Chapter 17
17
Cat
I ’m not running. Theo just makes my insides feel weird and my head fuzzy. I need five minutes alone. And if I avoid him for the rest of the week, so what? It’s not that hard in a mansion that takes up an entire city block.
The following Friday, I’m just putting my bag down from class when the doorbell rings. It takes several minutes to get to the front door, depending on where you are in the house, and Theo doesn’t have staff, so I’ve taken to sprinting for deliveries. I slide down the marble hall and nearly collide with the door. I’m waiting for a blouse to be delivered that I need for our presentations next week. I want to look the part in front of my fellow students and future colleagues. Not for the first time, I wonder what possessed me to pack mostly jeans and sweaters when I fled Rockwood. Maybe because they were the things my stepmother hated to see me in. All the ghastly Chanel suits? I left them piled in a heap on my bedroom floor.
Talk about cutting off my nose to spite my face. I’m a fool, and now I’ll be wearing a Zara blouse and it will cost me one precious hour of tips .
I wrench open the door, hoping to see a uniformed FedEx employee, and come face-to-face with a very polished and annoyed person who is about my height. Their dark hair is perfectly coiffed and their lips are pursed.
“I’m George.” They stick out a hand. “You must be Cat.” They jerk a thumb behind them. “This is your trousseau.”
“My what?” I peer to the right and see what looks like enough racks of clothes to fill a New York Fashion Week show. “I didn’t order this.”
“I know. Mr. Archer did.”
“I don’t want this.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I appreciate that you’ve gone through a lot of work, but you can go home.”
George heaves a sigh. “Let me tell you how this will go. You’ll say you don’t want the clothes, then I’ll force you to take them, because really, who would want little ole me to get fired? Then you’ll try them on, fall in love with a dress, and wear it to the ball and fall in love again. With the man. Not the clothes.”
I narrow my eyes. “I can tell from here that most of these are size four. I’m a six, or an eight, depending on the cut. It’s the ass. But I suppose we can do this inside.”
George barks a laugh and follows me into the mansion.
I lead George and a small army of stylists into the formal living room. I don’t even know why Theo has this room. As far as I can tell, he never uses it.
George directs the stylists with efficiency, and when they’ve finally left, it’s just me and George facing off over nine racks of clothes.
“So he’s back,” they say. “And married.” At my carefully blank expression, George waves a hand. “I know it’s not real.”
“Oh, good.” My shoulders lower.
“Aren’t you a socialite?” George is eyeing me like they’ve seen my face before.
“I was. I was disinherited. Disowned by my family. Told they never wanted to see me again, etcetera, etcetera. It’s quite boring.”
“Sounds it.” They purse their lips.
“So you see why I don’t need this stuff. Theo and I aren’t actually in love. I assume he didn’t pick any of this himself, so he shouldn’t care if I refuse it.”
George shakes their head, looking sympathetic. My stomach squeezes uncomfortably. Of course Theo didn’t pick this stuff out. This is all fake, as I reminded him yesterday.
“It’s a little like armor, don’t you think?” George runs a hand over the dresses on the closest rack. “I’d think you, of all people, would understand that.” They cut me a glance. “I don’t mean it in a bad way. But if you’re already worried about people talking behind your back, which I assume you are, since I’ve seen the gossip columns, then you should take the clothes. Or some of the clothes.”
The thing is, I do want the clothes. I love pretty things—little lipstick tubes with gold embossing, ballet flats with those delicate ribbons, perfectly done nails, pretty dresses. I so desperately want to touch the silk, feel the heft of good quality materials and fine craftsmanship. I’m sure Theo bought only the best, because he doesn’t know anything different. I didn’t either, once upon a time. But letting him choose for me? I can’t.
“Want to have a drink?” I ask abruptly. “I’m a bartender. Not a very good one, but I can make a decent martini.” Because my father used to drink them, not from anything I’ve learned on the job.
“A decent martini? How could I refuse?” George’s eyes glint with amusement. “It’s three p.m. on a Friday, and Jonah would lose his mind. So yes. I’ll take a martini.”
