Page 13 of Everything About You

It’s not like I want Rhodes to find me sulking in the gardens of Versailles.

Seriously—dramatic , much?

When he does, indeed, find me sulking, I pretend to be on a very important business call. It’s then, of course, that Celeste

texts me and it’s clear I’m not talking to anyone.

I pocket my phone. “The signal sucks.”

Rhodes holds his palm out to reveal a few orange, green, and yellow macarons on a Ladurée napkin. He grabs a lemon and takes

a bite, glancing down and gesturing for me to do the same.

“We had Pierre Hermé macarons for the event.”

“There’s a Ladurée in the palace,” Rhodes says.

I raise a brow. “Why would you go out of your way?”

“Because you prefer Ladurée.”

A lump forms in my throat.

He remembered? And not only that—he went and got these for me?

But of course I remind myself this is a tactic. Obviously.

à bon chat, bon rat. These are the macarons the cat leaves out for the rat in lieu of fromage .

Except I don’t want to be the fucking rat!

“I’m okay.” I shake my head, though my eyes might linger on them a moment too long.

“Come on. You want a macaron.”

Obviously I want a delicious sugary almond confection, and obviously I’m not a rat and he’s not a cat, so I take one of the

pistachio macarons and begrudgingly take a bite. It’s perfect. Sweet, light, with the most subtle crunch.

“Thanks.”

Rhodes nods. “Course. So...”

“So?”

“Are you upset with me now?” He winces and draws in a breath. “I know things were tense with us in the car, and I really didn’t

mean to offend you. That got a bit out of hand. I shouldn’t have said those things. And now I’ve brought Amalia....”

I shrug. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did make sure to play by the rules,” he offers with a sympathetic lift of his brows and tilt of his head. “Still, I’m sorry

if you’re upset. I just—well, we’re competing, aren’t we? So we both had to bring our A game. I thought Café 57 was brilliant.

I mean, I do . I think it’s brilliant. Present tense. It is genuinely so clever.”

He’s infuriating. He just rolls up to Versailles with a famous reclusive actress and upstages me, and then he has the nerve

to stand here, looking irresistibly handsome and offering me macarons while complimenting my brilliance.

“But I really did feel bad after that car ride,” Rhodes says, surveying the grounds. “I was thinking we should do something

fun now that the event is over.”

I blink. “Something fun?”

“Yeah, something fun.” He places an entire macaron in his mouth and nearly coughs, laughing. “Lighten up, Milo. We’re done for the day.”

Easy for him to suggest I lighten up. He’s the one who has just won.

Rhodes hands me the last macaron, crumpling the napkin. “Go on. Lighten up.”

I glance down at it. “I am not going to put this whole thing in my mouth.”

“You can do it.”

“I can, but why would I?”

“Because.”

“Why?”

Rhodes furrows his brow. “It’s what Marie Antoinette would want, don’t you think?”

I roll my eyes and stuff the macaron into my mouth. Immediately, I can barely chew, and I place my hand over my lips, bursting

into giggles.

“There!” Rhodes snaps his fingers. “You laughed. That’s why.”

I chew and swallow. “I laughed because that was ridiculous.”

“And now that you’ve laughed, don’t you feel a bit lighter?” He wiggles his arms and shakes out his legs, looking absolutely

absurd. “Don’t you feel like now you’re in the mood to do something fun and let the stress of the day slip away?”

“Are you high?”

“I’m not,” he says. “Okay, come on. We’ll go to the Petit Trianon. It’ll be nice. I’ve never seen it.”

Rhodes doesn’t give me a chance to protest. He begins walking and, without stopping or slowing his pace, simply turns back to see if I’m going to follow him.

I’m not sure if it’s the way the sun causes his hair to glow like god-spun gold or if it’s how his eyes are like glistening blue waters, but something compels me to follow him.

We ride the tram to the Petit Trianon, a smaller chateau on the grounds of Versailles. Marie Antoinette used the Petit Trianon

as her little private escape, and I am at least curious to see what it’s all about.

When in Paris.

There’s a line at the entrance, and it shouldn’t be surprising that the Petit Trianon is still fairly massive and impressive,

with its own gilded gate and several buildings and sprawling gardens just visible from here. I imagine it’s incredible inside

if it’s anything like the chateau.

“So,” I say. I stare down at my feet as we wait. “Do I even ask how you managed to get Amalia Astor to this event? Or is it

just a famous-person thing?”

Rhodes laughs. “A famous-person thing?”

I shrug, glancing over at him. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t know where to even begin with something like that. I mean, she’s

not only a celebrity, she’s so... mysterious. Nobody’s really seen or heard much of her in so long.”

“She’s a friend of my mum’s,” Rhodes says. “So I know her quite well.”

