Katherine
“There must be some mistake.” I tighten my grip on my cellphone as if the added pressure will iron out this new wrinkle in my universe.
Then I wrap an arm around my waist, trying to ward off the nervous energy. But it doesn’t work. I’m vibrating with frustration. Or perhaps it’s anger.
That’s just as likely.
Because even as the words leave my lips, I have a sinking sensation. An uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach and an alarm in the back of my mind, complete with bright flashing lights behind my eyelids.
“Oh,” the voice on the other end of the line says, clearly confused. I’ll give her points for sounding vaguely apologetic, but it doesn’t stop what comes next. “Mrs. Winthrop said you’d be delighted to help us out.”
I narrow my gaze at my reflection. Delighted, huh?
My stomach was right.
“By selling myself to the highest bidder?” I keep my voice flat because I doubt it’s this woman’s fault that my mother lied to her. But I’m not about to make things easy, either.
“It’s just a date,” she rushes. “That’s all you’re agreeing to.”
I get that this woman doesn’t know the complicated relationship I have with my mother, but a date is not all I’m agreeing to. Manipulation. That’s worse than agreeing to a date with anyone I can think of.
I pause in front of the tall windows, staring out at the rapidly approaching night.
Even with New York City at my feet, I feel trapped. Suffocated.
Part of me wants to tell this woman there’s no way I’m showing up to this bachelorette auction. But I’m sure they’ve already had materials printed with my name on them.
“And it’s for a great cause. You’ve heard about…”
I tune her out. It’s always for a great cause. And my family supports plenty of organizations. Hell. We have our own foundation. I’m just too mentally drained to focus.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” I tell her and disconnect the call.
“Breathe, Katherine,” I whisper to myself.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
The city twinkles up at me like a sequined quilt, alive, energetic and teaming with possibilities. I’ve always loved feeling connected to the pulse of humanity, but lately, Manhattan has felt claustrophobic. And tonight, tonight I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs.
How many times will my own mother defy my wishes?
I still remember being six years old and wanting nothing more than a unicorn themed birthday party with a pony for the kids to ride. But no, that wouldn’t do. She had to show me off to her friends at the club. No unicorn decor. No pony.
I should be over it; it’s such a first world problem. Yet that unfulfilled wish is the example that remains a splinter beneath my skin, reminding me all these years later that my life is not my own. Katherine Montgomery’s life is planned and choreographed. I’m merely a chess piece being moved around the board.
Nausea threatens and I glance up at the inky sky, willing my body to settle. I blow out a long sigh. “It’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay.”
No one’s perfect, I get that.
But she knows I just broke up with Tyler the Terrible two months ago. I’ve told her I’m not ready to date again. Unlike her, I don’t clamor for the limelight. I prefer being single. The idea of standing on a stage in front of a hundred people makes my heart pound so hard I should probably see a cardiologist.
I pace around the low slung sectional in my living room. If only I had the money my grandfather left me. I’d write a check for whatever charity the auction supports and be done with it.
No auction. No fuss. No embarrassment.
But my twenty-fifth birthday is months away, so I’ll have to wait for my inheritance.
I blow out a sigh and text my best friend.
Katherine: remind me that I don’t look good in orange.
Striding across the plush carpet, I pull a bottle of my favorite Chardonnay from the refrigerator and pour myself a glass.
The golden liquid calms some of the annoyance raging in my blood. But seriously, I told her I didn’t want to do the auction.
That should have been the end of it.
No means no.
I pour a bit more from the bottle, mesmerized by the ripples. It’s a big glass, but I’m going to need it for this conversation.
Maybe a bit more won’t hurt.
Swapping my phone for the wineglass, I head for the balcony.
Car horns and the rumble of a motorcycle engine drift up to me. A breeze ruffles my hair.
“Poor little rich girl,” I murmur to the wind.
I chug the Chardonnay like I’m going into battle and need the courage.
A fat raindrop splatters against my upturned cheek, and I welcome the storm. If only I could wash away my bad mood as easily as the rain washes the grime from the streets below.
