my eyes are moving.
Searching.
And there he is.
Spencer.
Near the bar, in conversation with someone - maybe a college buddy. He’s leaning casually against the counter, one hand tucked in his pocket, his expression open, engaged.
I take a breath.
“You go rub elbows,” I say, nudging Carter lightly. “I’ll be fine.”
He gives me a curious look, but nods and heads off.
I walk to the bar and order a glass of courage. But before it arrives, before I’ve worked up the nerve to approach him, Spencer’s already here.
Right beside me.
“Hey,” he says gently. “I was hoping you might resurface.”
I nod, really looking at him for the first time today. His eyes—dark and endless. That dimple in his chin. A smile that is somehow both a question and a reassurance at once. The same easy grace I remembered from that night.
And now—something else. A softness around the eyes. The tilt of his mouth when he smiles. For the first time, I see it.
Esme.
She’s there, in the angles and echoes.
“Isabelle stopped by my room on her way out,” I offer.
He pauses, like he’s considering how much to explain. “It’s weird. I know it is,” he says, apologetically.
I chuckle. “Interesting setup. I can’t afford a fake date, but honestly, I can see how it might have some upshots. Probably even tax-deductible.”
He laughs. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. But Isabelle’s great. Having her along… it just makes things easier.”
I nod and take a sip of wine. “I’m surprised they let you attend the gala unguarded.”
The gala.
His smile falters, and I can’t quite read him, but it’s clear we both know what I mean. The night we met.
He’s about to respond when a mic squeals and someone at the front calls out, “Alright, everybody, time for some fun! We’re kicking off our How Well Do You Know Carter and Serena? Trivia game! Teams of four—let’s go!”
Before I can react, a gorgeous brunette in a red cocktail dress rushes up—Samantha, I think. One of Serena’s college roommates.
She grabs Spencer’s arm like she owns it. “Come on, we need you! You’ve known Carter forever, right?”
Spencer smiles politely, then nods toward me. “Sorry, I’m already paired up with Rhea, his sister.”
It’s not just polite. It’s sincere. The way he says it without hesitation makes something stir in my chest—a little flicker of… joy? Hope?
“Better yet,” she says, waving us over to the four-top where her boyfriend, Adam, awaits.
Apparently, Adam works with Serena’s brother, and between the four of us, we’re a trivia dream team.
Carter’s favorite cereal? Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
The one class Serena dropped in college? Intro to Philosophy
Carter’s childhood TV obsession? MythBusters.
First date location? That weird fondue place in Cambridge.
Who said “I love you” first? Carter. Samantha knows that one by heart.
At one point, Adam leans in and whispers, “How many freakouts did Serena have during the thirty-minute rehearsal?”
We all burst out laughing. Samantha nearly spits her drink across the table.
By the end, we’re high-fiving, celebrating, riding the buzz of shared victory and collective snark.
Later, when the crowd is thinning, Spencer and I drift toward the bar again—just the two of us now.
It’s quieter. Softer.
I swirl the last of my wine in the glass and glance up at him.
“So,” I begin, my voice low, steady. “It’s been a long time…”