Chapter 6
6
KATRINA
T he Botsford Plaza ballroom is packed.
Wedding guests mill around, their plates and bellies full of delicious food, their cheeks flushed with the warmth of the open bar—manned by none other than Doc the Bartender himself.
I stick with club soda, my stomach still rippling from the night before. I try to distract myself, focus on anything but that. I listen to the toasts and speeches, to the laughter, to the heartfelt tributes, all while refusing to let myself confront whatever answers lie beyond the questions threatening to burn a hole through me.
What happened last night?
Why did I wake up in Logan Shock’s bed?
Why was I naked?
Why—
I pinch my eyes closed, cutting off the thoughts I promised myself I wouldn’t have. I scold myself for being so unbelievably stupid.
I force myself to focus on what’s happening in front of me instead.
Jonah and Marla’s first dance.
They sway together, the soft music wrapping around them like a blanket, and I can’t help but smile. It’s really quite sweet. The way their hands graze each other, the way he whispers to her, making her cheeks burn bright.
They’re great together. Truly.
I focus on the good things, watching as his parents cut in. The newlyweds reach for each other playfully, but Fiona and Kingston swoop in to steal them away for their traditional dances. Cameras flash, capturing the moment for eternity.
From the head table, I sip my drink, trying to quell the fluttering in my stomach.
But why was I naked?
“And now, the bride and groom would like to invite everyone to join them for a dance!” the DJ announces, prompting couples to rise from their seats and join hands.
All around me, my friends stand.
Knox and Harmony.
Harvey and Addison.
Bronson and Jordan.
All the Botsford brothers and their beautiful women.
And that leaves me. Only me.
My cheeks burn.
Well, darn.
Before I can sink deeper into my chair, a throat clears behind me. I turn, and a smile immediately blooms on my face as I see Oliver standing there, hand extended.
I laugh, happy to take his hand. He leads me to an empty spot on the dance floor, and we settle into a light sway..
“No plus one today, huh?” Oliver asks, towering over me by almost a foot.
“Uh, no,” I answer. “You?”
“Nah,” he says, scanning the room. “I usually avoid one.”
“So you can swoop in and rescue the lonely single girls when it’s dance time?”
“Exactly!” He grins, and I laugh. “You having fun, though?”
“I am,” I reply, hoping the words sound as true as I want them to. “It was a beautiful ceremony.”
“It was,” he says, chuckling softly as he inspects the edge of his hand. “I thought for sure Marla was gonna draw blood for a second there.”
I smile. “It was very sweet of you to walk her down the aisle, Oli.”
“I was happy to do it. She didn’t have anyone else, you know, with her mom as maid of honor and her dad being AWOL.”
“Right.”
“And when she gives you those big, pleading eyes? What man can say no to that?”
I nod, understanding completely.
“Hard to believe the day’s finally here,” he says. “I don’t know how Jo fared on the road, but back here?” He shakes his head. “Marla was a wreck. Every day. She kept her chin up, but I could tell.” He glances at them, the two of them perfectly in sync as they glide across the floor. “She missed him so much.”
“Yeah. He missed her, too.” My throat tightens, but I swallow it down. “Are you excited to start your new job?”
Oliver beams. “Yes,” he says, the light of destiny shining in his eyes. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“It suits you,” I reply.
“Thanks.” His eyes twinkle as he glances over my shoulder. “You wanna trade, old man?”
Kingston’s loud laugh booms through the room as he holds Fiona in his arms. He gives me a wink. “Only if the young lady will take me,” he teases.
“Of course,” I say, stepping back as Oliver releases me.
“Yes! Please, Oli…” Fiona says. “Take me away from this one. Forty years together and he still can’t keep up with me.”
She takes Oliver’s hand, and they step away, leaving me with Kingston. His smile lingers on Fiona for a moment before he shifts his attention to me.
“Sorry in advance if I step on your toes, little one,” he says.
I chuckle. “I’m sure I’ll live, Papa B.”
He hums, content, and we dance.
After a few quick minutes, another man approaches and asks to cut in. I smile at Fiona’s father, the former senator of Nevada, Richard Garland, and place my hand in his. One dance with him, and I’m passed off to Bronson. Then Harvey. And Knox.
And finally, Jonah.
Part of me wants to run—wants to escape into the crowd—but any excuse I think of crumbles as I slip my hand into his. His other hand comes to rest on my waist, warm and firm.
“Hey,” he says, his voice low.
“Hi,” I reply, forcing the words through the tightness in my chest, trying not to let our dance look as stiff as it feels. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“It was a beautiful ceremony,” I say, trying to keep my tone steady, even though my pulse is erratic.
“Yeah. You and Addison killed it.”
“Thanks.” I swallow, wishing I could say something more.
“Thank you again for doing that. I know…” He pauses, his gaze dropping for a beat before finding mine again. “I know you probably didn’t want to.”
“No, I did,” I say, but the words sound hollow, empty. “If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have…” I trail off, holding my breath, focusing instead on the quarter note pin on his lapel, the polished metal a welcome distraction. “I wanted to.”
“Kat.”
“Hm?”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrug a shoulder, forcing the motion to seem casual. “What for?”