The only issue with making martinis is that I have no idea where Theo keeps the liquor. I poke around in the kitchen, but don’t see anything. “Do you know where he stores it?” I ask. “I assumed he’d have a swimming pool of it.”
“Me? I’ve never had the pleasure of being within these hallowed halls.” George looks in another cabinet. “Also, maybe he drank it all.”
“It’s possible. He did have half the Royals hockey team here last week,” I muse. “His study maybe?”
We traipse past the second living room, the game room, the laundry room, and the massive staircase to the upper floors, all the way to the dark wood door of Theo’s study. It’s the only room I haven’t been in. I try the handle. It’s locked, as promised.
“Want me to pick it?” George asks.
“You can pick locks?”
“How hard can it be?” They shrug. “I have delicate hands.” They hold them out for inspection, and I laugh.
“It’s okay. We have plenty of beer.”
“My favorite,” George mutters.
“What do you think he does in there that’s so secretive anyway?” I ask as we pop the caps of our beers and settle in around the kitchen island.
“I don’t know. Maybe he reads old copies of Playboy ? Takes over small countries? I don’t know him that well.”
“How long has he been at Kings Lane?” I ask, like I haven’t googled Theo a hundred times.
“Five years. I joined not long before he did.” George sips their beer. “He’s always been a little bit of an outsider. And because he travels so much, he’s not around the office. You could mistake his office for a temporary one, actually.”
“That’s sad. It’s hard to imagine him being on the outside of anything.”
George shrugs. “He came on later than Jonah and Miles. They were college friends. He was a bartender in the bar at Kings Cove. It’s the speakeasy on the ground floor of the building they own. He was the one who tipped them off to the building’s sale, actually. They brought him on just months before they bought it.”
“How would a bartender know about that?”
“I don’t know. It’s uncanny.” George’s voice lowers to a whisper. “He’s perceptive. Miles told me they brought him on because he used to tell them about trades to make. They made a bunch of money, apparently.” At my surprised expression, they shake their head. “Not illegal information. He’s just a whiz. He can analyze a company’s profitability better than anyone, Miles says. And this was before he went to business school.”
I sip my beer because I don’t know what to say. My words from Wednesday ring in my ears. I underestimated Theo. And it sounds, based on how he reacted, that I’m not the first person to do so. Guilt worms its way through me. “So he’s really good at stock trading, and they hired him?”
“Was. Not is. As far as I know, he doesn’t do it anymore. And he wasn’t just good. He was fantastic. He made millions of dollars by the time he was twenty-five. But he never spent it. I think he gave it away. Why else would a millionaire be bartending?”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” I say.
“He’s not just a mere millionaire now,” George says dryly. “He can afford the dresses. Take one. Because I saw those photos of you at brunch, and yikes. ”
I really don’t want to wear a dress that Theo bought, but George is annoyingly persistent. “Fine.” I sigh. “Just one.”
Just one dress turns out to be five, and Lane and Blair ooh and aah over them that night at list night. Blair loves the red silk with the delicate straps. “I don’t want them. You can have them when I’m done,” I tell her. “You’re pretty close to my size.”
“Done with what?” Lane is cross-legged on the soft comforter with a bottle of white wine.
“Done with the marriage, of course.”
Lane snorts and Blair grins.
“What?” I ask, looking between my friends, who may not know each other very well, but who seem mysteriously aligned in their opinions.
“ If this marriage ends,” Blair says.
“Yeah, if ,” Lane agrees.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve been here before,” Lane says knowingly. She means when she was fake dating Miles, Theo’s business partner, and her brother’s best friend.
“It’s not like that.” I shake my head. Lane was so obviously in love with Miles when I met her. I’m not in love with Theo. I don’t even like him.
And falling for him would make me the worst kind of fool.
“Is it not?” Blair asks. “There was chemistry at the bar that night.”
I roll my eyes. “Theo could have chemistry with a couch.” Blair snorts a laugh. “Besides, we can’t even be in the same room together without arguing.”
Lane wags her brows. “Sounds like foreplay to me.” My stomach does a little flip at the word foreplay , but I ignore it.
“You’re dreaming. I don’t want these stupid dresses, and I’m not going to fall for him,” I respond.
