The Right Swipe (Modern Love, #1)(79)

Rhiannon’s face was cold, matching her emotions. It had been a long time since someone had accused her of essentially fucking her way to the top.

She exited the room and stood there for a second, attempting to process. She could go out to the deck or the beach and find Samson. He’d told her where he’d be when he’d left her with a kiss this morning. That was what her gut wanted her to do.

No. Not right now. Given the thinly veiled accusation William had spouted, she had to keep some distance. No need to add fuel to the fire. She wouldn’t, couldn’t be accused of sleeping with the man to get ahead.

This house was too big and expensive, she decided as she went upstairs. Easy to feel that too-familiar loneliness, like she didn’t belong, in here. If only she could go back to Samson’s cozy beach house with its old-fashioned floral patterned sofa.

Text him.

No. She’d hole up in her room. At the very least, she could comfort herself with how annoyed Peter must be to have to sit around all day waiting for Annabelle’s decision.

When she was in her room, the churning loneliness still hanging over her like a dark cloud, she pulled out her phone and typed I love you.

Then she copy-pasted it to her mother, brother, and Katrina.

Before she could put her phone in her pocket, her phone chimed three times:

I love you too, but didn’t we just talk about how you’d call me more? It’s been almost a week, Rhiannon. I could be dead. In fact, maybe I am. My ghost will haunt your phone, daughter.

Hey Sis, love you. Anything up? I’m sorry if Mom’s bugging you about the engagement party, I’ll tell her to cool it.

I love you most! How’s the weekend going? Call me whenever.

Rhiannon swallowed the lump in her throat and tugged the sleeves of her hoodie down.

The people I loved, I chose wisely. When I did reach out, they were right there.

Her sweatshirt hugged her, and Samson would hug her better, but to be honest . . . she tucked her phone away. These texts had accomplished kind of the same feeling.





Chapter Twenty-Five


SAMSON FOUND Annabelle in her office. “You wanted to see me, Aunt Belle?”

Annabelle half turned from the window. The dying sun lit up her red hair. “I did.”

Samson took a seat as she paced the floor. He folded his hands in his lap, though his mind was screaming in impatience.

It was twenty to five. In no time at all, Annabelle would decidedly eliminate one or more of the contenders for her business in her beloved rose garden.

According to the staff, Rhi had asked not to be disturbed all afternoon, so he’d refrained from knocking on her door or texting her. He had seen Peter, for exactly one minute, in the hallway, before the other man had caught sight of him and scurried away. It had taken every ounce of self-control in Samson not to chase him and smash the rat’s teeth in.

He wanted Rhi to win, but he was aware he might be too biased at this point to function as a proper adviser. One thing was certain, though, Peter couldn’t buy his aunt’s life’s work. The man didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve winning anything, but especially not at Rhiannon’s expense.

The only issue now was how to make sure Peter got cut without breaking his promise to Rhi.

“Chris is out of the running,” Aunt Belle blurted out.

“Oh?” Odd. The older man had seemed legit.

“He said he only came to see me again.” A light flush colored her cheeks. “We may have had a slight fling once upon a time.”

Samson coughed. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Before I met Joe. Our match percentages weren’t that high, so I ended things.” His aunt’s brow was furrowed deep. “But his test from yesterday shows a higher match. Perhaps we’ve both changed.”

Or the test wasn’t that big of an indicator of relationship success, though he wouldn’t tell Aunt Belle that. “Are you going out with him?”

“I don’t know. It would be a date. Or I suppose that’s what dinner at a nice Italian place is? That’s what he proposed.”

“Which place?”

“Oh, I don’t know Rome that well.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, that’s a date. How do you feel about it?”

“He’s very handsome. And his accent is rather sexy, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Oh dear.” She twisted her fingers together. “I don’t know much about dating anymore. I haven’t . . . not since Joe.”

He softened. “I didn’t know much about dating these days either. I think it’s more work to really be able to communicate above all the other noise out there, but otherwise, I don’t think it ever really changes.”

“Joe’s only been gone a few months.” Annabelle poked her finger into a hole of her knit shawl. “Dating someone before his diagnosis is even confirmed? No. People will say it’s too soon.”

“Since when do you care what people say?” He took a deep breath, and this time the words came easy, possibly because he’d already broken the seal with Rhi. “I didn’t want to mess you up this weekend, but the doctor called and confirmed the CTE yesterday.”

Her lip quivered, but she bit it. “Well.” She straightened her shawl. “That’s amazing. Good. He’d be so happy. We talked about this.”