by Lee, Nadia
She’d told him and herself she wouldn’t date again until she knew she could take care of herself, that she was okay first. Barron’s job offer was unexpected—and incredible—but was it enough?
Soon the reception started, and the guests began to mingle. Catherine excused herself in the middle of the excitement over Kerri throwing her bouquet and went inside to get out of the sun. She was tired… No. That wasn’t quite true. She was afraid Blaine might ask her to dance, and she might just cling to him for dear life.
She took a chair and dragged it over to a wall, behind an enormous swan that was carved out of ice and out of the way of the servers running to and fro. She sat down gratefully and leaned back, closing her eyes.
“I had no idea she was already back on the market,” came a low-pitched male voice. It sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Otherwise I would’ve made my move.”
Catherine’s ears prickled, and she her eyes snapped open.
“Well, she probably wants to get Rich Husband Number Two while she’s still hot.”
“She is still hot. That red dress is killer. Hell, she’s killer.”
“Then you’re in luck. It’s not that difficult to get her.” A third voice. “All you need is money.”
“But what do you do when she gets old and isn’t pretty enough to keep your interest?”
“That’s what prenups are for, you moron. You trade up without having to waste a penny more on the older model.”
The other two chortled. Catherine’s face turned hot.
“Nothing really happened to Jacob even after what he did to her,” one of them said.
“Nothing happened? He got disowned by his own mother.”
“Yeah, okay, but I bet he has some money stashed. He’s not the type to give up his cushy life for some chick.”
She had to leave before she threw up or did something else just as bad to ruin Kerri and Ethan’s happy occasion. Catherine stood…and just then a group of three young men in white tuxes emerged from around the corner. Their eyes met, and she knew they were the ones who’d been talking about her like she was some kind of cheap toy.
“Uh… Hi, Catherine.”
She arched an eyebrow at the somewhat short freckled redhead. “Eddie Mills. Long time, no see. Your friends?”
The other two nodded, their faces looking a tad bit paler. They might be arrogant enough to insult her in “secret,” but they probably knew she was tight with the Lloyds, who were now related to the Sterlings by marriage. Barron had ruined people for far milder insults, and he’d be offended if he heard that his “guests” had dared to badmouth one of his new in-laws at his granddaughter’s wedding.
Catherine lifted her chin and rested a hand on her cocked hip. “Well? Make the introductions, Eddie,” she commanded.
“Uh…yeah, sure. These are my cousins Rob and, um, Dave.”
Squashing a guy’s ego was just as easy as boosting it. Her gaze swept them up and down, a faint smile on her face—the woman-challenge, old as mankind itself—and then flickered with dismissal. She breathed in, and watched as all six male eyes tried not to look at her chest. “Just so you know, I’m not in the market for Rich Husband Number Two. I’ve recently received a very enticing offer.”
“Oh. Congratulations,” Rob said, his voice slightly shaky. “So…uh…from who?”
She let her smile grow while giving him a cold, hard stare and enunciated her answer with the immaculate moneyed diction her mother had taught her: “Barron Sterling.”
The color drained from the trio’s faces. Dave actually swayed, looking like a Victorian maiden about to faint.
Her mouth curled with contempt. “Run along now. Oh, and do enjoy the wedding.”
They took off like a group of little boys. She shook her head. The news that I’m going to be entangled with Barron Sterling will hit the crowd in about…two minutes. She would have to work for that man no matter how scared she was at the prospect.
But the look on those idiots’ faces had so been worth it. Barron would undoubtedly set everyone straight, then ream the trio for jumping to the wrong conclusions, she thought, looking at her naked ring finger.
“Catherine! It’s a wedding, look happy,” came a teasing voice.
She started. Mark Pryce stood in front of her with two flutes of champagne. He was a younger and better-looking version of Salazar with more exuberance and honesty. A custom-tailored tux fitted him perfectly. “Hi, Mark.”
“You gotta try this. Absolutely fabulous.” He gave her a glass, and she took a long swallow.
The bubbling liquid slid down her throat like silk, leaving an aftertaste of sweet, sun-ripened berries. “Oh my god. This is good.”
“Told you. The very best from Barron Sterling.” He finished his and placed the empty glass on a tray as a waiter passed by. “So. Why have you been avoiding my family? Even Dad’s complaining that you’re ignoring him. Is it because of Mom’s mood?”
She laughed. “I’m not ignoring anyone. And what’s wrong with your mom?”
“Angry about something Dad did, not that she’ll ever admit it.”
“Well, I heard about the family scandal, though it seems kind of anemic after the show Jacob and I put on.”
“That was all him, not you.” His gaze turned thoughtful. “You’re different from all those years ago.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“If being more approachable is a good thing…”
“It just means I’m getting old,” she said with a wry smile.
He snorted. “You actually look better now. You used to have the hardness of an unripened persimmon.”
Just like Mark to compare someone to food. “Seriously? An unripened persimmon?”
“Have you ever seen one?”
