10. Pearl #2
I watched Rhett as we talked. I couldn't help myself. He stood near the buffet table with Josie at his side. He was the epitome of the Southern golden boy, ready to go yachting in his light-blue button-down, and crisp white slacks.
Josie was everything a Southern Belle should be in her red and blue sundress cinched at the waist with a white belt that screamed effortless elegance and Independence Day. She smiled up at Rhett, her hand resting lightly on his arm, while his eyes…they were on me.
His eyes flicked briefly to Rafe and then back to me, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow, and the chatter and laughter around me faded into the background.
Rafe leaned in slightly, breaking the moment. “Now he wants to rearrange my face. Did something happen between the two of you recently that he's feeling so possessive?”
I shook my head quickly, forcing a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but thankfully, Luna appeared before he could press the issue.
“Well, aren’t you two cozy?" She eyed Rafe, sizing him up with the kind of no-nonsense energy only Luna could pull off. “You hitting on my girl here, Rafe Rhodes?"
“Absolutely not. Scout's honor."
"You were never a scout," Luna muttered.
"True." Rafe hugged Luna and then sighed as he looked over her shoulder. "I'm having no luck today."
"What?" Luna murmured, and turned around to see Dominic Calder. "Everywhere I go, he's there."
“And every time I touch a woman, a man is looking at me like he wants to fuck me up,” Rafe muttered dryly.
"Hello, Moonbeam." Dom slid an arm around Luna, which she tried to unsuccessfully shrug off. He brushed his lips against her cheek, and she looked part exasperated and well…a little giddy.
I’d been told that whatever was happening between Dom and Luna wasn’t a relationship…at least, not yet, but it was brewing, big time.
"You hitting on my girl, Rafe?" Dom asked the same question Luna had a few minutes ago.
Rafe sighed. "I don't know why everyone thinks I'm hittin' on anyone. I'm just bein' friendly."
"I'm not your girl." Luna pushed Dom away. "I see Camy Channing is here, and I have it on good authority that she's expectin' a proposal from you by Labor Day."
"Does that bother you, Luna, darlin'?" Dom winked at her.
I fanned myself with my hand. "Rafe, I think I need a cool drink, 'cause the sparks between these two are making me uncomfortably hot," I teased, suddenly feeling alright about being at a party because I was with friends.
But eventually, the introvert in me wanted me time.
The party continued, but I managed to slip away.
No one would notice I was gone. The summer night wrapped around me like a warm, heavy blanket.
The air smelled of magnolias, fireworks, and barbecue—a strange combination.
The hum and chatter of conversation mingled with the distant hum and chirping of cicadas as I got closer to my cottage.
It had been a strange evening. I had a good time with my new friends.
My family ignored me. My mother had given me air kisses so that no one would say, "Did you see how Birdie and Pearl didn't even say hello?
I hear there's trouble in paradise." Caroline had done the same.
Since Alice and Maddie were not at the party, I didn't see any reason to hang around my family.
If I'd lived in Savannah my whole life, maybe I'd have more patience and desire to build bridges with my brother and mother, but I'd been gone for so many years and enjoyed my freedom, that being in their presence and experiencing their constant censure was stifling.
I rounded the corner that took me to my cottage and, on impulse, walked up to the gazebo with a view of what I liked to call my pond.
The gazebo was gorgeous, tucked away near a cluster of hydrangeas that glowed pale blue in the moonlight.
It was small but elegant, with white latticework and vines of jasmine curling up the posts.
I came here to have coffee in the mornings as I checked the news and my emails on my phone.
I stepped inside and leaned against one of the wooden railings, letting out a long, unsteady breath.
“Escaping, too?”
I jumped at the sound of Rhett’s voice, spinning around to find him standing just outside the gazebo, his hands in his pockets.
"I live here," I told him.
"Well, I am escaping," he announced.
"Good for you." I was about to walk away, but he stepped inside the gazebo, cutting off my access to the stairs that would take me down the garden to my home.