One by one, droplets fall. Whacking the cement around me. Bringing that rich humidity and a cleansing balm that sends people scurrying for doorways.
When my shirt is lightly polka-dotted with rain, I head back inside.
My phone rests on the kitchen island, spotlighted by the pendants overhead. I stare at it as I pour myself another round. My movements are loose now thanks to an empty stomach and the first glass of vino.
I swear my phone is daring me. Call her.
Another sip.
I’m exhausted.
Mentally taxed and tired of fighting with her.
The screen lights up and a notification bubble shows I have a new text. My lips curve up a fraction. I don’t know when he sleeps.
Kingston: uh oh. what’d cruella do now?
I fully expected him to remind me that orange would totally clash with my hair color, but I should have predicted that, as usual, he’s on my wavelength. That he would tap into the anxiety and annoyance buzzing through me, even if he’s half a world away.
His nickname for my mom earns a grin, and I type back immediately.
Katherine: why are you awake? What time is it there?
Kingston: sun’ll be up in a few hours.
Katherine: didn’t mean to wake you.
He doesn’t bother responding to that, though I can read his mind from across the Atlantic Ocean. That’s what friends are for. He’s said it to me often enough.
Kingston: so what’d she do?
I shouldn’t spread my drama, but need all the support I can get when it comes to my meddling mother.
Katherine: she signed me up for the auction after I told her not to. Repeatedly.
Three dots pop up and I hold my breath as I wait for his reply. They disappear and I exhale. He’s never liked my mother. Which is saying something, because Kingston Saint gets along with everyone.
The three dots pop back up. He’s choosing his words carefully and my heart squeezes. Gosh, I miss him.
Kingston: wear the green dress.
A shiver snakes down my spine. I can hear his voice in my head. Deep and silky smooth.
Wear the green dress.
It’s like an order to my over-charged libido.
Down girl.
Kingston: you’ll look like a million bucks and your ass will be the envy of every woman in Manhattan.
My lips curve up and I exhale, feeling some of my tension melt away. He’s so good for my ego, but I know better than to want more from him. To be seduced by his charm. That only ends in heartbreak.
Kingston
“Come on, Wildfire.” My whisper carries on the wind across the empty bar, and universe willing, across the Atlantic ocean.
I know Katherine won’t be able to hear me this far away. It’s not like she’s on the other end of the line, but I’ve always felt we’re connected like that.
I stare at my phone, willing her to text me back. Desperate for those three bouncing dots.
My boss calls my name and I can tell by his tone that it’s not the first time he’s tried to get my attention.
I lift my gaze. Marko stands there with a crate of glassware, obviously waiting for me to move so he can put them away. I bolt backwards, muttering an apology.
“Everything is good, yes?” He makes quick work of distributing the glasses. I’m always impressed by him. Building this business from nothing because he loves people. Plus, his English is far better than my Croatian.
“Yeah,” I say, waving my phone before sitting it behind the bar. “Just…waiting for a text from a friend.”
“The friend you mentioned so often on arrival?” His lips stretch into a smile, showing off his teeth.
I know what he’s talking about, of course. Months ago, I pulled my sailboat into the marina and made myself at home in this charming town. I sidled up to Marko’s bar, confused about my relationship with Katherine. He got an earful that night. And since I enjoy working behind a bar, he’s heard about her a lot since then.
Heat sweeps over my skin. I nod. Guilty as charged.
“Katrina?”
“Katherine. Yes.”
“Ahh. Katherine.” He props a hip against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. The subtle way he pries a story out of a person is amazing to watch, even when he’s doing it to me. “You miss her.”
It’s not a question.
He knows it.
I know it.
I miss her like crazy. Her smile. The way her gorgeous hair slides across her cheek when she dips her head, trying to smother a laugh. I love making her laugh. She doesn’t do it often enough for my liking.
She has a geeky obsession with houseplants. A neverending stack of biographies next to her bed. A massive collection of sex toys she doesn’t think I know about.
I rub a hand over the back of my neck. Gah. The fantasies I weave about that colorful array of vibes.
The ache in my chest is worse than usual tonight.
