So it was a woman.

An odd mix of jealousy, vindictiveness, and protectiveness runs through me. As though Rhys is mine—was mine, even back then. I have no idea who this Meghan Rosedale is, but already I don’t like her.

Of course, I have yet to hear what happened.

“She was a freshman, which really wasn’t my preference back then. But it was well into the second semester by then and, well, she certainly seemed to know exactly what she wanted.” He breathes out something between a cynical laugh and a heavy sigh. “She actually posed it to me like a proposition or a favor. Like she was asking to borrow notes for class or a ride to the airport or something.”

His eyes finally come back up to mine. At first, they are direct and unwavering, then they falter a bit, a hint of regret and shame just barely causing his gaze to lower and cloud over. “A video. Specifically a sex tape. Obviously, I was on guard as soon as she said it, but she fed me this line about sowing her wild oats and commemorating her fun times at Princeton and so on. Being a twenty-one-year-old whose brain was still firmly located in his dick, it didn’t take too much convincing. Who would pass up no-strings-attached sex with a girl who actually went out of her way to pick you?”

I’m intrigued, but still slightly horrified. Is this the sort of thing that goes on at colleges that don’t have the same draconian set of rules that Bluett has? A sex tape? Having spent the past two years in the unfiltered rawness that is New York, I’ve been saturated with what the “real world” is like. At first, it was like jumping from the kiddie pool right into the Atlantic Ocean in terms of information overload, specifically of the salacious variety. Sex tapes have been a thing I only associated with celebrities.

“You know what they say about something being too good to be true? I went through with it anyway. I make it sound like some ordeal now, but at the time it was fun. Even though she was even more into it than I was, she played it down for the camera, pretending to be shy and submissive. In retrospect, that was just one of the things that caused the perfect storm later on. We watched it afterward together and laughed over it. All in all, a seemingly fun Tuesday night.”

So far nothing seems terribly scandalous, at least not by the standards I’ve grown accustomed to outside of Rutherford, Missouri and Bluett University. I certainly never assumed Rhys was a saint. In fact, I’m ashamed to admit to myself that I find him just a bit more appealing knowing that some girl in college sought him out for this sort of thing. I wonder what it would be like to make a sex tape with him. I have to press my thighs together to temper the feeling that threatens to take my focus off what he’s saying.

“As it turns out, she had a boyfriend and this was some kind of revenge thing for something he’d done. That, I should have seen coming a mile away. That, I could have handled. He wouldn’t have been the first jealous guy I had to deal with.”

Once again Rhys pauses, looking off to the side with that reflective gaze in his eyes.

“What I didn’t see coming is what happened next. I guess I was thinking too much about my father’s pressure on me. I’d gotten into some stupid argument with him recently and I was feeling petty and reckless. I sent the video we’d made to her with the text message: ‘Good luck running for president if this ever comes to light.’ Christ, I even added a fucking ‘ha ha ha’ at the end of it. As it turns out, her parents were monitoring her emails. Wouldn’t you know it? I’d decided to stick my dick in a bit of crazy that turned out to be more of a problem child than I was.”

I blink in surprise at that. It’s partially the language used, but mostly it’s the absolute passion with which Rhys is stating it. It’s a reminder of how different our backgrounds are.

“From there it just spiraled. It didn’t help that her father was CFO of one of the biggest banks in New Jersey. It also didn’t help that she was a legacy. Four generations of Princeton alumni, and the substantial donations to prove it. Meghan began covering her ass quicker than a contestant in a diaper changing contest.”

I’m not even aware of the sharp laugh that escapes me until I hear it. I immediately cover my mouth with my hand, mortified.

“Too much?” he asks, first giving me an apologetic grimace, then letting loose with his own laugh.

“I just…I’m sorry. Here you are pouring your soul out and I—”

“Don’t be,” he says, still laughing. “Frankly, a bit of levity is refreshing. Certainly better than the shit storm that followed.”

“So what happened?” I ask, leaning my elbows on the table, still as deeply curious as ever. Rhys’s background, this world of bank CFO’s and Princeton students and wealth and privilege is all so new to me. Even catching bits and pieces of Sex and the City via Shiloh can’t compare to how surreal everything is that he’s told me so far. I remember the ease with which he navigated Belmont’s and that fancy restaurant we were at, where he seemed as perfectly at home as most people back in Rutherford would feel in a Dairy Queen. Now, it all makes sense.

But he writes romance novels?

I leave that thought aside to focus on what he’s telling me since it’s obviously important to him.

“Well, it bounced around from her parents to the dean of the school to my own parents. Worst of all, Meghan had made up with her boyfriend and now needed a scapegoat. I was, conveniently enough, already roasting over the pit, so she apparently thought nothing about adding more coal to the fire in the form of a date rape accusation.”

“No!” I gasp, feeling my outrage set in again. All the mild antipathy I felt toward her before comes roaring back with an intensity so strong I actually feel it in my bones.

“Yes,” Rhys replies in a bitter tone. “That was my first real lesson in how important reputation is. Mine came back to bite me in the ass. From there it was like fucking dominoes, everything falling down around me,” he spits, his jaw becoming more pronounced as his entire body goes tense.

I can actually feel it vicariously in my own muscles, my body going rigid with resentment. I feel like Joan of Arc, fighting against tyranny and injustice, willing to burn at the stake in defense of Rhys. The feeling is so strong, it actually frightens me. I know it’s not the wine, since I’ve had barely a sip so far. It’s him, plain and simple. Perhaps what happened last weekend was more than just one of my usual—if way over the top—acts of rebellion. Perhaps it was something deeper, something bonding.

“Much like she did on that tape, Meghan played her part brilliantly, I have to give her that much,” Rhys continues. “The innocent little freshman, practically forced into doing something she would never otherwise do in a million years. The suddenly supportive boyfriend by her side to back up her story. The angry parents. The dollar signs in the eyes of the administration suddenly flying away. My own friends abandoning me. The looks and whispers from other students when it inevitably made it around campus. Who could blame Princeton for kicking me out after the rumor mill started up? And worst of all, my own damn parents taking everyone else’s side.”

My entire body reacts to that one. His own parents? As much as my parents decried my choice to leave the flock, so to speak, they would never, never conspire with another against me. For all their failings, the one thing the Flanders Flock is, is loyal.

“Mostly it was my dad. I know Mother just followed his lead as usual. Law school wasn’t wasted on him. He could convince a man dying of thirst in the desert that water is poison. Besides, the optics weren’t exactly in my favor. The video, the way she was portrayed, the stupid message I sent with it, the age difference, my reputation. Of course my parents—” He stops suddenly, his jaw now so hard I suspect he couldn’t talk even if he wanted to. Rhys is staring down at the table with a vivid mixture of anger, bitterness, and pain in his eyes, turning those dark blue irises into raging oceans.

I reach out a hand to cover the fist lying on the table. “Hey,” I say, trying to catch his attention. I wait until his eyes meet mine.

“I believe you.”