I process this and decide to wait to follow up until we’re past a small courtyard garden and inside the ground floor of the

Petit Trianon. The floor is all white-and-green checkered marble tiles, and there is a giant ornate staircase with gold detailing,

including the queen’s monogram along the banister.

Once we’re up the staircase, making our way into one of the elaborately decorated rooms, I finally break.

“Okay, wait. You know Amalia Astor? Quite well?” I gawk. “Sorry, I just am wrapping my head around what your life must be like.”

Rhodes clicks his tongue against his top teeth. “My life feels too big sometimes.”

“Too big?”

Like this place? I want to ask. Everything is so grand and luxurious—flourishes and touches of opulence in every detail, from the bronze gilding

to the polished stones to the intricate crown molding.

“Yeah, too big.” He interlocks his fingers, staring at them as he spreads his palms out away from him. “Not in some ‘poor

Rhodes’ way. It’s kind of hard to describe, but having famous parents and a famous brother, it makes everything feel really...

big. And when you ask about Amalia Astor, who’s just, like, Mum’s friend, it’s a reminder of how lost I might be in this big

thing. Dunno. I’m not making any sense, am I?”

I nod. “I sort of understand. Maybe. Probably not.”

We laugh when our eyes catch in one of the mirrors.

“Though,” I add. “One thing about all that—you’re famous too, you know.”

“Tangentially,” Rhodes says. “Fame by association is honestly so much different. Ollie has fans, and Mum and Dad have fans. I’ve got people who want an autograph because of my family members.

Or because they think I’m fit, I guess. But that’s not actually anything.

” He shoots me a look. “I know that sounds more ‘poor Rhodes,’ but I’m just stating the facts.

It isn’t something I expect to change. Unless. ..”

He pauses, shaking his head and stifling another laugh.

“What? Unless what?”

“Unless I make a name for myself,” he says. “Bit silly out loud.”

“I don’t think it’s silly.”

“Reckon you’re being nice,” Rhodes says. “Which I’ll take, considering just a few minutes ago you were furious with me.”

I scoff. “I was not furious with you.”

“Admit it, you were so annoyed with me. Absolutely fuming.”

“I was not .”

“Your tone is convincing,” he says with a smirk. “That’s okay, though. Look at us now.”

“Why do you think it’s silly?” I ask.

Rhodes purses his lips. “All right. So, this is going to sound like the most ‘poor Rhodes’ of everything I’ve said, but honestly,

I don’t mean for it to be. People don’t exactly want to see me succeed. They’d like to write off my efforts as half-assed

or, better for the press, a total failure. They’d like me to live in Ollie’s shadow, I think because it helps for them to

feel like he’s the golden boy they all want him to be. Nothing makes somebody look good like somebody worse to directly compare

them to.”

I frown. “I’m sure people would be happy to see you succeed, Rhodes.”

“People love to watch other people fail,” he says.

“I don’t know why. Don’t get it at all. But have you seen a tabloid recently?

Seen the kind of news that makes its way all over social media about celebrities?

Embarrassing stories. Things they’ve done wrong.

And I’m not saying it’s not deserved sometimes, because if someone really does something bad, that’s obviously different.

But why should a wardrobe malfunction or a bad hair day be so entertaining?

Why should a private drunk karaoke session go viral ? ”

“Oh my god.”

His face flashes red. “So you’ve seen it.”

I wince. “I mean...”

“To be fair, it was everywhere . It isn’t even that interesting. People embarrass themselves all the time.”

“I thought it was an inspired rendition,” I offer.

He shrugs. “Everybody knows ‘You Belong With Me.’?”

“Was it Taylor’s Version?”

“I’m not sure.”

I fake a gasp. “Blasphemous. Though if I remember correctly, the meme was that it was Rhodes’s Version . ...”

He hangs his head. “It was bad. I wonder if she saw it.”

I don’t mean to laugh, but it is a funny mix-up. I apologize immediately, covering my mouth. I try to focus on one of the

marble busts atop a fireplace, hoping not to rub any salt into the wound.

“No, it’s all right, laugh. I can admit it’s funny. The point isn’t really that anyway... it’s just the way people absolutely

love to see someone embarrass themselves or fail. They can’t get enough of that, really.”

“Sure,” I say. “I don’t have the same level of experience with this, obviously, but one time I did post a really, really hideous accidental selfie on my Instagram stories.

I didn’t realize it was up for, like, three hours.

I couldn’t seem to live it down, either, which is so silly considering it’s just a dumb photo. ”

Rhodes nods. “Any chance you have this selfie on hand?”

I roll my eyes. “I guess what I’m saying is I can only imagine how that felt for you. On that large of a scale.”