Katherine was the first person I told about my desire to get out of the city. To travel. To not take up the mantle in the family companies. And she supported me wholeheartedly. She has never once questioned my desire to live on a boat, working odd jobs in foreign countries.
She’s so unlike anyone I’ve ever met. A unique combination of dutiful and rebel. It’s no wonder she lives in my head rent free.
And now, her mother signed her up for that silly auction. It’s not that the charity is silly, it’s just…Katherine doesn’t like the limelight like her mother does. She’d rather be at home with her jungle of plants, drinking wine with friends.
I turn, lining up the bottles, toss an errant bottle cap.
“When—when did you see her last?”
I swallow. Six months, nineteen days. But who’s counting. “Too long.”
Marko nods. I glance out at the beach. The water shimmers in the darkness. Croatia is beyond beautiful, but like all the other places I’ve traveled the last five years, it doesn’t feel like home. Twelve countries, dozens of cities and I still don’t get that feeling.
Most days, I can ignore that fact.
Something’s missing.
Most days I can lie to myself and believe that the something is not a someone.
Most days, Katherine isn’t going to auction herself off to the highest bidder.
Marko reaches into the cooler and pulls out two long necks. “Come.” He nods toward the beach.
I grab my phone again. No new texts. Disappointment makes my limbs heavy as I follow my boss through the labyrinth of chairs and tables. We cross the path that runs along the front of the bar, connecting all the seaside businesses.
When we reach the sand, he twists off the caps and hands me one. This is what I love about my travels and Marko specifically. There are still places in the world where people slow down enough to get to know their neighbors. A beer on the beach after closing time? Totally the norm.
I should ask after Marko’s girlfriend, but my mouth feels dry as the sand beneath my feet. I take a long swig of my beer, relishing the coolness in my throat. He finds a spot to sit.
“What is the trouble?” he asks as I settle next to him, draping my forearms around my knees.
A steady cross breeze brings the scents of salt, lemon and grilled fish from up the beach.
“She’s taking part in a bachelorette auction.”
“What is—bachelorette auction?”
“Women raise money for charity by offering a date. To the highest bidder.”
It takes a few seconds, but Marko makes a contemplative sound. And damn if that’s not the same sound that’s been humming through my veins for the last twenty minutes.
“For charity?” he confirms.
“Yeah.” I forget which charity is the beneficiary of this specific auction. She might not have even said when she’d mentioned the event a few weeks back.
“You are jealous?”
“No, I just—“ I take a deep breath and then another long sip of the beer. There are too many emotions rolling through me to pick one. “I look out for her. Old habit. Besides, she hasn’t even gone on the date yet. How could I be jealous?”
I’m babbling, but Marko doesn’t seem to mind.
“You are jealous that her attention will be elsewhere.”
My head jerks around.
Damn. He’s right.
Marko smiles and lifts his bottle to his lips. He seems to enjoy watching me shift in the sand as my brain races through a game of connect the dots.
It’s not only the fact that her attention will be elsewhere. That she might meet someone. Someone she likes, who’s stable and, you know, a full time New York resident. Those are all killer reasons my inner cave man is howling with concern.
But, if I’m honest with myself, there’s one particular desire drowning out all the others.
I want to see her in that dress.
I sent it to her.
Fuck. I designed the damn thing.
I’ve designed a dress in each of my mother’s collections as far back as I can remember. My first drawing for her was in blue crayon. It’s our thing. No one knows but us and it’s a fun tradition, even if I don’t want to run the company.
The truth is, I created the emerald dress with Katherine in mind. Hell, in the sketch I sent to my mother, the model has flaming golden red hair, just like my Wildfire.
My chest tightens.
My Wildfire.
“You should go,” Marko says.
I lift my bottle. It’s half full. “Not done yet.”
“To the auction,” he clarifies.
Oh.
“When is it?”
I fish out my phone and scroll through my texts. No luck there. My thumb jabs the web browser and I try to remember the name of the event. A few seconds and one Google search later, my blood freezes in my veins.
“Tomorrow.”
The sleek countdown timer shows twenty-three hours and some odd minutes. I tilt the screen so Marko can see.
“What are you waiting for?”
