47. Katie
Katie
“Katie, you must tell us how you and Michael met,” Teresa says, smiling as she gestures to the rest of the table.
“I work at a bar downtown,” I say. “He showed up one night, then the next, and the next.” I tilt my head slightly. “He’s not subtle.”
A few of them laugh. A few glance at each other. I catch the looks.
“He finally introduced himself. My car wouldn’t start that night, so he and Luca gave me a ride home.”
“What a gentleman,” someone says.
I meet her eyes, smiling. “He has his moments.”
There are a few more laughs. Someone coughs uncomfortably.
“So you’re a bartender?” A woman across the table asks.
“It’s a second job,” I say. “And I recently quit.”
That earns several glances.
“How old are you, dear?” Teresa asks.
I stare at her. Here we go.
“Twenty-four.”
“Oh my, just a young girl,” the same woman that asked if I was a bartender says.
I exhale.
“Is that an appetizer table?”
“Yes,” Teresa says. “You must try the caviar. It’s flown in from—“ She pauses. “Shall I come with you?”
“No, that’s okay.” I smile. “You stay. I’ll be right back.”
Her eyes linger. “If you’re quite sure.”
“I am.”
I push back from the table, offering one last polite smile before I stand.
I can feel their eyes follow me like I’ve stepped off a stage instead of out of a chair.
People are staring at me, and it’s not only our table.
Other tables stare too. I catch it as I walk past—heads turning, conversations dipping for a second before picking back up.
The farther I get from them, the easier it is to breathe.
The food table stretches along the wall, draped in white linen. Everything is small and way too pretty to pick up and eat. There are silver trays, tiny spoons, and little stacks of things I don’t recognize. There’s caviar, like Teresa said. It’s black, glossy, and sitting on ice.
Absolutely not.
I move past it, scanning the rest. There are little round things that look safe, something on toast, skewers with tomatoes and cheese, and a tray of tiny sandwiches that at least resemble actual food.
A waiter steps in beside me like he’s been waiting for me to get here. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“Sure.” I point to the round ones. “What’s that?”
“Blue crab cakes with citrus aioli.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll take one of those.”
He sets a small plate in my hand, already reaching for the tongs.
I shift my finger to the next tray. “And that—on the little toast?”
“Filet mignon on crostini with horseradish cream.”
“Yeah, that.”
He places it carefully next to the crab cake, like he’s building something delicate instead of handing me food.
I glance down the table again, landing on the small sandwiches. “And those?”
“Brioche with aged white cheddar and roasted tomato confit.”
I pause and nod. “I’ll take one of those too.”
I step off to the side and look back at the table. Everyone’s talking and laughing politely. I don’t want to go back over there. Not yet. Not until Michael comes back. I scan the room and spot an empty table. Perfect.
“Is anyone sitting there?” I ask a waiter.
He shakes his head. “No, ma’am, but your table—“
“I just need a minute to eat before I go back,” I say.
He nods and pulls out a chair.
“Thank you,” I tell him, relieved.
A few heads turn my way, but I ignore them. I just want to sit here and eat this ridiculously fancy food in peace.
As I’m eating, I notice a woman. She’s not far from me—just off to the side. She’s maybe in her late twenties. She’s wearing a gold dress that shimmers under the lights. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a sleek updo.
She’s beautiful, and she’s watching me. She’s not even pretending not to.
“Hi,” I say, giving her a little wave.
She rolls her eyes.
What the fuck?
“Okay, I need clarity,” I say. “Because you’re looking at me like I stole your man, but I don’t remember doing that today. Was it earlier this week, or are we pre-fighting for future reasons?”
“Seriously?” she says, walking to the table.
“What?”
“Do you not know who I am?”
I shake my head. “If I knew who you were, I don’t think whatever is happening right now would be.”
She exhales. “Rosalia.”
“Oh, shit,” I say, almost to myself. “Okay, yeah. I’m an asshole.”
She goes still, watching me, then lets out a short laugh that strips the edge right off her face.
“Wow,” she says. “You are not what I was expecting.”
“Well, what’s that supposed to mean?”
She shakes her head and drops into the chair beside me. Michael’s ex-fiancée is sitting next to me. What the hell is happening?
“You’re so—“ she starts. “Unpolished.”
“Thanks. I guess.”
That makes her laugh even more.
“Your name’s Katie, right?”
“How’d you know that?”
“Word spreads very quickly through this room.”
She gestures, and I finally take a second to look. There are a lot of people watching us. Some try to look away. Some don’t.
“Why is everyone staring?”
“I mean,” she says. “You’ve got to see how this looks. Former fiancée. New girlfriend. And it’s Michael Amato.”
“People act like he’s got a golden dick or something.”
If she had been drinking something, she definitely would have spit it out.
“Trust me,” I say, shaking my head. “He doesn’t.”
“Oh my god,” she says. “You’re not from this world, are you?”
She leans forward, elbows on the table, her focus narrowing.
“If you mean rich people and whatever this is,” I say, motioning around us, “then no. I grew up in a three-bedroom, one-bath house in Auburn Heights. I teach high school English. Michael’s house almost took me out the first time I saw it.”
“Have you stayed there?” she asks, clearly interested now.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s insane. His closet could fit like half my house.”
She leans back, arms crossed, watching me.
“Wow. You’ve cracked Michael Amato’s shell, and you don’t even realize it.”
I blink at her. “What are you talking about?”
“He doesn’t bring women into his room. We were engaged for six months, and I never stepped foot inside it.”
Oh.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” I say.
“Don’t be,” she says. “What Michael and I had wasn’t real. I know that now. He should be with someone who makes him happy.” She pauses and adds, “And I’m not going to settle for less than that either.”
“You shouldn’t,” I say. “You seem pretty badass.”
She smiles, and I glance around the room.
“You know, there are some pretty hot guys in here.”
She lets out a humorless laugh. “No, thank you. I’ve known most of these men my whole life. None of them are worth my time.”
“Damn. I love that for you.”
She laughs again, and it feels easy between us. This is not how I expected to make a friend tonight.