I carried her to the shallow end of the pool and set her on the steps. She was sputtering water and gulping air, and her shaking hands reached up toward her face. "Are you okay?" I whispered. "Do you need a doctor?"
Her lips were trembling as she fought to catch her breath. Her face bore a pained expression, and at first I thought that maybe she'd bumped her head in the fall and that's why she hadn't tried to swim out, and maybe I shouldn't wait for her response before calling for a doctor. Then she grabbed me by my necklace and pulled me closer, sputtering water from her lips as she hissed, "You should've let me drown."
I drew back from her, and she covered her face with her hands. A glance around told me that everyone was watching. When I rose to my feet, I realized I'd lost one of my shoes. I reached down and removed the other one. What was the point?
Then I remembered my hair. My brown hair fell limply to my shoulders, the soft curls gone. My makeup was probably streaking down my face, and my false eyelashes were no doubt on their way to the skimmer.
I looked up and my gaze met Jax's shocked eyes. It was bad. I just knew from looking at him that it was very, very bad. So I did the only sensible thing I could think of.
I ran like hell.
I flew across the patio, struggling against my soaked dress. I flung the train over one arm. It must have weighed ten pounds. All I could think was that if someone stopped me, I'd be tossed out on my ear. Or worse. Fortunately, despite taking an obvious interest in the soaking wet woman running through the halls, none of the guests appeared to take an interest in actually stopping me.
I slipped on the parquet floor, but didn't fall. A quick sprint to the front entrance and a near-tumble down the stone steps, and I had reached the front lawn. My lungs were burning, my feet were already scuffed from the run, and I cursed my luck. Here I was, Cinderella, and my gorgeous gown had turned to rags. I was confident I'd never find the right limo driver, and even if I did, it's not like I could ask him to take me home. He wasn't my driver. No, the reality was that I was going to have to walk back into town barefoot, or hope that some kind soul pulled over to the side of the road and asked me if I needed a ride. Then I'd be lucky if I didn't end up in a shallow grave.
The driveway was a million miles long and covered in those little white rocks that are absolute murder on bare feet. It was also edged in thick rows of shrubbery, or else I would've run on the grass. Needless to say, I was in tears by the time I reached the iron gates. Which were closed. Of course they were.
"God dammit!" I pounded on the bars with one fist. I pushed on the intercom button and screamed, "Let me out!"
The intercom buzzed back and a calm male voice asked me in an English accent, "Can I help you?"
"Yes, goddammit. You can open this gate!"
A pause. "Are you a guest of Mr. Brennan's?"
How to answer that one? I skirted the question. "I'm trying to leave. I want you to let me out or else I'm going to do something drastic."
"Are you now?" There was a touch of amusement in his voice that I didn't appreciate at all. "What sort of drastic thing are you going to do?"
He had me there. I grabbed a hold of the gate and tugged at it, screaming. The voice came back on and said, "That's no good. It's motorized."
I glanced up at the lamppost and saw a black orb beneath. A camera. Fantastic. I was feeling very sorry for myself when I heard the crunch of rock behind me and saw a headlight slice the darkness. I stepped to the side, oddly triumphant. The jerk manning the front gate would have no choice but to open it now, and I'd slide through, right behind the limousine.
Sure enough, the massive gates swung open to allow the vehicle passage. I stepped out from the darkness as it passed. The limousine stopped halfway through the gate and a window rolled down. A woman peered at me through the darkness. "Do you need a ride?"
Poppy. I swallowed and said, weakly, "Yes."
"Come on."
I opened the door, hesitating. "I'm soaking wet."
She kept her profile to me. "Yeah? Me too."
I took that as permission and climbed inside. I selected the seat closest to the door. "Thanks."
She didn't respond. The limo lurched forward and out of the gate, taking a right. I reached up then and felt my hair. It was ruined now, as were my gown and shoes. Would Jax make me pay for them? Then, with a shift of my heart, I remembered the earrings. Fortunately, they were still on my earlobes. I removed them and tucked them into my clutch. Those were safe at least. I was just adding up the rest of the damage when Poppy said, "Who are you?"
