Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

KENNEDY

The inn is beautiful—an old Victorian building, with crown molding and a tower bedroom for me, as if I’m truly a princess. It’s also decked out for Christmas, with a huge tree in the lobby and garland everywhere. One wall hosts an enormous hearth. The production team asked them to strip the decorations, and they replied that they’d already kicked everyone out to make room for us—the decorations were staying. Harry says they’ll cut them out in post-production.

It’s nice and cheerful, but I don’t feel the joy of it. My little tree was lost to the fire in Labelle Manor, and my heart is in tatters.

It’s Friday evening. We’re about to hold the Rolex ceremony, even though my one-on-one dates with both Colton and Jeff, which was supposed to take place this morning, were canceled because of my supposed stomach complaint and the fact that the entire house we were staying in was engulfed in flames. That kind of thing will create a delay or two, I guess. Honestly, I’m kind of surprised the show wasn’t canceled on the spot, but Harry tells me it’ll actually be fantastic for the story arc, and the producers are, and I quote, “excited” by the fiery destruction Jonah wrought on Labelle Manor.

This means I can finally cut him, right?

Admittedly, he was trying to make me cookies, but he nearly killed my boyfriend and my dog while doing it.

Rowan is most definitely not yours. He made his decision.

I smooth my hands over the front of my silky red dress, looking in the mirror, and I’m forcibly reminded of that first night, when Rowan slowly slid up my zipper. A production assistant did it tonight, and I just sent her on her way so I could have a few minutes alone.

I sigh and walk over to the bed, slumping onto the mattress. The stuffed pony Rowan got me sits against the pillow, and tears prick at my eyes. Both because I miss him and because the pony, however cuddly and adorable, is not much of a substitution for Jester. My baby is still at the emergency vet, but I’m told he’ll almost certainly pull through. He’ll be okay because of Rowan.

I’m tempted to use tonight’s ceremony to announce that I’m leaving the show, but I don’t have it in me to ruin things for the production assistants and producers, for Harry, and even for three-fourths of the remaining guys.

Jonah Highbury can go stuff it—and Maeve Mayberry with him. I’m sure she’s going to have some choice words for me tonight, what with the fire and the fact that I was caught sneaking out.

I glance at the door. If there’s someone waiting behind it, I can’t tell through the small strip at the bottom. I take a chance and reach under my pillow to grab the contraband phone Harry let me borrow. I don’t have to call my brother—he and Tina stopped by earlier and demanded to talk to me, and Zach slung around the perfect combination of threats and flattery to be allowed access to me. I assured them that both Jester and I were alive, thanks to Rowan, and they exchanged a significant glance that poked at my sore heart.

I dial up Olive, who answers on the first ring. “Kennedy?” she asks. “Tell me it’s you.”

“It’s me,” I say, feeling a rush of joy upon hearing her voice. “Boy, do I have a lot to tell you.”

“Good,” she says. “Tell me everything. Spoiler alert—they’re going to ship me out there next week to hang out with you on Christmas Eve. My mama too.”

I want them here now . I want them here yesterday. “Oh, thank God,” I say, and I tell her everything. Everything.

“Holy shit,” she says when I’ve finished. “That’s gonna be some show.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I say, but I can’t muster any excitement right now, not even for her.

“I look forward to meeting him.”

“Who?” I ask, surprised, mostly because I haven’t made much of a case for Jonah, Marcus, Jeff, or Colton. I could understand why she’d want to meet them, from a morbid curiosity viewpoint, but there’s actual excitement in her voice.

“Rowan, obviously.”

“I don’t know if you will meet him.” My heart sinks at the thought because I like thinking of the three of us hanging out. Olive would give him grief for being such a grump, and he’d give it right back. Nanny Rose would be there, of course, and knowing her, she’d insist on cooking for all of us even though the show has chefs on staff.

“Oh, I will,” Olive says knowingly. “I can tell.”

My heart tries to buoy up from the mire in which it has sunk, but I don’t want to let myself hope. I used to think there was nothing bad about hope—only an upside—but hope can be dangerous. It can lead to the kind of disappointment it’s hard to bounce back from.