“Of course.” Amandine had brought home some she’d gotten from her best friend Brooke, who liked the orange fruit. It was amazingly sweet when soft and ripe, but disgusting otherwise. “I’ve even tasted them.”
“Well, then you know what I mean.”
“I…suppose. And I’ll take that as a compliment…of sort.”
Mark smiled, shifting his weight. “By the way, did you hear that François sold his latest painting for a cool four million?”
“He did?” Pleasure and pride coursed through her. She grinned. “I knew he was great, but wow.”
“You might want to give him a call when you get a chance,” Mark said. “He referred to you as his muse. I think there’s a little bit of a crush going on.”
“He’s French. He says that about every woman under the age of fifty. But thanks.”
Mark lowered his head and whispered into her ear. “And give my new brother a chance. He’s not that bad, you know. He’s not like us—the messed up Pryce siblings—and he’s nicer than anyone in the family. Whatever happened between the two of you, I think he’s genuinely sorry about it.”
She gave him a sidelong look. “What did he say?”
“Didn’t have to say anything. I have eyes.” He straightened and drew in a theatrically deep breath. “Oh, and will you look at that. There he is! Have fun.” He landed a quick peck on her cheek and disappeared as Blaine moved toward her with the focus of a guided missile.
* * *
What was Mark whispering to Catherine?
Blaine narrowed his eyes at how chummy his brother—it was so strange to call someone other than Sean “brother”—and Catherine looked standing together, sharing champagne. Had they been lovers at some point?
Stop it, moron. What did it matter? If it had happened, it was before she met him. “Catherine,” he said with a nod. “You look good.”
That was putting it mildly. She looked hot enough to devour in that red dress. It only had one shoulder strap, and the skirt part was loose and fluttered alluringly in the ocean breeze.
“Thank you. So do you.”
“Thanks.” The tuxedo was awfully uncomfortable. Not that the tailoring was poor—the Pryces didn’t buy badly
made clothes—but he found the trappings of his new position in Salazar’s family unfamiliar and awkward. The band started another love song. He extended a hand to her. “Dance with me.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t tell me you don’t dance. I know you do, and you haven’t danced yet.”
With a short nod, she let him take her to the less crowded section in the reception area—apparently that Barron guy had rented out the entire strip of beach—where he pulled her close. Her presence in his arms was so damned sweet, it made his whole body throb.
He’d missed her like a part of him was gone…which was crazy. He’d known her for only a few weeks. It wasn’t enough time to feel this way about a woman, was it?
But how long does it take you to know you want something?
“There are more partners out there for you than you have the time to dance,” Catherine said. “You should mingle a little. Widen your social circle.”
“Don’t feel like mingling.” He flexed his hand on the small of her back. “Being with you is plenty enough.”
Wordlessly she laid her cheek on his chest. His heart thudded. Could she hear it? Could she see how much he regretted what he’d said to her? How much he wanted to make things right again?
“You’re going to hear about it soon anyway, but I’m going to work for Barron,” she said.
He frowned. “Doing what?”
“He wants somebody to take over his art collection.”
“Take it over? What is there to do with a bunch of paintings? Dust the frames?”
He could feel her smile into his chest. “He wants me to buy and sell paintings for him.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“I’ve never done anything like it, but I think it might be rewarding.”
“Okay. So does this mean you’re going to have to live somewhere like…” He thought about it. Where did artsy types hang out? “New York City or something?”
“Probably. Or maybe San Francisco. He seems to want me to be in a big city with lots of galleries and an active art scene. If I tell him I want to be in Paris, I’m sure that can be arranged.”
Paris! Not just a different state, but a different continent. Still, did he have any right to object? Salazar had probably been right; somebody like Catherine wouldn’t be happy in a place like Cooter’s Bluff. Before flying out on Salazar’s jet, the longest trip Blaine had ever taken was to Austin, Texas. But how could someone who’d been all over the world be satisfied with a simple small-town life? Cooter’s Bluff didn’t even have a poster shop. “Congratulations,” he managed in a cheery voice.
She peered up at him, her gaze clear and a little annoyed. “You don’t have to force it. If you think I’m not going to cut it, just say so.”
“That’s not it.”
“Then?”
“I actually think you might be too good at the job.”
Her tone gained a suspicious edge. “You say that like it’s a problem.”
Only for him, since Barron might really let her live in Paris if she was that good at her work. “No, not at all. Catherine, I’m happy for you.”
She mulled that over and nodded. “Thanks.”
“When are you going back to the States?”
“I don’t know yet. Whenever Gavin and Amandine are ready, I suppose. You?”
“Not sure. I need to see who’s leaving when.”
The music ended, and she stopped. “Well then. Have a great trip home, Blaine.”
This felt too much like a goodbye. Wasn’t there some way to bridge the gap between them? “Catherine…”
“Yes?”
Come with me. His soul wanted to cry it out, but he couldn’t. She’d said she didn’t want a relationship until she was ready. Rushing her would only make a bigger mess out of the situation. He released her. “Thanks for the dance.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
By the time Catherine went downstairs for breakfast the next day, Gavin and Amandine had almost finished. “Where’s Stella?”
