Page 26 of Never the Best

The BBQ was what you’d picture when you thought of July Fourth cookouts—luxury edition. There were grills out back, manned by chefs in crisp white aprons, but they were flipping steaks and salmon instead of burgers and hot dogs. Lobster rolls sat next to artfully plated slaw, and a long buffet table covered in white linen held everything from truffle mac and cheese to caviar-topped deviled eggs. Even the iced tea had been fancied up, served in delicate glasses garnished with sprigs of mint and lemon slices cut into perfect stars.

Diego raised his glass of Hattie's special punch, and we toasted.

"What's in this?" he mused after a sip.

"Ninety percent champagne and ten percent…who knows," I told him.

"It should be too sweet for my liking, but I can't stopdrinking the damn thing," Diego complained good-naturedly.

"It's Aunt Hattie'ssecretrecipe. I think the mystery ingredient might be honey-soaked bourbon," I stage whispered.

Diego looked at me with narrowed eyes. “So, I’m getting drunk on champagne?”

“Mixed with bourbon, yeah.”

Diego was a handsome man, and I had a slight crush on him—well, me and theentirefemale population of Savannah Lace. No matter how we all lusted after him, Diego was very respectful and didn't flirt with anyone, well, except, incongruously, Nina Davenport. Now,no oneflirted with that woman because she was indomitable, but that didn't seem to deter Diego.

"Are you hiding here?" Diego asked.

I sighed. "Yep! I needed a break from navigating the endless stream of Savannah's elite."

"You and me both,querida,” he agreed.

I thought I'd be fine, and I had been for the most part, but every time I turned, I felt like I was being assaulted with saccharine politeness that barely masked the sharp edge of people's curiosity—it was becoming exhausting.

“Oh, you’re Cash’s sister, aren’t you?”

"Did you hear about Rhett and Josie's engagement? Are you okay about it?"

"Don't Rhett and Josie look lovely together? Just look at them. So, is it true that you and he were…well…together all those years ago?"

"Well, women work until they get married, darlin'. So, are you in the market? 'Cause I have a brother/friend/uncle/cousin/someone single and ready to mingle."

"You're so brave to have come back to Savannah. If what happened to you happened to me, I'd never be able to show my face here."

I'd plastered on the polite smile I’d perfected over the years, nodding and responding with noncommittal pleasantries, while mentally calculating the distance between the hub of the party and the pond by my cottage.

"I better get to Nina before her dance card fills up," Diego murmured when the music became louder and people started to dance.

“Good luck.” My gaze followed him as he approached Nina. In the blink of an eye, he had wrapped his arms around Nina and gotten her onto the dance floor. He was a smooth operator, I had to give him that.

Speaking ofsmooth operators, I saw Rhett and Josie dancing and smiling at one another. Of course, that didn't mean anything because, in Savannah society, couples kept up appearances. You'd see them together and think,"Oh, they're in love,”and a minute later, you’d find out the husband had a mistress ensconced in a house a respectable distance from Savannah.

“Pearl Beaumont,” came a voice to my left, almost playful. I turned to see Raphael “Rafe” Rhodes, his smile as disarming as the red, white, and blue bowtie he wore with a linen blazer. Rafe was not what one expected from the Rhodes family. Where his brother Gabe was buttoned-upand serious, Rafe looked like he belonged at an art gallery opening. He had the kind of charm that didn’t feel rehearsed, paired with an intelligence that made you want to lean in closer to hear what he’d say next. The fact that he was handsome as sin didn’t hurt at all.

I gave Rafe a quick hug. "Enjoying the spectacle?"

Rafe chuckled. He was a tenured professor of quantitative economics at Emory University. He was a few years older than me, so we didn't know each other in high school. However, we had gotten to know one another by accident in LA, where he'd been living for a semester, working on a project at USC. I'd met him through a friend, and as was the case with transplants, we connected over our joint hate for Savannah society.

“Immensely." His grin widened. "It’s not every day you get to eat a steak grilled by a Michelin-star chef while listening to a jazz version of the national anthem. It’s good to see you here."

"Well, I live here." I tilted my chin toward my cottage.

"I heard," Rafe remarked. "How're you holding up?"

In LA, we’d talked a little about my life in Savannah, and he had the Cliff’s Notes version. “It’s been going well overall,” I said, “but right now, my ecosystem’s feeling a little murky, thanks to all the Savannah elitism. And since I’ve eaten, drunk, and been polite well past my limit, I think it’s time I leave and clear the air around me.”

Rafe draped an arm around me and kissed my cheek. "You are, darlin' Pearl, as always, a delight."

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