Chapter Thirty-Eight WILLOW

I have the best time taking Rhett around the party and introducing him to everyone I know. Everyone I’m related to. I even introduce him to the twins who giggle and carry on and ask if Rhett is my boyfriend. He answers yes before I can respond, sending a thrill through me that has my heart beating extra hard.

It’s the perfect night. The air is cool but not too cold, and the moon shines its silvery glow down upon us. The food is delicious, and Summer and Whit hired a DJ, who’s playing a mixture of current hits and oldies that gets everyone—including the parents and grandparents—out on the dance floor. Even Linda the lip print reader is dancing, her hands in the air as she moves to the beat.

We catch Iris and Brooks kissing behind a massive planter that’s taller than Brooks, which is saying a lot. Brooks appears sheepish, his hands springing away from Iris’s waist when we come upon them, but Iris just grabs one of his hands and settles it right on her butt.

“They know we’re fucking around, Brooksie. We don’t need to hide,” she says with a smile, just before he kisses her again.

It’s kind of romantic, how she spoke to him. How he looked at her. As if the sun rises and sets on her pretty little head.

I want Rhett to look at me like that.

We eat some food and watch the twins cut their birthday cake. Their mom Carolina delivers sparklers to all of the girls’ friends and they wave them in the air, the music playing extra loud as slices of cake get passed out by the caterer’s staff.

“This party is like a freaking wedding,” Rhett says at one point when he’s handed a plate of cake. We find a table to sit at and he immediately digs in while I watch him. “You’re not going to have any?

I slowly shake my head. I’m too nervous to eat anything sweet, which is a shame because I absolutely adore cake with thick frosting on it. I’ve always had a sweet tooth. “I’m not hungry.”

“You’re watching me like you’re dying to snatch the fork from my fingers and steal this bite for yourself.” He pauses, holding the fork in front of my mouth. “You sure you don’t want some? I can share.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

He shoves the bite into his mouth, savoring it, humming his pleasure. The sound makes my body light up, ultra-aware of every little thing he does. “You’re missing out.”

His reaction to the cake is making me forget my nerves. “Fine. Feed me a bite.”

Pleased with himself, he cuts me off a big chunk and holds the fork in front of my mouth. “Open up.”

I part my lips, all the air leaving my lungs when he slowly slides the tines of the fork into my mouth. The sugary goodness of the cake melts on my tongue and I wrap my lips around it, murmuring when he pulls the fork from my mouth. His gaze darkens, his focus solely on my mouth and nothing else, and awareness crackles in the air between us.

I chew and swallow, shocked that Rhett feeding me a bite of cake in the middle of a birthday party could be so … sensual.

“Good?” His voice is rough, his gaze fiery.

Nodding, I rub my lips together, getting one last taste of the sugary sweetness. “Delicious.”

“Want another bite?” His brows lift in question.

“I probably shouldn’t.” I shake my head.

But I don’t mean it. He feeds me a few more bites between his own, the two of us leaning toward each other more and more, until I’m close enough that I can easily crawl into his lap. I’m tempted to do it. To curl up close and feel those big arms come around my body, cradling me.

My phone buzzes and I check to see who the message is from.

Iris: Meet us at the hot tub in one hour.

“Iris wants us to meet her at the hot tub,” I tell Rhett.

“With Brooks?” he asks.

Me: Is Brooks with you?

Iris: Duh. I found a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. We want to share it with you guys.

“She has champagne.” I lift my gaze to find Rhett already watching me. “Do want to hang out with them?”

“I’d rather hang out with you. Alone.” His voice deepens, the look on his face almost feral, making me shiver.

“We can hang out alone for a little bit,” I whisper. “She wants to meet us in an hour. I’m assuming that’s when the party should end.”

“We can do a lot in an hour, princess.”

An incessant throb starts in my belly. Lower. What he’s suggesting …

Am I ready for it?

My phone buzzes in my hand again.

Iris: So????????

I start typing.

Me: We’re in. Do you think the party will be done by then?

Iris: It better be. I want everyone out of here. Might go a little longer though. Are you still hanging out at the party?

Me: Where are you?

Iris: Um … in our room. With Brooks.

“Iris is in the room we share with Brooks,” I murmur.

“We can go to my room,” Rhett suggests.

I keep my focus on the phone, thinking. If my parents were here, I’d never have the guts to sneak into Rhett’s room. But they’re not here. Summer and Whit are too preoccupied by the party. So are all of my aunts and uncles who are in attendance. No one is paying attention to us.

Lifting my gaze to Rhett’s, I murmur, “Okay.”

***

It took us at least fifteen minutes to say our goodbyes to various people at the party, including Iris’s parents who both asked me if I’d seen her—talk about making me anxious. I hate lying but I just blew them off, claiming Iris was most likely in the kitchen. Why I said that, I don’t know.

I never claimed to be a good liar.

By the time we’re entering the house, I’m a frazzled mess. Well, inside at least. Outwardly, I’m trying my best to keep my demeanor calm. Almost nonchalant. Like it’s no big deal that I’m going to a boy’s room all alone on a Saturday night.