“You know what for.” His voice cracks slightly. “I wanted to talk to you about last night, but there wasn’t any time?—”
“It’s okay, Jonah.”
“Are we?”
I meet his gaze, holding it for a long beat. He looks back, his eyes worried and tired. A long day rests behind him, but an even longer night stretches on ahead.
“Yes. We will be.” I add quietly, “I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to screw things up.”
“You didn’t,” Jonah says. “Don’t think that. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have…” He stops, his eyes scanning the room for any nearby ears, his voice lowering even further. “I shouldn’t have kissed you back then.”
“You only did it because I asked you to,” I say, the words coming out more gently than I expect. “We were just kids.”
“You were just a kid,” he says, his tone a mix of regret. “I knew better.”
“You’re only, like… two years older than me, Jo. It was just a kiss. A kiss is just a kiss, right?”
He pauses, his own words hanging in the air between us. The pain in his eyes is sharp, a fresh wound. He’s realizing now that the kiss on the cheek he gave me back in Chicago during a game of Spin the Bottle may not have been just a stupid game to me.
I sigh, the weight of it pressing on my chest. “It’s just a crush. I’ll get over it.”
“I should have known.” His voice is soft, regret thick in his words. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. “It wouldn’t have made a difference. It’s like you said last night. It was never going to be me.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
Jonah closes his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening. “I’m so sorry.”
I meet his eyes once more, finding strength. “I’ll be fine,” I say, my voice clear. “All I ever wanted was for you to be happy, Jonah. Marla is your muse. It doesn’t get any happier than that.”
Jonah lifts his head. “I want you to be happy,” he says.
“Maybe someday I will be,” I say. “Just… not tonight.”
As Jonah parts his lips to speak, a flash of pink flickers in my peripheral vision.
“Heeey,” Harmony says, her smile blessed with pure mischief. “Sorry to interrupt, and I know you said you weren’t interested in meeting someone today, but…” Her eyes glimmer at me. “I’ve got a horde of handsome, rich boys over here just dying to dance with you.”
I step back from Jonah, and his hands slip away. “Actually, Harmony, I think I’m a little danced out today.”
“Oh, nonsense!” Before I can object, Harmony loops her arm through mine, locking me in. “It’s a Botsford wedding! These things don’t happen every weekend!” She flashes Jonah a saccharine smile. “You don’t mind if I steal her away, do you, Jonah?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not at all.” His smile is weak but present. “Go have fun, Kat.”
“She surely will!”
My window of escape slams shut as Harmony tugs me across the dance floor. Before I can even squeak out another excuse, we arrive at a table at the far end of the room, and Harmony presents me like a prize to the group of young men lounging there.
“Kat,” she announces, practically beaming. “Have you met Ian?”
Ian Botsford rises with a carefully measured look of surprise, as if this encounter wasn’t entirely orchestrated. He fastens the second button of his black suit, obscuring the dark blue shirt inside, and smiles, all the little details of his tall, dark, and handsome genes shining through his features.
“Yes,” I say. “Well, briefly. You’re Jonah’s cousin. You’ve come to our Chicago shows before, right?”
“I have,” he confirms, reaching out to shake my hand. His fingers are smooth, his grip deliberate—like he’s planning to latch on and never let go. “I’m a big fan, actually. Love your sound.”
“Thank you,” I say, forcing a polite smile. “That’s always nice to hear.”
“And this…” Harmony nudges me toward the next in line, a red-haired man in a sleek pinstriped suit. “Is Barry! He works at the Chicago hotel with Ian in… accounting, was it?”
I shake Barry’s hand. Then the next man’s. And the next. Harmony practically shoves me down the line of a half-dozen eligible suitors I never asked for.
“Would you like to dance?” Ian asks.
Harmony’s gaze burns into my skin. Her nudging hand pushes me forward and I have no choice but to smile and say, “I’d love to.”
The music shifts, the tempo picking up as Ian leads me onto the floor. A small mercy, at least—another slow dance might’ve sent me straight into hives.
Not wanting to think about… well, anything that’s happened so far today, I turn my brain off and let the music take over. Ian follows, eager for any excuse to let his hands drift.
“May I cut in?”
Barry’s smug face fills my view. I dance with him, too. The music pounds in my ears, drowning out the echoes of vows and Canon in D. Of Here Comes the Bride and happily ever after.
“May I cut in?”
“May I cut in?”
“May I cut in?”
Faces blur into more faces, an endless parade of admittedly handsome men looking for a good time at a wedding they probably didn’t even want to attend. I don’t bother memorizing their names, their details.
I just dance.
I dance to forget. I dance to let go, to feel something other than heartache. The mix of expensive cologne and boozy breath makes my stomach churn, but I keep fucking smiling. A light sweat beads on my brow. My pulse skitters. I fight the urge to scream, to push them all away, to run.
It was never going to be me.
It was never going to be me.
It was?—
“I’m cutting in.”
The man I’m dancing with stiffens at the voice behind me. He gives a lazy salute and disappears, retreating into the crowd to get as far away as possible.
I turn, ready to lose even more of myself to yet another nameless, faceless suitor… and gasp.
Lightning crackles through me as I look up into the familiar blue eyes of Logan Shock.