Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

KENNEDY

It’s Thursday, the day before the next Rolex ceremony. Dinner with Marcus last night was…okay. When he’s not around Jonah, he’s a nice guy—confident but approachable—and he told me about his parents and his sister, a single mom. He said he has a special appreciation for Leto’s Hands’ mission after watching his sister go through a messy divorce with her emotionally abusive husband. I told him a bit about my family too. Olive and my brothers. Nanny Rose. But he kept trying to steer the conversation back to Littlefield Bank. To what it was like to be part of a dynasty, and I just felt this bone-deep wanting for Rowan. For his touch and his taste. For his laughter and conversation. For him .

Nana Mayberry, who was my “handler” last night, gave me a big talking-to about my failure to flirt with Marcus, whose attempt to lean in for a kiss was rebuffed when I flinched back like he had scabies. My response was to agree to smile more for the cameras today.

“If you think it’s the cameras you need to be smiling for, you need to have your head examined,” she said with pursed lips.

I gave her a smile as sweet as saccharine.

She called me surly and stalked off.

I can’t wait until Harry catches her on camera with Jonah.

Speaking of Jonah, I went on a group date with the four remaining guys this afternoon. We went berry picking at a local farm. Obviously, there’s nothing on the vines, so we had to pretend to pick from the plants, and the next shots were of us having a picnic with big buckets full of berries that were probably flown in from Mexico. There was nothing charming about it, other than a short visit to the shop, which sells homemade blackberry jams, apple butter, and hot chocolate with whipped cream. There was even a rogue bit of garland hung up by the register that the production assistants and Nana Mayberry had obviously missed.

I bought several jars of the jam and apple butter, along with a huge hot chocolate, figuring I could give the jam as gifts.

Maybe Rowan would like some.

I brought Jester with me on his little leash. He’s clearly no judge of character because he kept trying to approach Nana Mayberry, who holds clear disdain for him. To be fair, she might just smell like beef jerky or bacon. Who knows what she does when she’s not in Labelle Manor trying to control everyone like a tyrannical queen? Maybe she has a jerky addiction and watches those Olsen twin movies when no one’s watching.

I’m supposed to be getting ready for a one-on-one date with Colton tonight, but instead I’m lying on my bed, Jester reclined on my chest, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Rowan.

I’m in love with him.

I’m desperately in love with him.

He’s the person I think about in the morning, the one I’d like to wake up to.

He’s also the person I think about at night.

He’s the person I’d like to build a life with.

But there’s no denying some essential facts. Although we’ve been brought together for this short period of time, our lives are in different places. The thought of dating someone who lived somewhere else didn’t bother me much when I signed on for this show. Because I wasn’t doing it with the real hope of finding love. I figured that if I did, whatever, we’d work it out. Or maybe I’d get lucky and fall madly for some doctor or whatever who lives in the Windy City.

It’s possible Rowan would be willing to go to Chicago with me to see where this connection takes us. Only…I know without asking that he wouldn’t like it. He’s a small-town guy, and he’s already told me this place runs through his veins.

We could try long distance, I guess, but it’s such a very long distance, when all I want is for him to have his arms around me.

“What are we going to do, buddy?” I ask Jester, who rouses from his snoozing for long enough to lick my shirt.

You could stay here , a voice in my head whispers. You could stay in Highland Hills.

There’s a wrenching feeling in my chest because I really do love my job. It was the first thing in my life I ever felt like I’d chosen for myself, not because someone had steered me to it. It was the first thing I felt good at. The thing is, I know my boss, Gayle, is willing to compromise with the people she likes. She let me come here, didn’t she?

Would she let me stay?

What about Olive? Although I don’t mind the thought of leaving my parents several states away, I hate the thought of being permanently separated from Olive and Nanny Rose. They’d visit—I know they’d visit—but it wouldn’t be the same.

I pet Jester, who licks my hand.

“I don’t want to go out with Colton,” I tell him. “I definitely don’t want to go out with Jonah. Or Marcus. Or Jeff. Rowan’s the one I want.”

Jester offers a little half bark, and I decide that he agrees with me. “He’s our guy, Jester.”

Something stirs inside me, and I recognize it for what it is—that Littlefield problem-solving gene. I sit up, moving Jester to my lap, where he cuddles happily enough.

“Harry was right,” I tell him.

He wags his nub of a tail.

I set him down and get up, starting to pace.

“Rowan needs to be part of the narrative for the show,” I tell Jester.

I know in my heart that he will want to do no such thing, but it’s the perfect solution—the perfect compromise .

He doesn’t want me to flirt with the guys on the show, and I absolutely don’t want to do that either, but if there’s no flirting, there’s no show, and if there’s no show, then Leto’s Hands won’t get the boost it so desperately needs.