“He’s hot, though. I like my men a little prettier, but damn, he has a bad-boy sort of allure.” Blair sighs from where she’s folded in the armchair I dragged under the window.
I stalk over to the wine and drink it straight from the bottle. Blair laughs again.
“I’ll deny it if Miles ever asks, but he’s stupidly hot. It’s the backward hats, I think,” Lane muses.
“Don’t forget the stunts he pulls,” Blair adds. “There’s something about a guy who doesn’t care what people think.”
“He’s so nice too. Do you ever see him shirtless?” Lane perks up.
“No.” I shake my head. “You guys are crazy. He’s hot, yes, but he’s also Theo . It’s fake. He actually reminded me of that the other day.”
“What’s that phrase?” Blair asks. “Something about protesting too much.”
Lane nods. “Exactly. He’s just like Miles. If you have to say it’s fake…”
I can’t go down this road. I take another gulp of wine. “This is not that,” I say. Very much not that. “We discussed it like adults. We’re getting along fine in public, and that’s all we need to do. It’s fine. I don’t care. It is fake. Better for us to be on the same page, don’t you think?”
“You loved him, though,” Blair says quietly. “Way back when. I know you did.”
Her words lodge in my chest, dismantling my carefully built walls. Don’t think about that time at the lake. Don’t remember how he used to smile at you. And definitely don’t think about that night. Each memory makes up a ball of longing that lodges in my throat. I suck in air anyway and straighten my shoulders.
“I did.” I look Blair in the eye. “But I was a child.”
“You did?” Lane sits up. “I didn’t know that.”
“Theo grew up with me.” I flop onto the bed with my friend. Blair is looking at me with sympathy. “He was my best friend for years.”
“Tell her,” Blair urges when I fall silent.
I shut my eyes briefly. The memory of Theo’s warm, slick skin and strong hands is always waiting, right behind my lids. “I kissed him,” I say. I open my eyes to see Lane’s mouth twisted unhappily. “One night in the lake. I was nineteen. He was twenty-one. And that was it.”
“What happened?” Lane asks.
“I saw him with another girl,” I say shortly. “At a party he invited me to. I was so nervous, but he asked me to go. I didn’t go out much in those days. My parents didn’t like it, so I always had to lie and say I was going to study at a friend’s and then make sure I was home early. I was deeply infatuated with Theo, though, so I was willing to risk it.” I sigh. “You guys would have laughed. I used to follow him everywhere back then. He’d come up with these horrible plans, and I always went along with them.”
“Sounds fun,” Blair muses. “You suburbs kids had the best time. I bet you went joy riding and smoked cigarettes behind the movie theater or something. TP’ed houses on Halloween. All that stuff.”
“We did.” A smile tugs at my lips. “Theo was the worst. And also the best. Whenever I had a bad day or my parents were harsh, we’d meet up at the lake on this rickety dock that Theo rigged up one summer. It was mostly plywood and totally unsafe. We even had a secret code. When one of us needed the other, we’d leave a stack of pennies by the door. One for each hour, and then we’d go to the lake at that time.”
“Sounds like he loved you too,” Lane says softly.
My stomach pinches. “Nah. He didn’t. We were friends, but it was always tenuous. He started to distance himself when he left for college. I can’t blame him. My parents didn’t like him. I was too young and not cool enough. He was too reckless.” I blow out a breath. “He left. Just disappeared two days after the kiss. He dated that girl for a whole summer, and we never spoke again. Well, until I saw him at the bar the other night.”
“And now you’re married,” Lane says.
“Crazy,” Blair mutters.
I don’t respond. I still can’t believe I’m in this situation.
“What’s on the list tonight?” Lane asks.
I gratefully pick up the list, happy to change the subject. “Palm reading?”
“Ooh, yes.” Blair rubs her hands together. “Let’s do this.”
My friends and I bundle into our coats and take a cab downtown, and I’m happy for the distraction.
When the palm reader tells me I’m going to meet and marry a handsome stranger, I laugh and pull my hand out from under the table to show her the ring.
“Already did,” I say.
“He loves you,” she says, eyeing the giant diamond.
“No,” I respond. “He never did.”