Maybe it was too dark for her to recognize me, and of course she wouldn't have expected Griff's plain Jane ex-girlfriend to be at such a posh gathering. "Wren," I murmured. "Mallory."
She was staring directly at me then, her eyes hard and inscrutable. "Why did you run?"
I avoided her eyes. My feet were bleeding. My clever ploy with Jax had gone all pear-shaped and landed me in a limousine with the woman I'd blamed for stealing my boyfriend. A reality star, no less. I started laughing, which only made Poppy glare harder and say, "What's so funny?"
I shook my head, the tears streaming down my face. I was feeling full — of humiliation, of relief that I wouldn't have to walk home, of hope that Jax would get that damn role so I could return to my normal, quiet life again.
I reached up to swipe at the tears. My face was greasy from the thick layer of makeup that Lou had applied to hide my freckles. "I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing because I think I may have just hit rock bottom."
She watched me, sizing me up. She didn't smile when she said, "Me too." She paused. "What are you going to do about it?"
I set my head back against the seat. "I don't know," I confessed. "Claw my way back up, I guess. How about you?"
The streetlights faded in and out of the vehicle cabin, and as they faded in, I caught Poppy clenching her jaw. "I'm going to settle some scores."
That didn't sound like good news for Griff. But honestly, I didn't care what happened to Griff anymore. It all seemed so ridiculous.
The limo pulled into the drive leading to Breaker House, an upscale inn at the edge of Archer Cove. Instead of heading toward the main inn, it took a right toward the Cottage: a luxurious two-story saltbox Cape with gray shingles and blossoming blue and white hydrangeas in the front. The walkway was made of crushed seashells, which were illuminated by the sconces on either side of the bright blue door. It rolled to a stop.
"Here we are," Poppy announced and gestured for me to open the door. "End of the line."
I glanced from her to the door and back again. "But I'm not staying —"
"End of the line."
Her eyes were hard. I released a breath and scooted across the seat to open the door. Then I stood there, my bare feet on the sharp crushed seashells, and waited, holding the door, while Poppy had some conversation with the limo driver. I hoped she was instructing him to take me home, because being dropped off at Breaker House did me no good. Finally, Poppy exited the limo, long legs first. Without another word, she shut the door and it started to pull away.
"Hey!" I said it, but I was in no real position to protest. She'd offered me a ride — to her hotel. It was like I'd accepted an offer without reading the fine print.
She flung the end of her silk scarf over one shoulder. "The polite thing to say is 'thank you for the ride.'"
The seashells crunched beneath her feet as she walked the few steps toward the front door to the cottage. There was probably someone on duty at the front desk at the inn. I could ask them to call a cab, maybe ask for a towel —
"Are you coming in?" Poppy was standing in the doorway, peeking back at me from over her shoulder.
I balled the train of my gown, squeezing out a few streaks of water. Had I missed a conversation where we'd agreed to hang out for a while? "What if Griff —"
She laughed mirthlessly. "Griff isn't coming here tonight. Believe me." She turned so that her figure was silhouetted by the light in the foyer
. "So, what is it? I'm having a cocktail, are you coming in?"
I didn't exactly want to stand out there on those sharp shells any longer. "Sure," I said. "Why not?"
CHAPTER SIX
The saltbox Cape Cod was only quaint on the outside. I walked into a two-story foyer illuminated by a wrought-iron chandelier lit with lights inside mason jars. Rather than containing the sensible Shaker furniture I'd anticipated, the cottage was fully modernized with the conveniences the wealthy demanded from their version of charming. In the kitchen were soapstone counters, stainless-steel appliances, and a backsplash of sea glass tile. Dark brown leather couches faced a great stone fireplace in a formal sitting area. Poppy flipped a switch, and a fire appeared.
She tossed her high heels into a corner. "I'm going to get out of these clothes. I'm freezing." Then, as if suddenly remembering that I was there, she waved in my direction and said, "Sit anywhere, I don't care." I think it was supposed to make me feel more welcome.