“Sleeping,” Amandine said. “She stayed up so late last night, dancing with Barron.”
“I thought they wanted to kill each other.”
“Once the ceremony was over, they seemed to get along better.” Amandine took a dainty bite of a well-buttered croissant and said, “So it’s official? You are going to work for Barron Sterling?”
“I think I am.”
“Yes! I knew you’d take the opportunity!”
“Congratulations,” Gavin said.
“I’m actually a little worried about it.” Catherine nibbled on a piece of bacon. Now that she’d rediscovered it, she was never dieting again. “I mean, I can look at a painting and tell if it’s good or not, but the other parts of the job. Bookkeeping, writing letters to galleries and so on. I’m not sure I can do all that.”
Gavin frowned. “Well, bookkeeping is ju—“
Amandine quickly took his hand. “Catherine… Are you saying this because you didn’t do well in school and Aunt Olivia said you had ‘learning problems’?” she asked.
Catherine nodded. “Partly. She was probably right. I can’t read very well, and my writing is…ugh. I always need somebody to clean it up.”
“But that’s crazy,” Gavin said. “You’re not stupid. There’s nothing about you that indicates it.”
Catherine gave him a frank gaze. “You mean because I’ve been so successful in life so far?”
Gavin opened his mouth but Amandine squeezed his hand. “Catherine, listen. You were doing fine in life until Jacob ruined everything. As for the school stuff, Mom said once that she thought you might be dyslexic. She wasn’t sure why Aunt Olivia wouldn’t try to get help for you. If she had, you probably would’ve done better in school.”
Catherine felt her jaw drop. “Dyslexic?”
“It just means you don’t perceive letters the way most people do, but that doesn’t make you stupid or anything. It just makes you a little bit different, and of course reading is harder. But a lot of people with dyslexia do just fine.”
“I know what it means. It’s just… I just never considered…” Catherine let out a long shuddering breath. “Do you really think that’s the problem?”
Gavin stood up. “One way to find out.” He pulled a travel magazine off the counter and opened it to a random page. “Why don’t you try reading this out loud?”
Mr. Pragmatic. Catherine hated him briefly, hated the idea that both he and Amandine were looking at her expectantly, and that she was about to be embarrassed. A hundred schoolroom memories came flooding back, making her panic. But as she looked at them she saw that they were both just concerned for her. She closed her eyes. Stop expecting the worst of people.
“Okay. I’ll…try.” She took the page, which had a picture of some tropical island with a double-peaked mountain rising from it. When she turned her gaze to the text the words started swimming around like they always did. “The dest…no, best tmenty…inlands to line on…” She took a breath. “Car…I…Caribbean and Sound…South Pacific…peachfront for…less than…” She looked away and shook her head. “I can’t do this.”
Amandine gently took the magazine from her and glanced at the headline. “The twenty best islands to live on. Caribbean and South Pacific beachfront for less than $150,000.”
Catherine felt like she was surfacing from a dream. So it really was true? If so, why hadn’t her mother gotten her help?
Because I would’ve been labeled “dyslexic,” and it would’ve bothered her to know her daughter wasn’t officially perfect.
Olivia could never stand it when people criticized even the most minute thing about her or her family. Image was everything. And after her husband had lost his fortune, her pretty, trophy-wife material daughter had offered the best chance of regaining the kind of lifestyle she believed should be hers.
Catherine sat stunned. How could she not have seen how selfish her mother had been? How could she not have realized that mothers didn
’t tell their children how stupid they were or how they would never amount to anything except some rich man’s possession? Olivia’s behavior had been unnatural and manipulative, hurting Catherine to get what she wanted.
“Are you all right?” Amandine asked, her voice soft.
“Yes.” Catherine nodded slowly. “I think I am. For once, I’m seeing things rather clearly.”
“So…” Gavin raised both eyebrows.
Catherine collected her thoughts. “So I’m going to do my very best with Barron’s art collection.”
* * *
Out on his new family’s deck, Blaine helped himself to another beer and stared out at the early morning sea. The brew tasted bitter. He checked the label and shook his head. Some unpronounceable—but undoubtedly expensive—German beer. So why did it taste like shit?
It was probably just his mood. Paris! Catherine might as well have said she wanted to live on Mars.
“Drinking first thing in the morning,” came Ceinlys’s frosty voice. “Typical. You may have some of the Pryce money now, but you’re not a real Pryce.”
“That’s right. I’m a Davis,” he said, still facing the ocean.
“Turn around when you talk to me.”
“Why ruin the scenery?” This was the first time since he’d “joined” the family that they were by themselves, but he had nothing to say to her. “Leave me alone.”
“You leave us alone. You’re nothing, just some filthy—”
“You know what happened to that locket your husband bought you? The one with rubies and sapphires and a big pearl? With a photo of you and him on your wedding day?” He felt her go still. “You ever find it?”
A short pause. “It won’t prove anything,” she said, her voice still hard.
“Pretty sure your prenup says something about staying faithful.”
“If that were the case, do you think Salazar would’ve been unfaithful to me?”