Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“I think you’ve earned some peace. No more drama. Just the ocean, the sun, and me.”
“Peace with you around is like saying pineapple tastes good on pizza,” she says dryly.
“I like pineapple on pizza.”
“Oh, you animal, you,” she splutters.
Unconcerned with her outrage, I lie back and close my eyes.
For the first time in a while, I feel completely, wholly present. Not worried about business, not concerned about past mistakes or future complications, just here, with her, in this perfect slice of time.
Chapter Thirty-One
Pippa
The walk back to the beach house is strangely quiet. Not like how it was on our way to the restaurant. My stomach feels tight, a mixture of adrenaline. The ocean gleams to our left, sparkling in the late afternoon sun, but I can’t fully focus on it. My mind keeps replaying the exchange, my words, the way I’d stuttered like a fish out of water when Vanessa asked about the ring. And how I forced Rhett’s hand. I know he went along with my lie, but he couldn’t really do anything else at that moment.
I keep looking at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to gauge his mood. His posture is relaxed, but I can feel the subtle tension in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes as he glances at me when he feels me looking at him.
“You’ve gone quiet,” he says finally, his voice low, teasing.
“You’re all tense, I feel like you’re mad at me,” I blurt out.
“I’m not mad at you, and I’m not tense. Well, maybe a little bit, but only because I’m worried about why you’ve gone quiet and what you’re planning to do to my dead body.”
I take a deep breath and decide to just come clean. “I … I’m embarrassed,” I admit, meeting his gaze. “About what I said to Vanessa. I feel like I … I’ve overstepped and backed you into a corner. Now, she’ll tell all your friends, and it’ll become a big thing. Then you’ll have to tell them all we’ve broken off and they’ll be like, ‘oh I’m so sorry, and you’ll …”
I trail off, aware that I said more than I’d planned to, but the words came tumbling out faster than I could control them, and my face warms in a rush of self-consciousness. Now I have two things to be embarrassed about.
Rhett lets out a low chuckle and shakes his head. “Pippa, it’s fine, really.” His tone is calm, casual, like I’ve just told him not to forget to get milk at the store, not that I just told someone in his circle that we’re engaged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s cool. I don’t give a damn if my friends want to pity me.”
I want to argue, to tell him I still feel bad, but the words stick in my throat. The truth is, I do feel bad, but a smaller part of me is secretly thrilled. Thrilled that I stood my ground, thrilled that Vanessa’s smug certainty has been well and truly shattered, and exhilarated that I’ve done something bold, something that feels entirely my own.
We go inside the house, and the cool air of the air conditioner feels like heaven after the heat of the sun. I put my bag down and go and sit down.
“Give me a minute,” he says. “I need to make a call.”
I’m slightly surprised by his choice to make this mystery call now, but I nod. He picks up his cellphone and steps out of the sliding glass door. I stare at my hands in my lap, feeling a sudden emptiness in his absence.
A flurry of thoughts spins through my head. I replay the engagement story, the absurdity of the situation. What if our story backfires? My fingers twist in my lap again as a faint pang of worry tugs at me.
The minute Rhett said he would be, stretches out longer. I bite my lip, unsure whether to go out and check on him or just wait for him to come back. Maybe he’s not really making a call. He just couldn’t keep listening to me banging on about the engagement. Just when I think I’ll go mad, he comes back, slipping into the house and back onto the couch beside me with that familiar, teasing glint in his eyes.
“Your engagement ring will be here tomorrow,” he announces casually.
My jaw drops. “Wait. What?”
He laughs at my expression, a low, teasing sound that makes my stomach flutter. “Don’t panic. It’s just a loaner ring.”
I feel my cheeks warm, a mixture of relief and flustered excitement. “A loaner ring?” What the hell is that?
“Yes,” he says with a shrug, eyes twinkling. “My jeweler is happy to lend me a piece knowing that we’re going to the social event of the year in a few days.”
I laugh, half in relief, half in incredulity that he has someone he considers his jeweler. How often does this guy buy jewelry? Should I be worried? Of course not. This is not a real engagement. I take a deep breath. I’m getting ahead of myself here.