Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(67)

Because when it comes out… I don’t know. I didn’t plan for the white lie to matter. She hated me anyway, so I didn’t care. Why not let her hate me a little more if it made the death of her sister a lighter burden?

But now it feels like a lie that sits between us, growing larger and more cumbersome by the day. Especially since I find myself wanting to talk to her more and more.

I want to tell her about the shit show here at HQ so badly. My first inclination is to think she won’t care to get involved. But the subtle way she’s been reaching out gives me a flicker of hope that she’ll have some ridiculous spin on the situation.

Deep down, I want to trust her enough to bring this up, no matter how embarrassing it might feel. I won’t bring up the unmasking, because truthfully, I’d rather take my mask off than kiss Elle on national television. So I spit it out with zero tact before I can talk myself out of it.

Rhys: Work is shit. They’re making me pretend Elle and I eloped.

Tabby: Juicy. I love the drama.

Rhys: There’s internet chatter about me wearing a wedding ring in that promo we filmed.

Tabby: Oh shit. I noticed it and didn’t even think about that. I should have told you to take it off.

I bristle as I start my second lap around the massive building. I don’t want to take it off.

Rhys: Tabby, I’m not taking my ring off and pretending to be single just because I’m working.

Tabby: Okay. Then let them all think what they want. You and I know the truth, so who cares if millions of people think you’re married to a mega-hot blond? It could be worse.

Rhys: That is the worst.

Tabby: Nah. Millions of people are wrong. You’re actually married to a short, flat-chested, prickly chef from Buttfuck Nowhere, Canada. HAHA. Joke’s on them.

Rhys: No. I’m married to a mega-hot brunette who makes the best carbonara in the world.

Tabby: Oh, Wild Side, you’re so romantic.

A smile curves my lips. Leave it to Tabitha to make me almost laugh at a time like this.

Rhys: What if I have to kiss her?

It seems like a juvenile question, but if Tabitha tells me no, then I won’t. I’ll violate my contract—I just need an excuse that isn’t my ego.

Dots roll and then stop. Roll and then stop. Seconds pass with nothing. Then…

Tabby: Just pretend it’s me. ;)

Rhys: I’m serious.

Tabby: So am I.

Rhys: I don’t like this.

Tabby: I’m sorry, Rhys. I hate that you’re in this position. I really do. But if it’s any consolation, I don’t always like work either. I hate chopping onions during prep, but some days I get stuck doing it because I can’t pawn it off on the kitchen staff every time. But it’s part of the gig. If this is part of the gig, so be it. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot on my behalf. I’ll be fine. Maybe pretend she’s onions?

Rhys: Are you sure?

Tabby: Strangely, I think I’d rather not watch it. So give me a heads-up. But yes, of course—work is work. Like you said, we’ve got a lot of extenuating circumstances. Don’t worry about me.

And that’s all the answer I need to know this is never going to fly. Because I do worry about Tabitha—a lot more than I expected to.





CHAPTER 30


Tabitha





“DON’T FORGET TO USE BUG SPRAY. I SWEAR THEY LIKE HIM extra because he’s so cute, and then he gets these super-sized lumps all over his arms and legs, and it’s so sad.”

My mom nods calmly, her eyes reflecting reassurance. “I don’t know that bugs will be a problem this time of year, hon. It is fall after all.”

I shift on my parents’ front porch, hearing Milo’s giggles filter back as he and my dad chase each other around the house. Milo is thrilled about going camping in the trailer with his grandparents.

But I’m a nervous wreck.

“That’s true, but it’s better safe than sorry. And if there’s a super sunny day, just toss a little sunscreen on for good measure.”

My mom laughs now, shaking her head as though I’m ridiculous. “We’re going to be fine, Tabby. What’s gotten into you? We look after him all the time. We’ve raised two...”

She trails off with a flash of pain on her features. The sentiment flowed so easily, and then she caught herself. It’s like because they cut Erika off, they still don’t want to reminisce. Or can’t? I’m not sure which, but I think that’s what I’ve found in Rhys. Someone I can talk to about my sister who also has fond memories of her.

I don’t have to be the one who came out on top. I just get to be the girl who lost her sister.

“You raised two wonderful women, Mom. Both of us imperfect in our own ways.” God, I’m so tired of being treated like the perfect one. I look her dead in the eye. “And if Milo wants to talk about his mom, you’re going to need to engage with him. Forget the bug spray. Just please don’t pretend she never existed.”

Her eyes water. “It hurts.”

I nod, gritting my molars so I don’t cry. Partly because it angers me that their way of coping is pretending that she never existed. Like they could just…erase her from their life. It’s fucking bizarre and shitty, but I’m not about to tell them how to grieve when—like I said—I’m not perfect either. I still haven’t cried about Erika. I don’t know if I ever will, but at least I pay her homage where I can. I mean, hell, I’m going to therapy, and I have a plant named after her that I talk to sometimes.