"I run by here most mornings," he told me as he walked to the other end of the gazebo, looking at the little pond dressed up with lotus flowers and a few ducks.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy but not entirely uncomfortable. He leaned against the rail, facing me. I could walk away now if I wanted. I didn't have to be here.
He sighed.
I arched an eyebrow. "That sounded profound."
"Did it?"
Go home, Pearl. You don't have to talk to this asshole.
"Yeah, like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."
He seemed more reflective in the moonlight. He didn’t have the polished, Savannah-golden-boy fa?ade. He looked tired. Not physically, but definitely emotionally. I knew how that felt; I could recognize it.
"I sometimes feel like I am." He looked past me at the garden behind me. "I needed a break."
“From what?" I challenged, folding my arms, my posture defensive.
He didn’t respond right away, he just watched me with a quiet intensity. “From pretending,” he said at last.
I stiffened. “Pretending to be what?"
His jaw tightened. “A Vanderbilt."
I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Are you having a case of the poor, little rich boy blues?"
He smiled sadly. "Can't blame you for thinkin' that, Pearl."
It unsettled me. When we were teenagers, he'd have responded barb for barb.
"Well, I'll leave you to?—"
"I'm sorry," he blurted out.
I stared at him.
"What I did was cruel, horrible, and…I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. It haunts me, Pearl."
How dare he make this about how it affects him?
"Me too," I threw back at him.
His eyes lowered. "I can only imagine. I am sorry."
"You behave like you slipped up and, oops, made a mistake.
" I felt the need to purge my thoughts so intensely, I couldn’t stop myself from letting him see what was inside of me: the pain, the struggle, the heartbreak.
"You chose to hurt me, Rhett. You made a bet, you slept with me, and then you let everyone in Savannah rip me to shreds because of it.”
"I know."
"And you think your measly apology makes up for it?"
"Nothing can make up for it, Pearl. Do you think I don't know that? I hurt you. I?—"
"We were friends, Rhett," I accused him, my eyes filling with tears I didn't want to ever shed in front of him. "Well, I thought we were. I didn't think you were capable of saying the things you did about me."
"I know," he said tenderly. "I had a rot inside of me, one that made me want to fit in, live up to my reputation of being an asshole."
"You were my first, and you made it ugly with your words. Do you know how hard a climb it has been for me?"
The words hung in the air between us, raw and jagged. His face twisted with shame, regret, and pain—but he didn’t look away.
"You are one of the bravest people I know," he told me sincerely. "Believe me when I tell you, Pearl, that I’ve hated myself for it every day since.”
"No more than I have," I cried out.
I saw him take a step toward me, but I held my hand up so he would stay put. "Why did you do it? Why did you hurt me? I'd never done anything to you."
"Because I was a coward.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
I blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice.
"Because I wanted to show everyone what a big deal I was. I fucked Pearl Beaumont over a bet. I didn't realize how that demeaned me and showed everyone how low I was."
The honesty in his words overwhelmed me, and before I could stop myself, the tears came. Hot and fast, they blurred my vision, and I turned away, trying to hide them. But Rhett didn’t move, didn’t look away.
"I'm so sorry for hurting you," he continued, his eyes shining with emotion.
That made me only angrier. “You don’t get to cry about this.” My voice broke. “You don’t get to feel bad about this. You don't get to take that away from me."
He stepped closer, his voice thick with emotion. “Pearl, I?—”
“Don’t,” I snapped, cutting him off. “Don’t apologize. Don’t say it was a mistake. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Okay.” The gentleness in his tone made me hate him a little more because it made me like him again. One apology, and I was already swaying.
“I need to go." I didn’t know what to say to him. My emotions were a tangled mess of anger and confusion.
“Pearl,” he started, but I shook my head.
“No. I can’t do this. I won't."
I left him standing in the gazebo and retreated to the quiet solace of my little cottage, where I cried until the stillness of the early morning.
I wasn't over what happened to me, I realized. I needed to heal if I wanted to move forward. I set up an emergency appointment with my therapist on his online portal and fell into an exhausted sleep.