Page 83 of Resisting You
Morgan's laugh was light, musical, and utterly fake. "Oh, Rosa. My planwillwork. It's already working.”
Before I could respond, a waiter appeared at my elbow, setting down a delicate dessert plate with chocolate mousse topped with gold leaf.
Beside me, Morgan picked up her spoon, toying with it. Her nails, painted a deep, blood red, tapped against the silver. Her smile was pleasant enough to fool anyone watching from a distance, but up close, it didn't reach her eyes.
"This is a lovely dinner,” she said lightly. "The attention to detail is impressive. Though I suppose that's your forte, isn't it? The little details about people? What makes them tick?"
"I'm a psychologist, not a mind reader," I said.
“I hear you've been very successful lately," Morgan continued as the waiter moved on. "Your practice is growing. Lots of new clients. Important ones."
My hand tightened around my water glass. In the course of one week, I had signed eight new clients, not including Lilly and Jason. "My practice is none of your business."
"But it is Noah's business, isn't it? Or rather, his name is your business." Morgan dipped her spoon into the mousse. "It must be nice, having access to all those connections. All those potential clients just dying to sit on your couch and spill their secrets to Noah's trustworthy wife."
The accusation landed like a slap. "That's not?—"
"It's fine, really," Morgan cut me off, licking chocolate from her spoon with deliberate slowness. "We all use what we have. You have Noah's name. I have... other assets." She smiled, and this time there was nothing pleasant about it. "I have a special wedding present for you," she said, her voice dropping to a confidential whisper. "It should be arriving any minute now."
A cold wash of dread slid down my spine. "I don't want anything from you."
"Oh, I insist," Morgan said. "After all, what's a wedding without a few surprises? And this one…" She leaned closer, her breath warm against my cheek. "This one is going to be memorable."
Chapter 31
Rosa
I pulled back, fighting the urge to wipe my cheek where Morgan's breath had touched. "Whatever you're planning, it won't work. Noah and I?—"
"Noah and you, huh?" Morgan echoed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Such a sweet story. The actor and the therapist. But every sweet story has a bitter aftertaste, doesn't it? And I think you're about to get a mouthful."
Across the room, Noah was laughing at something his brother Cam had said, his head thrown back, his face open and happy. The sight of him like that, unaware of the venom being spilled at this table, made my chest ache.
"I'm not going to let you ruin this," I said, turning back to Morgan, finding strength in the certainty of my words. "Whatever game you're playing, I won't play along."
She stood, smoothing her dress with one hand. "You don't have to play along. It's already in motion." She glanced at her watch, a delicate gold thing with diamonds circling the face that winked in the soft light. "In fact, I'd say the clock is ticking.”
With that, she drifted away, moving through the crowd with the ease of someone who knew exactly the effect she had ona room. I stared after her, the chocolate mousse before me suddenly looking as appetizing as mud. Morgan's words echoed in her head:It should be arriving any minute now.
Whatever Morgan had planned, it was too late to stop it. All I could do was wait for it to arrive, and hope that when it did, Noah and I would be strong enough to weather it.
Before I had a chance to dwell on the churning in my stomach, the ding of a few phones caught my attention.
The change in the room was subtle at first—a ripple of movement, heads bowing over the blue glow of phone screens, whispers passed between lips and ears. I noticed it like one might notice the first few raindrops before a downpour: insignificant until they weren't. Something was happening. Something was spreading through the rehearsal dinner like a virus, infecting one guest after another with furtive glances and hastily hidden phones.
My gaze darted to where Noah still stood with his brothers, his back to the room. He hadn't noticed yet, still caught up in whatever surprise his brothers were orchestrating. But others had. Even Kristen was frowning at her phone. Two tables over, one of Noah's co-stars leaned in to whisper something to her husband, their eyes flicking toward me before quickly looking away.
Even my mother had her phone out now, her brow furrowed in concentration as she read something on the screen.
My own phone sat face-down beside her plate. I'd silenced it for the dinner, but now I noticed a soft blue light pulsing from beneath it—a notification. With fingers that suddenly felt clumsy, I turned the phone over.
A Google Alert. I had set them up a few days ago, after Noah and I went public with our relationship, as Kristen had suggested. It had seemed practical at the time—a way to monitorwhat was being said about us online, to catch any mentions that might affect both of our professional reputations.
A headline from a gossip blog I recognized as particularly vicious lit up my screen: "BLIND ITEM: The Therapist's Couch—A Step Too Close to the Casting Couch?"
My mouth went dry as my thumb hovered over the link for a moment before I tapped it; I knew what I would find but I couldn’t stop myself.
The article loaded, black text stark against a white background. It wasn't long—just a few paragraphs—but it didn't need to be.