“He doesn’t want to be dragged into any of this,” I say.

“We’ll see,” she says knowingly, and I’d be annoyed with her if she weren’t saying something I’m desperate to believe. “I’ll see you soon, Kennedy. It’s almost over. We’re gonna get crunked when you’re finally finished shooting. And we’re still going to watch half a dozen Christmas movies. I don’t care if that’s almost over too.”

We hang up, and one line keeps running through my head— It’s almost over .

She’s right, but what will my life look like once it’s done? Should I call Rowan and ask to talk this through? At the same time, he knows what I want—I’ve made that very clear—so it’s on him to reach out to me, isn’t it? Still, I find myself looking through Harry’s contacts to find his number.

A knock lands on my door, and I shove the phone under my pillow.

“Are you ready?” Harry asks from behind the door.

No. Yes. As ready as I’ll ever be.

I give my stuffed pony a pat, feeling a pinch of nostalgia for last night…before the fiery doom that engulfed Labelle Manor, obviously. Then I grab the phone, get up, and open the door.

“That dress is fantastic,” Harry tells me as I glance around and then hand him the phone. He sounds like he means it, but I don’t miss the way his face catches on mine. Despite turning me orange, which we now know was Rowan’s fault, the makeup artist is very good at what she does, but she couldn’t totally conceal that I’d spent half the night crying instead of sleeping. “This is going to be good… great . This show is going to blow everyone’s expectations out of the water.”

I nod because I don’t trust my voice not to waver. “Are we still going on the skiing trip tomorrow?”

“Some people will be going, yes,” he says enigmatically. Maybe he put it that way because I haven’t told anyone who I’m planning to cut. To do that, I’d have to know myself. I’m still on the edge of quitting, of telling them I can’t do this. Because even if I can’t have Rowan, even if he doesn’t want to be at the center of this shitshow with me, I’m still in love with him. Isn’t it morally wrong of me to pretend that I could have feelings for someone else? Shouldn’t I at least talk to the other guys openly about it so they know that I’m not interested in them? I’ve made no promises, and Nana Mayberry told me I flirt as badly as a block of ice, but even so, I don’t want to disappoint anyone.

“It’s going to be okay, Kennedy,” Harry says kindly, his eyes warm. “It really will. Just don’t ask Jonah to make cookies.” He makes a face. “That was my error.” Then he glances behind me into the room. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I think his gaze lingers on the pony. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Let’s go, then,” he says.

The couple who run this place have half a dozen wonderful rocking chairs, each equipped with its own thick plaid blanket, arranged around the lobby, so that’s where we’ll be sitting instead of the thrones from Labelle Manor. There’s a big screen TV mounted to the wall across from them, near the tree, and the sweet lady who runs the place told me that they’re going to be playing holiday movies every night. She even offered to fix me hot chocolate and cookies if I’d like to join her. Better yet, there’s a little reading room next to the lobby filled with hundreds of books.

“Most of them are romance,” she’d told me with a conspiratorial look. “Something tells me you won’t mind that a bit.”

I love it here.

I wish I were here under different circumstances.

I wish I were here with a different person, no offense to Harry.

He leads me downstairs, neither of us talking.

A cameraman is waiting at the foot of the stairs, taking footage of me descending.

I can see that someone has set up a little bar down below, near the fireplace, and there’s a tray of champagne glasses, another nod toward where we began.

The guys are all dressed in ill-fitting suits, which Harry tells me was the cause of much consternation earlier today. While Tina lent me one of her dresses, the guys weren’t so lucky. (My brother, understandably, felt no interest in lending his nice things to the production, and no one else came forward with any offers.) There are only two suit shops in Highland Hills—one of them run by a man who claims his artistry would be offended by attempting to fit suits to four men in a matter of hours, and the other a discount shop. The producers opted for the latter. They say it will add to the shock value of the fire, although I’m unclear on why the fire needs to seem more shocking.

