3. Katherine
3
KATHERINE
The sun is low in the sky when I drill my fist into the punching bag like it did me wrong. I’ve had a full night to stew and very little sleep.
The circles under my eyes look like I got elbowed in the face. Twice.
How did I not know about the stipulation in my grandfather’s will? How did I not realize exactly how misogynistic he was?
I mean, okay, the signs were there.
I give the black bag a quick one-two.
Of course, I ignored the red flags. Because he was family. As if that’s any excuse.
There’s really nothing to do now except come up with a plan. That money is my birthright. I’m not going to lose it just because some man says I have to be married.
My jaws grind together, and I drive my fist forward again, the hit reverberating up my arm into my shoulder.
I’ve done everything that they asked of me, from school to extracurriculars—clubs, internships, parties, charities. I’ve sacrificed friendships, sleep, food, and sanity. And for what? So my mother can tell me I’m fat, and my grandfather can dictate that I need to legally be tied to a man to handle my trust fund?
No. Way.
This latest discovery is just one more sign that I’m surrounded by crappy men and have been my whole life. Except for my brother, Ford. He’s an exception.
I mean, what are my options here? I’m not dating anybody. I’m certainly not going back to Tyler.
There are zero prospects in my life. And I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date with a guy that I actually want to be with forever.
Not that forever is really that long when it comes to my family.
So there’s an idea.
Mother’s been married how many times now?
My grunt floats through the air as my fist bounces off the bag. I pause, realign my feet and go at it again. Right. Left. Right.
Okay. So that’s a possibility. A quickie wedding, a quickie marriage. If my grandfather was so smart, he would have been a little more specific about how long I have to remain married before I can get my money.
But he wasn’t, so maybe I can use that to my advantage.
Sweat drips down my temple. Another droplet rolls down my spine. This is the best workout I’ve had in a while. I glance around the gym, appreciating the quiet because I feel like I’m one punch away from an epic meltdown.
Of course, the problem with the quickie wedding is that there’s still no one I’d want to marry. No perfect guy waiting in the wings.
Admit it, Katherine. You’re too picky.
There is no such thing as the perfect man where you’re concerned.
I hate being known as the difficult one. Persnickety. Choosey.
Ford’s the golden child who can do no wrong.
Then there are my two half-sisters and the handful of step-siblings, not to mention all my cousins and step-cousins. Just one big, not -happy family.
I prefer to say I’m driven and I know what I want. And what I want in a man, well, doesn’t exist.
Maybe I should just marry the next guy who walks through the door.
I shake out my right shoulder and then lift my fist. Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement.
A tall, toned body strides around the corner. Broad shoulders stretch a dark t-shirt while long, nimble fingers twirl a basketball.
My gaze skips north, and I recognize those bright blue eyes immediately. They’re locked on me.
Gabriel Rothburn.
My fist misses the punching bag entirely.