But if the show subverts people’s expectations…if I end up with Rowan, the grandson of one of the hosts, instead of one of the “rich” men she chose for me…

Well, Harry’s right…it would be highly entertaining.

There’s a knock, and then an envelope is pushed under the door. I sigh, because yesterday Colton slipped another poem under my door, and it was truly awful. He rhymed “kiss” with “piss,” and I’m not looking forward to pretending I enjoyed it over dinner.

Jester shocks the life out of me by scrambling over to the door and picking up the envelope in his mouth, then bringing it to me.

“You’re a genius,” I tell him, in serious wonder. And he pees on the floor.

After I clean it up, I open the envelope, steeling myself for poor rhyming and worse attempts at iambic pentameter.

To my surprise, it’s a note from Harry.

Kennedy—

I can’t risk being seen going into your room right now. Tensions are very high in the house. I’ve told everyone your stomach’s acting up again. Sorry. I couldn’t think of a better excuse. Be prepared, though, Colton wants to talk to you—at length, I’m sure—about the possibility that you might have ulcerative colitis. He has discussed his bowel movements with me for the last hour.

They wanted to check on you, like last time, but I told them you had some serious thinking to do before tomorrow’s Rolex ceremony, and that’s what set off the drama. Colton and that guy Jeff started fighting about which of them is more boring—I thought it was Jeff at first, but it’s DEFINITELY Colton—and then Jonah said he’d be a shoe in for the final three because he’s pledged to give you his virginity, and the others all agreed that he wasn’t in fact a virgin. Anyway, there’s a lot of controversy out here. Be grateful you’re tucked away with a stomach complaint. ;-)

Xoxo, Harry

P.S. Dispose of this note. No one will think twice about you flushing the toilet a lot.

Laughter slips out of me, and delight fizzes in my body because surely this means…

Rowan’s coming, isn’t he? Harry knows I want more time with him, and he’s arranged for it to happen, the dear man.

I kiss the top of Jester’s head, dispose of the note as Harry suggested (something tells me he’s waiting outside to hear that flush), and then settle into the cozy chair by the window.

While I wait for him, I try reading the biography of Jonah Highbury the First again, then set it aside for another reread of the holiday romance novel. Jester lies at my feet, his warm fur brushing my skin. It feels like waiting for a pot of water to boil, but finally a light but insistent tap lands on the window, and I jump from my chair like a jack-in-the-box, prompting Jester to grunt and give me a grumpy look before he settles back down.

“Sorry, Jester,” I murmur as I race to the window to let Rowan in.

When I open the blinds, he’s there, and I’m aware of how much I’ve missed him over the past forty-eight hours. It hasn’t taken very long, but he’s slipped into my soul. It makes me think again about the distance between Asheville and Chicago.

I open the window to a waft of cold air and Rowan scent, and he smiles at me. “Harry told you?”

“He didn’t tell me much,” I say. “But I hoped you were coming. He said I didn’t have to have dinner with Colton tonight because everyone in the house thinks I have explosive diarrhea. Again.”

He smirks. “I shouldn’t laugh.”

“Oh, you can laugh. Everyone else probably is, except for Colton. He’s apparently preparing a speech on ulcerative colitis.”

He surprises me by leaning in and kissing me with cold lips, which instantly warm when they’re pressed to mine.

I’m struck with the knowledge that he’s still halfway out the window.

“Rowan, come in,” I say, fear twining around me. “I don’t want you to fall.”

“I thought maybe you’d want to come out, instead,” he says with shining eyes.

“Come out?” I ask in shock.

“I have something planned for us.”

My heart beats faster. He has something planned for us. He wants us to leave the house, together. I get to leave.

“What if we’re caught?” I ask haltingly, because even though Rowan is the boy who never followed the rules, the boy who never had any, I’ve never been like that. Yes, I balked my parents’ expectations by taking the job I wanted instead of becoming a socialite, but he’s talking about the sort of rule-breaking that might get us in trouble.

“Harry promised to create a distraction,” he tells me with a grin so radiant I feel it in my toes. This is no exaggeration, they curl .

“I need to get changed,” I say, tugging on the collar of his coat. He climbs into the room with the practiced movements of a rulebreaker and sits in my chair, bending to pet Jester as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. The sight of them together gushes warmth through my chest, but I don’t say anything for a moment. I just soak it in. “What should I wear?” I ask.

“Nothing fancy, Princess,” he says. “This is Highland Hills, after all, and I want you to be comfortable.”

“But what if someone notices me?” I ask. My photo was released to the press earlier this week, so I can no longer expect to be fully anonymous. Rowan knows this, not because he saw the press release—I imagine he actively avoids such things—but because I told him the other night.

