Rachel is probably leaning back in her chair, our conversation replaying in her head while staring out the window of her small office, three doors down from the coveted corner one I’m sure she eyed the first day she walked the halls of the most prestigious law firm in town—the office reserved for partners. It’s the same firm where on breaks from law school she interned during the week and screwed a junior partner on the weekends. The same law firm that handles anything Ryan needs.
She’s picking apart my story, looking for the truth behind my words. And from my research, she’s good at what she does. Something isn’t sitting right with her, and she’s trying to decide if digging into my background is worth the possibility of losing Ryan’s friendship.
Rachel is one I’ll need to watch a little closer.
Chapter 7
This is ridiculous,” I say, looking in the minuscule mirror attached to the visor so I can make a last-minute adjustment to the swathe of frothy pink fabric residing on the brim of my hat. “I look ridiculous.”
Ryan turns the SUV onto a long gravel road, passing an open ornate gate with the words hidden hills farm in metal letters stretched out across the top. He spares me a quick glance. “Yours won’t even be the biggest hat there.”
“Are you sure? Because I totally think they’re setting me up.” I agreed to go shopping with Sara and Beth for the Derby party and they assured me this hat was exactly what I needed. “And it’s not fair I have to tote this thing around on my head all day while you’re in khakis and a button-down.”
“You look great. As always,” he says, then pulls my hand away from the hat and brings it to his lips, where he places soft kisses against each finger.
Moving in with Ryan has upped his romance game: simple touches, sweet words and gestures, going out of his way to make sure I’m happy. When he’s not at work, we’re together. I can tell from his one-sided conversations with his friends that they are not pleased that I am monopolizing his time. A good girlfriend would insist he see his friends, make sure he didn’t lose touch with the people he’s closest to—but I am not a good girlfriend.
“Will your friends be mad we bailed on the pre-party?” I ask as we get closer to our destination.
We skipped drinks at Beth and Paul’s not because I couldn’t stand the idea of being around Rachel but because Ryan couldn’t. He’s still not over the way she acted at lunch, although at this point it’s been blown up to a bigger deal than it really was. She pressed me for information, not punched me in the face, but in small towns among small groups of friends, there is little difference between those two things. Ryan can hold a grudge.
“I’m sure I’ll hear something about it, but it’s all good.”
We’ve probably beat his friends here, so it will be interesting whom he gravitates to, since he’s rarely at a function like this without his core group. When we pull up to the valet stand I’m at least pleased to see that he was right: my hat is not the biggest or the most obnoxious, although that only means we all look like idiots.
Our first stop is the bar.
“Welcome to Hidden Hills Farms,” a woman behind the rough wood counter says. “Can I get your names before I get your cocktail?”
While I think this request is unusual, Ryan doesn’t hesitate. “Ryan and Evie.”
The bartender nods and drops down behind the bar. I take a minute to look at the woman in line behind us, and I’m sure the plastic horse attached to her hat is the same one I got for Christmas when I was a kid—one of Barbie’s horses, complete with pink saddle and bow in its mane. The bartender pops back up and starts making us a mint julep. I’m not sure if we have any other choice of beverage since she never asked us what we wanted, but as I eye the healthy pour of Woodford, I’m not going to complain. When she’s done, she hands us each a silver cup. Ryan’s is engraved with an R and mine has an E.
Ryan and I walk away from the bar while I’m still studying the cup. “This is pretty over the top,” I say. “I mean, if I said my name was Quinn would she have pulled out a cup with a Q on it?”
“When I RSVP’d, I told them both our names. I have a whole collection of these at home. This one is number six.”
“Ridiculous,” I mutter while he laughs.
We surf the crowd and Ryan speaks to almost every person we pass, introducing me to them as his girlfriend while his arm anchors me to his side.
“Well, hey, you two!”
Ryan and I turn around to find his neighbor, Mrs. Rogers, heading our way. I get a pat on the arm from her, while Ryan is graced with a full-frontal hug. I’m amazed at her ability to pull him in so close and not upset the precarious balance of the hat perched on her head.
“Isn’t this so fun!”
“So fun,” I answer back.
Before long, she wanders off to deliver more hugs, and Ryan gets into a deep conversation with a local judge about an upcoming election, so I take a moment to look around. This place is beautiful. The winding driveway was long enough that you can’t see the main road or hear any traffic from the house, making it feel like this party is hidden from the rest of the world—just as its name suggests. The red wooden barn sits on top of a hill and the pasture slopes down in all directions around it like a sea of green lined with white fences. There is a large movie theater–size screen attached to the side of the barn, while smaller screens are scattered in between white linen tables that will show the race. Servers roam the crowd bearing silver trays of mini Hot Browns, individual portions of cheese grits, and delicate tea sandwiches.
The judge ambles off and Ryan jerks in surprise when a couple moves in close.
“Ryan!” the man says while flinging his arm around Ryan’s neck and pulling him in tight. The two hug it out while I study the woman with him. She’s tall, close to my height, with long light-brown hair. She’s slender but muscular, and I can’t help but notice how physically similar we are.
When Ryan breaks away, his friend holds out his hand in my direction.
“So you’re the girl who’s brought Ryan to his knees,” the man says with a wide grin.
Ryan turns to me and says, “Evie, this is an old friend of mine, James Bernard. James, this is my girlfriend, Evie Porter.”
I place my hand in his and he shakes it enthusiastically. James is tall and thin, with the look of someone who struggles with substances. It’s in the hollow places in his cheeks and the smudge of dark under his eyes. The tremor in his hands and the clothes that are a tad too big. Nice dress clothes he probably dug out from the back of some closet just for today. His companion looks to be in better shape, and not just her clothes but her general well-being. Her dress is a cream sleeveless shift that hits midthigh, the shoes are Italian and expensive, and the jewelry is simple but classy. They are a mismatched pair.
“I’m not sure I’ve brought him to his knees quite yet but I’m working on it,” I tease.
James turns to Ryan. “Man, I’m so happy for you.”
Ryan and I share a look. It’s not like we’re engaged, so this hearty congratulations seems a bit much. “Thanks,” Ryan says as he wraps his arm around me. We both look at the woman standing next to him and Ryan nods in her direction. “Introduce us to your friend.”
James turns around quickly, obviously embarrassed he forgot who was standing next to him. “Ryan, Evie, this is Lucca Marino.”
Her name runs through me like a shock of electricity.
“Lucca,” I say quietly, rolling it around on my tongue. “That’s an unusual name.” I realize I sound just like Beth on the night of the dinner party.
She smiles and rolls her eyes. “I know. I’m named after the town in Italy where my grandparents were from. Two c’s. No one ever spells it right.”
My eyes go to the silver cup in her hand; the script L is visible in the spaces between her fingers.
James and Ryan start talking about who they bet on in the upcoming race, but I’m still stuck on the woman.
“Are you from here?” I ask. My mouth is suddenly dry. I take a quick sip of my drink but no more than that.
“No. I’m from a small town in North Carolina, just above Greensboro. It’s tiny, I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”
“Eden,” I blurt out before I can help myself.