Colton and Jeff are sitting on the rocking chairs, rocking and chatting as if they could care less about the outcome of this Rolex ceremony, but Marcus and Jonah are each putting sticks in the fire from the collection gathered next to it, as if to prove to each other that they’re capable of being outdoorsy. Nana Mayberry is watching them with pursed lips, standing a distance away from everyone. She’s wearing a red sweater and a skirt with green stripes, but she couldn’t look less merry if she were wearing a Krampus costume. A few of the production assistants are hanging around too, and a couple of them are having an intense whispered conversation. Maybe they’re worried about Jonah being so close to the flames.

“Should he be allowed near the fire?” I ask hesitantly.

Harry blanches. “Away from the fire, Jonah,” he shouts. “Step away.”

“But Marcus and I have a little—”

“ Away .”

Surprisingly, he listens. Maybe even Jonah Highbury the Fifth is capable of being chastened by the fact that he just singlehandedly destroyed a mansion.

When we get to the bottom of the steps, Harry nods to the fast-talking PAs, and one of them beams back at him and pulls a laptop out of his bag. Harry nods for me to take a seat. I do, and Marcus and Jonah sit down too, one on either side of me. I’m freezing despite the fire but I suppose that’s the downside of wearing formal wear in the winter.

Harry, still standing, waves to the flat screen TV mounted on the wall across from the rocking chairs, and I’m vaguely aware of the cameras, soaking us all in.

“We have a special surprise prepared for you,” he says, and the way Nana Mayberry sharply cranes her head, like one of those velociraptors in Jurassic Park , tells me that she’s had no part in this. Even though I still want to be anywhere but here, my interest is piqued.

“Here we go,” the PA says, giving Harry a thumbs up.

The TV flickers on, and a video shows up on the screen. It’s the PA wearing a Santa suit with a scantily clad female elf on his lap.

“What the—” someone says, just as Nana Mayberry screeches, “What is this about, Sweet Tea? You did not run this by me, and I’m the official co-host. Put a stop to this nonsense at once.”

“Just wait,” Harry says, although it looks like some of the wind has been taken out of his sails. “It’s not the right video. When you see the correct footage, you’ll all be blown away.”

The PA hustles to fix the problem, blushing furiously, and a new video appears on the screen. I recognize the pool room from Labelle Manor. Nana Mayberry’s voice blares over the speakers, and our mouths gape as we listen. I glance at Nana just as she launches herself at Harry, whose eyes bulge in horror.

“Not again,” he shouts.

“You’ve ruined everything ,” she shouts back, grabbing onto his shirt and shaking him.

“She’s going to kill me!” Harry yells. “Help! Help! There’s murder in her eyes!”

Jonah lets out a yelp, and the other guys look like frozen deer, but I nearly fall over my feet trying to get up in my dress, which wasn’t designed with sitting in mind. I don’t need to, though, because someone steps out of the reading room, and a strangled sound escapes me because it’s him. It’s him .

Rowan pulls his grandmother off easily, restraining her. He’s dressed in one of his flannel shirts, the sleeves snug around his big arms, and his mouth is pressed into a serious line. Someone else might find him foreboding, from his intense expression to the bulk of him, but I’ve never been happier to see another person. It feels like my body naturally arcs toward him, like it’s reaching out for him without my explicit permission.

“You idiot,” Nana shouts at him, her face contorting. “How dare you turn on me after everything I’ve done for you. You’ve never been worth—”

“How dare you !” I seethe, finally managing to get out of my chair. For some reason it feels insane to be sitting through this. “He’s helped you his whole life, and for what? You’re an awful woman.”

Admittedly, he was trying to mess up her show, but it seems like she did a pretty good job of that herself. I can feel everyone staring at me, but my eyes are on her calculating, narrow-eyed expression.

“I chose poorly in you,” she says spitefully. “You’re a foolish, bleeding heart—”

“Finish the video,” Rowan says flatly. His eyes are on me, but the words aren’t for me. It’s then I realize the PA paused it on a particularly unflattering still of an eyes-half-closed Jonah gripping a folder of what must be incriminating photos.

My gaze instantly returns to Rowan, and I find him staring at me, his eyes hot.

