Rebel Belle

Chapter 37

THE GRAVEL and shells crunched under Ryan’s tires as he pulled the car up to Magnolia House. My heart thumped steadily in my chest as I stared at his headlights. How many times had I looked at this house and thought it was the prettiest place in the world? How many times had I pictured myself living there, sweeping down those wide front stairs in a Scarlett O’Hara gown?

Now staring at it, all I could think was that not only would I never live in Magnolia House, but that I might actually die there. Tonight. I tugged at my gloves. They were damp and wrinkled, and I realized my palms were sweating.

I was so busy fiddling with the row of pearl buttons, trying to get the stupid gloves off, that I didn’t notice Ryan watching me until he reached out and began undoing the buttons himself.

“Here,” he said softly. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they pulled the buttons through their little loops, and for the first time in a long time, something swelled in my chest as I watched him. It wasn’t love. Or at least, it wasn’t the boyfriend kind of love. But it was warmth and affection and this . . . I don’t know, gratitude.

Ryan was a good guy. He always had been. Once he’d finished half the row, he tugged at each finger until the glove slid off my hand. “Thanks,” I said as he handed it back to me. One hand free, I went to work on the other glove myself, even though I could feel his gaze like an actual weight on the curve of my neck.

“We’re done, aren’t we?” he asked. I raised my head, the left glove still half on, half off.

For a second, I thought about pretending I didn’t know what he was talking about. Maybe if I smiled at him and made a joke about the gloves, I could stop this from happening. But did I want to? Was there room for Ryan in my life—short as it might be—now?

I knew there wasn’t.

But even more, I wasn’t sure there had ever been room for Ryan. Not really. Not the way he deserved. Still, I couldn’t make myself say anything.

Ryan wasn’t stupid. He knew what my silence meant. His throat worked, and his eyes were shiny. “Well, we had a good run of it,” he said, broad shoulders shrugging inside his tux jacket. He looked the handsomest I’d ever seen him, like he was meant to wear formal wear every day of his life.

I laughed, but it sounded sad. “You make it sound like we’re getting divorced.”

He laughed, too, dashing at his face with the back of his arm. “Hey, we’ve been together nearly our entire high school lives. That’s, like, twice the length of a lot of marriages.”

Smiling, I reached out and took his hand. “I love you, Ry.”

Sniffing, he nodded toward the house. “I know that. But I’m not an idiot, Harper. There’s someone in there you wanna be with more than you wanna be with me.”

I actually recoiled at that. “W-what are you talking about?”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Harper, you and David Stark have been circling each other since kindergarten.”

My mouth suddenly felt dry, and I busied myself taking off my glove. “David and I . . . maybe we have ended up being friends after all, and I guess we have some stuff in common—”

“He gets you, Harper. That way you throw yourself into everything you do, he does that, too. And he’s a walking encyclopedia like you, and I bet he doesn’t even play video games—”

“I like War Metal 4,” I insisted, but Ryan shook his head.

“It’s okay, Harper. I actually feel kind of . . . good. You know, doing the noble thing, stepping aside in the face of True Love . . .”

He was trying to joke, but my throat suddenly went tight. If Ryan had any idea what was really going on between me and David, that it was so much more complicated and so much worse.

“Ryan,” I said feebly, but he shook his head.

“It’s okay,” he repeated even though he sounded a million miles from “okay.” “Just go.”

I felt like there was more I should say. We might have only been together for two years, but Ryan had been a huge part of my life.

But in the end, I just nodded again. It was better like this. So with one last little wave, I got out of the car and walked into the house.

Saylor was hanging her coat in the front closet when I walked in. “Where are your gloves?”

I stared at her. “Seriously?”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “You sound like David. And while I know there are”— she glanced around us—“more pressing matters at hand right now, it’s still important that you look the part. Now I’ll ask you again, where are your gloves?”

Adrenaline had made me jittery, and my hand shook slightly as I gestured back out the door. “I left them in Ryan’s car.”

Saylor lifted an eyebrow. “And is Mr. Bradshaw coming inside?”

“I-I don’t think so. We broke up.”

Closing her eyes, Saylor rolled her lips inward. “Was tonight the best time for that?”

Anger flared up in me. “I don’t know. I’m not sure there is a best time for your boyfriend to dump you.”

“You and Ryan broke up?”

Bee had just walked in the front door, Brandon a few steps behind her.

“Kind of?” I said before shaking my head. “No, not kind of. We broke up, yes.”

I don’t know what kind of expression people make after they’ve watched a puppy get stomped, but it had nothing on Bee’s face in that moment. “Right before Cotillion?” she asked, shocked. “You broke up with your boyfriend half an hour before the most important night of your life?”

Taking a deep breath, I picked up the hem of my dress, moving closer to Bee. “First off, this is not the most important night of our lives. There are going to be lots of important nights. And secondly, he actually broke up with me, and it’s . . . it’s okay.”

“It’s so not okay,” Bee said, her dark eyes watery. “You can’t possibly be okay. Harper—”

Behind me, I could hear the kitchen door opening. A couple of men in black pants and white shirts came through, carrying a small table between them.

I met Saylor’s gaze. The cater waiters. They didn’t seem particularly assassin-like, and they weren’t even looking in this direction. But then, Dr. DuPont hadn’t seemed scary either until he’d had a scimitar at my neck.

“We’ll talk about this later,” I told Bee as there was another bustle from the kitchen. The door swung open again, and this time, my Aunts Martha and May swooped in. May was carrying a giant silver punch bowl, while Martha had a ladle tucked under her arm.

“I am older than you, Martha,” May insisted. “It is not right that you’re making me carry this all by my lonesome.”

“You are two minutes older,” Martha replied, “and that punch bowl hardly weighs a thing. Besides, Mother left it to you, so it’s your responsibility to carry it.”

May grumbled at that, but then Martha saw me, raising the ladle in greeting. “Oh, Harper! You look so pretty! May, doesn’t Harper look pretty?”

“I can’t see her over this stupid bowl,” May muttered, staggering toward the table the waiters had set up.

Despite everything pressing down on me, I laughed. “Where’s Aunt Jewel?”

“She’s wheeling the cooler of punch in,” Aunt May said, finally getting the bowl situated in the center of the table.

Right. The punch. I thought again of David’s vision, the wave of bright red washing over everything. “Where’s David?” I asked Saylor, and she nodded upstairs.

Maybe he had some valuable, punch-y insights.

Bee was still standing in the doorway, her arms folded. “Why do you need to see David?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Thankfully, Saylor covered for me. “With Mr. Bradshaw and Harper’s sudden and unfortunate situation, Harper will need an escort. I always bring David as a spare just in case these things happen.”

It was probably the last thing Bee wanted to hear, but at least it made sense. I turned away before I could see her scowl, and headed up the stairs to David.