Chapter 33: Never The Best: Chapter 33

I watched Pearl adjust the delicate silver clasp on the front of her dress.

Tonight, she wore a simple burgundy dress, the color of which made her eyes look impossibly deep. Her hair was swept back into a soft, low bun, with a few loose strands framing her face. She looked beautiful, but what caught my attention was her determination, even if her hands trembled ever so slightly while fastening the clasp.

“You’re going to be amazing.” I leaned against the doorframe, my bowtie hanging loose around my neck.

She turned to give me a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

I stepped forward, crossing the room in a few strides until I stood behind her. I met her gaze in the mirror, resting my hands gently on her shoulders. “You’ve worked so hard for this, Pearl. Not just the speech but everything. The work you’ve been doing with Savannah’s Soirée for Hope, how you talked with Alice and Maddie’s friends, the lives you’ve helped change. You’ve already done so much good.”

It had been a year since her relapse, and since then, Pearl had become a force to reckon with. I was in awe of her, and that she couldn’t see how incredible she was. Pearl still needed validation, assurance, and support. But I also was confident that, eventually, she’d start to believe in herself, start seeing herself as who she was, instead of the distorted version she’d been taught to see when she was young.

She tilted her head, leaning into my touch. “What if I freeze up? What if I forget everything I want to say?”

“You won’t.” I brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But even if you do, it doesn’t matter. You’re not there to be perfect, darlin’. You’re there to be you. Honest, brave, and wonderful. That’s more than enough.”

She turned then, facing me fully, her eyes soft. “I don’t think I would’ve made it to this point without you.”

“You would’ve.” I pulled her into my arms. “I’m just honored that you let me be part of your journey.”

Her hands rested against my chest, and for a moment, we just stood there, the hum of the crickets outside the open window filling the space between us.

“You need your bowtie done.” She pulled away and fixed my tie.

“Thank you, darlin’.” She had tied a perfect knot, even if I fucking hated bowties…or ties of any sort. But the occasion warranted a full monkey suit, so I had to oblige. You couldn’t walk away from all traditions—some had value, this one did.

The annual Savannah Soirée for Hope was, once again, being hosted at the elegant Harper Fowlkes House.

Strings of fairy lights hanging from the ceiling transformed the grand ballroom. Tables were draped in white linens, each with lush floral arrangements and flickering candles.

As we walked in, I stayed by Pearl’s side, my hand resting lightly on the small of her back. She graciously greeted people, her smile warm despite the slight nervous energy radiating from her.

We made our way to our table, where Cash, Alice, Maddie, Caroline, and Birdie were already seated.

Pearl’s nieces lit up when they saw her, hugging her.

“You look amazing, Aunt Pearl,” Alice remarked.

“She’s right,” Maddie added, glancing at me. “Doesn’t she look amazing, Uncle Rhett?”

“Always,” I said, earning an eye roll from Pearl but a wink from Maddie who had anointed me as the Uncle to her Aunt Pearl.

“You look lovely,” Birdie managed to spit out. She was, at least, publicly trying to be kinder to her daughter ever since Betsy Rhodes had told her she had expected better from her.

Caroline, who had not changed despite the backlash from what happened last year, just nodded at us, no polite greeting. At this rate, I suspected that the minute the girls turned eighteen, Cash would file for divorce. Another reason that marriage was a ridiculous institution when it could be so easily dissolved. I wanted to be with Pearl simply because I wanted her—not because we had kids, not because of a piece of paper or a contract binding us together, but because being with her felt right.

“I hear from the girls that you’re going to talk about your issues tonight,” Birdie fretted but kept her fake smile in place in case someone was watching.

God damn, Birdie! She just had to fuck with her daughter. Like fucking hell would I let her distract Pearl with her passive-aggressive bullshit.

I draped an arm around Pearl. “I just saw Betsy, I think we should say hello.”

As I led her away, she said, “You’re subtle as a chainsaw, Rhett Vanderbilt.”

“Birdie was going to piss me off, so I thought I’d just threaten her with Betsy.”

After what happened at this same event last year, people were on their best behavior, and cattiness was now performed subtly. I was sure the women of Savannah would rise to the occasion and find a way to be bitchy without being called on it.