What does it mean that he’s here, that he’s part of whatever Harry’s doing? Hope is kindling inside me, but I don’t want to let it get out of hand. I’ve seen what fires can do.

“I’m leaving,” Nana Mayberry says sharply, pulling to release herself from her grandson’s grip. He lets her. They both know he could stop her without raising his heart rate if she were to attempt another grab at Harry or anyone else. “I don’t need to put myself through this abuse. All of this was my vision, and—”

“You said you were leaving?” Harry asks, now almost cocky. “Because that would be for the best. I’ve already shown this footage to the producers, and you’re fired, of course. Old Sweet Tea over here is the new host of this show, no co-host necessary.”

I grin at him because I’m proud of how far he’s come. He’s not afraid of her anymore. He’s not afraid of Oliver anymore either, and that’s a beautiful thing. Part of me wishes he’d warned me about all of this—about Jonah’s role in the fire, about Nana, about Rowan— but I understand why he didn’t. Harry has sharp instincts for what makes for good TV, and I’m guessing my genuine shock was part of his plan. Given everything he’s been through to get to this point, I don’t blame him one bit.

Nana Mayberry gives us one more withering look, pausing to make it extra freeze you to your soul when she reaches Jonah. Then she walks out the door without retrieving her coat, as if she can’t be bothered to get cold.

“It’s time,” Rowan says again, nodding to the PA.

I keep my attention on Rowan, not the video broadcasting on the screen, but I glance back at it when I hear Marcus croon, “No fucking way.”

We all watch as the curtain falls onto the smoldering photos. As the fire starts.

“We don’t know that’s what made the house burn down,” Jonah says defensively, squirming in his chair now.

“No,” Harry says, more confident now that his nemesis has been ruined. “The other option is that you burned it down by making cookies. Either way…” He tilts his head to the side and lifts his shoulder. “No one will ever enjoy the rooster room again.”

“He has a good point,” Colton says. “Not about the rooster room, but about the cookies.” His gaze flicks to me. “You know, you really shouldn’t eat cookies anyway if there’s a chance you have ulcerative colitis, Kennedy. They say—”

“She doesn’t have ulcerative colitis, you dimwit,” Jonah says, his face red. He finally gets up from his chair. “She’s been tricking us. I’m not the only one who’s been up to something I shouldn’t have.” He points an accusatory finger at me. “Kennedy snuck out of the house in a disguise.”

“Spoiler alert, Jonah,” I say. “You’re not getting your Rolex back in the ceremony tonight.”

“Well, this is just great ,” he says, kicking the leg of his rocking chair. It rocks back and then forward sharply, hitting him. He starts hopping on one leg, then scowls at me as if it’s my fault. “I pretended to be a virgin for you.”

“Called it,” Marcus mutters.

“I got you a puppy,” Jonah continues.

I wonder if he’s about to admit to making out with Maeve Mayberry “for me,” but before he can say anything else, Rowan rumbles, “No, you didn’t.”

Then he’s walking toward me, and I forget everything else. I certainly forget Jonah and whatever he’s muttering about Jester.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say as Rowan comes closer. Because I know what this means, and I know very well what it will cost him. His privacy, so dear to him. His anonymity, even dearer. As he takes my hands, the warmth of him instantly dispels the chill I’ve felt all day.

“No, I don’t.” He swallows. “I should probably do the noble thing and say that I want to. But we both know I don’t. You’re worth it, though, Kennedy, a million times over, and I’m sorry if I’m such a stubborn jackass that I made you feel for one second like you’re not.”

Tears burn behind my eyes, and maybe I’m the jackass, because I don’t care that we’re in front of the four guys I was supposed to be dating, or that no one other than Harry knows that we’re together, or that we haven’t properly talked things through…

I put my arms around his neck, lean up, and kiss him.

He kisses me back as if he’s unaware of the cameras taking it in—as if he really doesn’t care so long as he can be with me.

When he pulls back, I keep holding his hand, because I don’t want to stop touching him.

“Well,” Harry says with a look of victory. “It would seem you two have quite the story to tell us.”