This is a huge deal. And it feels like we’re running out of time. Tonight, this weekend. I don’t know how long this is going to last with Rhett. It could all come crashing down around our heads tomorrow night. Monday morning. Just thinking about it fills me with agitated nerves accompanied by a wave of nausea.

Shoving the thoughts out of my mind, I focus on this moment. Right now. The way Rhett looks at me. How he touches me. Currently his hand rests on my lower back, his wide palm and long fingers pressed against bare skin thanks to the open back of my dress. He doesn’t say much, but I can feel the urgency vibrating off of him. He’s eager to get me alone.

I feel the same about him, though I’m probably more nervous than he is.

“Do you ever get lost in this place?” he asks, frustration lacing his tone as I verbally guide him toward the stairwell that leads us to our bedroom wing.

“I have,” I say with a laugh. “Plenty of times. When I was around six, I got so lost, I cried and cried for my mama. Iris’s dad found me in the butler’s pantry, sitting on the floor crying as hard as I can ever remember. It was a traumatic moment.”

Considering my upbringing and how loving our household is, that counts as one of the most terrifying moments of my childhood. Lost in this place.

“Sounds like it.” His tone is vaguely sarcastic and I ignore it. I’m sure he’s had a privileged upbringing as well.

I decide to change the subject.

“There are ghosts here you know,” I say as we come upon the staircase.

“Ghosts?” Now he sounds amused. “Like who? The creepy statue on campus?”

“Yes!” I laugh, increasing my pace to get ahead of Rhett, reaching out to grasp the intricate iron railing. “He’s definitely one of them. Ezekiel died young.”

“How?”

Biting my lower lip, I turn to face him, standing on the second step, which puts me at perfect height with him. I might even be a little taller. I can see the top of his head, his mussed golden-brown hair. How it waves at the ends. “He killed himself. Jumped off the roof of this very house.”

“What?” His eyes go wide and he glances around, his expression unsure. “Are you serious?”

I nod. “There used to be a terrace up there. They had parties much like the one tonight. They did it for the view, and of course, the higher you are, the richer you feel.” My uncle Grant told me that once. But then he also added, The higher you are, the harder you fall.

That always stuck with me.

“Okay …” He steps closer and I rest my hands on his broad shoulders, staring into his hazel eyes. The green in his gaze seems more intense tonight. “I can tell there’s more to this story.”

“Oh, yes.” I am relishing this moment. No one is around and I have Rhett Bennett’s undivided attention. This might be a stall tactic on my part, but it’s also fun. And I think he’s enjoying the story too. “The night it happened, there was a party. His younger brother was engaged and the family was celebrating, with the exception of Ezekiel. He was morose the entire evening. Snarly and snapping at everyone, and no one could figure out why. And when the party was long over, in the middle of the night, Ezekiel jumped from the roof and landed in the circular drive.”

I shiver at the mental image and Rhett’s brows are drawn together.

“Creepy,” he says. “No wonder that statue has always bothered me.”

“Why he did it isn’t creepy, it’s tragic.” I pause, because another thing my uncle Grant taught me is that a solid pause in the middle of a story always makes it more engrossing. “He left behind a note. He was in love with his brother’s new fiancée, and couldn’t go on living if he had to witness her marrying his brother.”

“Was she in love with him?”

“She was seeing Ezekiel first, but then she met Thomas Lancaster. His younger and much more charming brother. It was never that serious, what she shared with Ezekiel, but her abandonment devastated him,” I explain. Oh, I love Lancaster family lore. It’s so intricate and dramatic and interesting.

“What happened after he killed himself? Did they get married?” Rhett asks.

“Yes. They pushed back their wedding date due to the funeral and the time of mourning for the family, but six months after his death, they were married. They ended up very happy together and had six children. Their youngest boy they named Ezekiel, after his dead uncle.”

Rhett actually chuckles. “That’s a little morbid, don’t you think? He was in love with her. Killed himself at the loss of her, and they named their kid after him?”

“Thomas loved his brother. He was always plagued with guilt, but I suppose love wins over blood in the end?” I shrug, sliding my hands to the back of Rhett’s head, burying my fingers in his hair. I love how soft it is.

His lids lower, as if he’s enjoying me playing with his hair. “That’s kind of fucked up.”

I lean in close, pressing my cheek to his so I can whisper in his ear. “My entire family is kind of … fucked up.”

Rhett rears back, his shocked gaze meeting mine. “Did you just say fuck, Willow Lancaster?”

I nod, pressing my lips to his to keep him quiet. It’s a playful gesture, but when I try to pull away, his hand cups the back of my head, keeping me in place as he deepens the kiss. His tongue searches my mouth, making me whimper.

A loud noise booms somewhere in the depths of the house, startling me, and Rhett growls, grabbing my hand and leading me up the stairs. I follow after him, hurrying to keep up, both of us silent as we move down the corridor, passing by Iris’s closed bedroom door.

I swear I hear her giggling, followed by a very male groan.

Oh my.

We stop in front of the guest bedroom door Rhett’s staying in and he rests his hand on the handle, pausing to turn toward me.

“You’re sure?”

He doesn’t say any more, but I know what he’s referring to, and I nod firmly.

“Yes.”