As she trudged up a winding staircase, I considered plopping myself down on a leather recliner, but settled for standing in front of the fire to dry off. The flames didn't seem to give off any heat, though, and I was marveling at how that could even be possible when Poppy reentered the space, this time dressed in black leggings and a beige tunic top. She tossed a large white hotel-issued towel in my direction. "Here. You can dry off."
"Thanks." I wrapped it around myself, still hovering in front of the fire.
"I'd offer you something to wear, but I don't think I have anything that would fit you." Before I could decide what she meant by that, she bounced into the kitchen and called back, "What can I get you?"
"To drink?"
"Whatever. I think we have some munchies."
The kitchen was endowed with an impressive amount of storage, considering this was a vacation cottage. Poppy reached her arm deep into a pantry. "We have some green olives and a can of soup. I wouldn't eat the soup, though. I don't think that's ours."
"That's okay." I sat on a bar stool at the breakfast bar. "You don't have to feed me."
"What kind of hostess would I be? We must have something." She continued to the refrigerator, opening the door to peer inside. "Vanilla soy milk. It's Griff's, but who cares, right?" She set it on the counter. "He's drinking these whey protein shakes twice a day. Then of course he's in the bathroom for hours."
I tightened the towel around my shoulders. "Oh."
She straightened. "He has these chocolate laxatives, but I don't know if they're any good."
"Probably not."
"No, probably not." She shut the refrigerator door. "I need a drink."
Poppy and Griff may not have had much food in the cottage, but they had a bar that was fully stocked with top-shelf liquor. She grabbed a glass and a bottle of vodka, poured a generous serving, and took a big gulp. Then she set the glass back down again and said, "That reminds me, I need to text Griff."
She left the room and returned moments later with her cell phone. "I'm so done. So over it, you have no idea." She paused and glanced at me. "Well, I guess you do."
I swallowed. "You recognized me?"
"Uh, yeah. Griff just about dropped his shrimp cocktail when he saw you making out with Jax Cosgrove. I put two and two together." She took another sip of the vodka. "So you two are an item, I take it? I thought Griff said you were a writer."
"I am."
"Huh. No offense, but you don't seem like Jax's type. The local barista." She stared at the phone screen as if she was having trouble focusing. "Hold on, I have to tell Griff to sleep somewhere else tonight." I waited patiently while her fingers flew across the screen. "Damn auto-correct! It's not 'ducking.'" She held up the phone, the better to scold it. "It's not 'ducking.'"
I bit my lower lip. I glanced around the kitchen, looking for a landline I could use to call a cab. Or anyone who would get me out of there. Anyone at all. "I should probably go." I slid off the stool.
She looked up at me in alarm. "No, you don't have to —"
"I'm all wet and my feet are bare." And, I noticed as I glanced downward, bleeding on the tile. "It's okay. I'll just go over to the inn and see if someone will let me use the phone there."
Poppy stared at me, frozen for a moment, and then her face crumpled like a tissue. "You're going to leave me here alone?"
I shivered from the strangeness of it, not from the cold. "Is something wrong?"
She burst into tears, setting her head down on the sleek black surface of the bar and heaving uncontrollably. I'm not certain how long I stood there, wrapped in my towel with my feet bare, watching my ex-boyfriend's newly ex-fiancée crying into her vanilla-flavored vodka. It was a while, but eventually I summoned the courage to approach her and to pat her stiffly on the back. "It's going to be all right," I said mechanically. Really, how did I know that? But what else does one do in that situation, other than to feebly offer reassurance?
She righted herself partially and wiped her fingers down her cheeks. Her mascara was running. "I don't have anyone."
I hesitated. "You have Griff. If you want. I think." From what I could tell, the breakup had been pretty one-sided.
Poppy's chin bobbed sadly as she began to cry again. "He doesn't love me anymore. It's been over for a long time." She grabbed at a dishtowel on a rack at the bar and swept it under her nose. "I was unfaithful. It was a mistake, and I was honest about it, but he won't let it go. He's always reminding me. And then tonight I caught him looking at all of these other women. And you." She paused to cry for a bit and blow her nose into the towel. "It's over. He says I drink too much, and maybe I do. But he makes me crazy. We're toxic together."