Aunt Hattie was at Betsy’s table, and we greeted them, and then checked in with Emily, the resolute organizer of the charity gala.

I convinced Pearl that we should sit at Betsy’s table as it was closer to the stage. The truth was that I didn’t want her to be anywhere near her mother or sister-in-law. I had hoped they’d behave, but when Birdie threw down the word issues, I knew I needed to get her the hell out of there.

Gabe and Aurora graciously took our seats at Pearl’s family’s table. Alice and Maddie, who were fond of Aurora, would be fine and would understand why I needed to keep their aunt away from their grandmother.

As the program began, I watched Pearl’s fingers curl tightly into a fist. I reached over, opening up her hand and lacing our fingers loosely. “You’ve got this,” I murmured, leaning close so only she could hear.

She turned to me. She was afraid, but she was also resolute. This was courage. It was easy to do things others thought were brave if you had no fear, but to overcome your worst nightmares and succeed, well, that was my Pearl.

When Emily introduced Pearl, a round of applause filled the ballroom as she stood, smoothing her dress over her belly and hips—an act that told me she was worried about how she looked—before walking to the podium. I didn’t miss the way her hand trembled as she adjusted the microphone or the deep breath she took before she began.

“Good evening,” she started, her voice soft but clear. “My name is Pearl Beaumont, and tonight, I want to talk to you about something deeply personal, which has shaped who I am in ways I never expected.”

The room fell silent, all eyes on her.

“When I was a teenager,” she continued, her voice becoming stronger with each word, “I thought that if I just ignored the nasty things people said to me, I’d be fine. What I didn’t realize was that words have a way of sticking, especially when you’re young. Words like fat, ugly, and less-than seep into your bones until they’re not merely words. They become part of your identity.”

I felt my chest puff with pride as I watched her.

“I developed an eating disorder when I was young.” She smiled, and I knew then she wasn’t nervous anymore. She’d said the words, and now she was free. “I thought if I could control my body, maybe I could change the way people saw me. But the truth was, I couldn’t—not the judgment, not the cruelty, not even the way I saw myself.”

She paused, her eyes scanning the room. “And it almost killed me. I was twenty years old, when my heart stopped because my body couldn’t take the damage I’d done to it anymore. You see, I’d begun to starve myself, living on very little food, because no matter what my scale said, when I looked in the mirror, I saw a fat, ugly, less-than person.”

A ripple of shock moved through the crowd, but Pearl didn’t flinch.

“I survived.” Her new demeanor was of a woman with authority. Yeah, she was fine now, I thought with satisfaction. “And I got help. But I didn’t do it alone. Recovery isn’t a journey you can take alone—it requires support, understanding, and patience. It takes people who see you as more than just your struggles.”

Her eyes found mine then, and for a moment, it felt like the whole room disappeared.

“I’m standing here today because of the people who believed in me, even when I didn’t trust myself. And tonight, I want to remind all of you how powerful your words are. They can build someone up, or they can tear them down. So, please—choose kindness. Choose compassion. Because you never know what someone is carrying with them and how your words will either make them feel ten feet tall or so small that they want to disappear.”

She finished her speech by appealing to everyone to give generously to the organizations that help young women deal with mental health issues, which we were supporting this year with the soirée.

The room erupted in applause as Pearl stepped back from the podium, her shoulders sagging slightly with relief.

When she returned to the table, I stood, wrapping her in a hug before she could sit down. “You were incredible,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion, and then, because I knew we needed to lighten the mood, added, “I don’t think a speech has ever made me hard before.”

She chuckled and slapped my shoulder. “Everything makes you…like that.”

“Everything about you,” I corrected.

I heard a sniffle. It was Betsy. Her husband, Atticus Rhodes, handed her a napkin, and she wiped her eyes. “Pearl, that was brilliant. Thank you.”

Pearl grinned, her hand holding mine. “I’m so grateful for y’all’s support.” She then looked at me and winked, her mouth close to my ear. “You think we can find a quiet place to take care of that hard thing between your legs?”

Laughter rumbled in my chest. “Yeah, darlin’.”

She slipped her hand in mine, and we went to find a place to have a quickie because my life since Pearl returned to me was fucking baller.