He snaps his fingers, then pulls a bag out of his jacket, handing it to me.

I look inside and see a red wig, a pair of eyeglasses, and some bright makeup that I would never normally wear.

“Where’d you get this?”

“Ivy,” he says. “She says she dresses up while she’s researching different fields for her writing. I’d rather not overthink it. I guess the glasses are non-prescription.”

“It’ll take me a minute,” I warn.

“It won’t feel like long if I’m in here petting Jester,” he tells me. “But I won’t be following you into the bathroom to keep you company. If I watch you change, I’m going to get ideas, and we have a schedule.”

“We do?” I ask with delight. Rowan’s not really a schedule kind of guy. He told me that’s why he prefers the work he does—it’s different every day.

“For you, we have a schedule,” he says, and I can’t help it, I lean in and kiss him, just once, but I make it count.

“There you go again, giving me ideas,” he says with a grin. “But I won’t be distracted. This is happening.”

“Well, all right, sir,” I say, and he groans.

“I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever called me that, and I like it more than I thought I would.”

I’m laughing as I make my way to the bathroom.

It’s fun, changing into someone else. I decide my name is Daphne. Nanny Rose used to play old cartoons for me when I was a kid, even though my mother insisted I should only be allowed to watch educational programs, and Scooby Doo was my favorite. I look different. I feel different.

When I come out to put on my shoes and grab my winter coat, Jester’s lying on his back in Rowan’s lap, and Rowan’s petting his tummy, saying, “You’re a good boy.” The feeling of love and abundance in my chest surges.

“ You’re a good boy,” I tell him.

He smirks at me. “Huh. I didn’t know I had a praise kink.”

“And I don’t know what a praise kink is, but if it involves me telling you when you do good things, I’m all about it.” I smile. “Also, I should introduce myself. My name is Daphne, and my biggest personality flaw is that I prefer slow jazz to any other sound.”

He sets Jester down, watching me, and then says, “You look fucking hot, but you don’t look like you. I like it for tonight, but I like you as yourself best of all.”

“See, you do know the right thing to say,” I tell him, because I’m pretty sure it’s the best compliment I’ve ever received. He lifts from the chair and kisses me, capturing my bottom lip between his teeth for an instant. If he were to suggest staying here all night and forgetting his idea, I wouldn’t hate it, but he pulls back, rueful.

“We’re sticking to the plan. I’m not messing this up for you.” He says it with such conviction, and something inside me softens, even though I wasn’t aware there was anything left in my heart that could become softer toward him.

“By all means,” I say, pulling on my coat and watching as he tugs his back on.

Jester gives a mournful little cry, obviously realizing we’re going somewhere and he’s not.

“I’m sorry, bud,” Rowan says, then pulls something out of his pocket and gives it to him. Jester takes it greedily, already gobbling it up.

“You brought him a treat?” I ask, feeling that soft space in my heart again.

“As a distraction,” he insists, because he doesn’t like to have his goodness commented on. Then, his grin turning a bit wicked, he says, “Are you ready to break some rules, Princess?”

Am I ever.

Climbing down the side of the building was easier than I’d feared. There’s a large trellis nailed to the side of the building, and it was almost like using a ladder. It reminded me of Jonah and Marcus’s inane competition from the night Rowan got me Jester. In fact, it’s so dangerously easy that I’m tempted to write the Labelles an anonymous letter, warning them of the danger.

Afterward, we slipped into the woods by the house so we could circle around the to avoid the guards who’ve been posted at the front door after Jonah’s mistake. It felt clandestine, and kind of hot, and we’re going to be a few minutes late for whatever Rowan arranged, because I told him that it was Daphne’s fantasy to be taken against a tree.

He gave me what I wanted. Sort of. It was much too cold for us to take our clothes off, but he used one arm to pin me to the tree and the other to make me come.

It took us several minutes to hike to the car, parked in a little clear patch of land off the long driveway. We’re sitting in it now, a little disheveled from our stop in the woods, but in a good way.

“This is for you,” he says, handing me a travel mug from the cupholder. He has an identical one, I see, but he doesn’t move to open it.

The smell is out of this world fabulous, like spiced eggnog mixed with rum and butter and goodness. “Is this a Three Wise Men?”

“The very same,” he says with a grin. “Drink slowly and with caution.”

I take the first sip of the boozy drink, and it’s so delicious that I understand why it’s notorious for creating hangovers. Who would drink one of these and say, I’ve had enough ?

“What are we doing?” I ask with excitement.

“You’ll see,” he tells me, giving me a sidelong glance. “But I can tell you with confidence, Daphne, that it’ll be horrible.”