She picked up the glass again, emptied it, and tossed it into the sink. It shattered. "Oh no!" A fresh round of sobbing began. "I can't do anything right."
I let the towel around me drop to the floor and stepped closer to wrap Poppy in a hug. In a way, it felt like throwing my arms around a panther. We were supposed to be natural enemies, though I guess we were united as Griff's exes. It was a sisterhood of sorts. "Poppy, you sound like you need some space from Griff." I shifted my gaze to the slew of half-empty bottles. "You almost drowned tonight. Maybe you should consider getting some help."
She rattled as a sigh passed through her. "I'm supposed to start filming next week. Hodges would kill me. That's who it was, you know. The affair, I mean."
My jaw dropped. "You slept with Hodges Brennan?"
"It's sort of a long story," she said. "He promised me the lead in this movie, and instead I got this crummy little sidekick role. And you know who my love interest is? Griff." She balled the dishtowel in her hand. "I want to vomit just thinking about it. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is? I slept with Hodges. I ruined my relationship, all for this awful part. And now I have to face Griff on set and it's going to be horrible."
I patted her arm and tried to allow it all to settle in. I've always believed in karma, or some kind of cosmic justice, but…wow. There was no time or reason for me to be smug about Griff and Poppy's relationship woes, however. Not when it was almost midnight and I was standing in their rented cottage, miles from home, in a ruined gown and bare feet. "You sound like you could use some time away. You know, a fresh start."
Her muscles stiffened under my hand. "Oh my God. Yes. You're absolutely right." As she straightened, a smile started to spread across her lips, slow as molasses. It frankly scared the crap out of me. "You're right. I need a break. Thanks, coffee girl." She tossed the bar towel against the counter.
I winced. "My name is Wren."
"Whatever."
She was out of the kitchen, cell phone in hand. "This is Poppy. I need a driver."
I scampered behind her. "What about me?"
But she answered by holding up one finger. "Uh huh. Fifteen minutes? Great." She disconnected the call. "I need to pack." She said it more to herself than to me and headed up the stairs again. Feeling desperate, I followed behind her.
"Wait, where are
you going?" More importantly, who was going to be driving me home?
"I'm taking a break," she said breezily. "I deserve it. There's a facility up in Maine, right on the coast. Spa, yoga. I think they have meetings, too." We had wandered into an enormous master bedroom decorated all in white. "I'm going to get refreshed, and I'm going to get sober. Then, I'm going to come back better than ever."
She pulled a large designer suitcase from the closet and tossed it carelessly on the bed. Then she opened a massive wardrobe and reached inside. "What about filming?" I asked.
"You know what? I'm not going to show up." She grabbed an armful of clothes, still on their hangers, and set them into the suitcase. "I'm not. I'm not going to tell them, either. I'm not saying anything. I've been so nice, Red. So patient." She stopped to shake her head at me. "People take advantage of that. Remember this, all of this. Don't make the same mistakes I've made."
She emptied the wardrobe quickly and zipped up her suitcase. "Oh, shoes," she mumbled. "I can't forget those." She opened a closet and stood looking at the rows of shoes inside before saying, "You know what? I'm going to travel light. That's it. We've paid for this cottage through the next three and a half weeks, anyway."
I watched, dumbfounded, as Poppy grabbed a couple pairs of shoes and tossed them unceremoniously into a large designer bag. She then brushed off her hands and turned to me with a broad grin. "There. All set."
"I don't understand. What if there's not room for you?"
"Oh, Red. There's always room when you're paying in cash." She hauled the suitcase off the bed. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. "I wish I could see the look on Hodges's face when he realizes I've stood him up." She lifted her shoulders upward and relaxed them again. "And poor Griff. Hope his part doesn't get cut completely. Wouldn't that be awful?"
She gripped the suitcase with both hands, tugging it behind her across the thick white carpet. "Hodges won't be able to find a substitute in time, that's for sure. Not when filming begins in a week."
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