Chapter 32 Cateline
CATELINE
Connor turns to my parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Berghier, we came here because I respect your family and understand you have certain traditions and expectations. I want to formally ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
I fall silent. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart. My heart. The one that had almost stopped. That came back to life thanks to Connor—in more ways than one.
My mother and father don’t understand a word. But I do. I understand every syllable. Every emotion. All the intention behind Connor’s request.
I translate for my parents, telling them that Connor Wolfe is a famous football player in America, that he took care of me when I was ill, and how amazing he is.
Knowing them all too well, their attention is on him being a famous football player. They see the potential for money and status.
Red-faced with anger, Gaston glares at us. “I should have conquered you when I had the chance,” he mutters.
A fiery wave of anger rushes through me, but before I can respond to Gaston, realization comes down like a stage curtain.
Connor is asking my parents if he can marry me to keep up my green card ruse, so I can get citizenship and return to Concordia.
He sees life here isn’t for me and would never want to see me with Gaston.
I’m not sure what’s real at the moment, except that Gaston is roaring mad. I tread lightly, afraid of what’s coming. Gaston is possessive and has a temper—yet another reason I was eager to leave home. For the first twelve months that I was in Concordia, I half expected him to show up at Blancbourg.
But instead of screaming at me or smashing something, he storms out of the house.
The energy in the room shifts slightly. My parents are hesitant, yet polite, as I confirm our runaway romance.
But all the same, glasses come out for toasting. Congratulations are said. Gaston is forgotten.
That afternoon, friends and neighbors gather.
The frowns that my mother and father wore change to smiles as food is brought to celebrate.
There is music and chatter and laughter.
My return home went from tentative to dismal when Gaston appeared, to becoming better than any homecoming I could have imagined.
When I’m finally able to break away from the excitement, I find Connor gazing at the water along the river’s edge.
I slide my arm through his and lean against his shoulder. “So, that was a surprise.”
He wraps his fingers around mine and kisses the top of my hand. “I hope that was okay.”
Connor turns to face me, then kisses my forehead, my cheek, and then my lips. “I want to make you mine.”
“All you had to do was ask. But not them. Me,” I emphasize.
“But you’re Miss Manners. I figured it was the right thing to do.”
“Was that the real reason we came here?” I ask.
The corner of his lip teases a guilty smile. “Part of the reason.”
I want to ask whether this is for show so I can return to Concordia or if it’s real, but I only manage to say the words in French.
Connor’s eyes sparkle, reflected by the string lights in my parents’ garden that come on as the lavender dusk descends in the valley. “Will you translate?”
I could. I should. But I don’t.
Pressing my palms to his chest, I rest my head there. “I don’t know what to think.”
“Are you happy? Please be happy.”
I am so, so happy, but I’m not sure whether it’s because I can return to my real home, to Blancbourg and save the school, or if it’s because I have a long, long future ahead with this man.
I know what I want the answer to be, but I’m dealing with Connor ‘Wolf,’ who has a reputation, and marriage isn’t part of that.
“I don’t want to steal you away from the places or people you love, but with only a few days left, we have to think about the future and how we fit into it.”
Perhaps that’s my answer, or maybe he’s wondering how we’re going to handle the immigration officials. My thoughts are as muddy as the bottom of the river.
But I don’t want to think about that because it means more change, and there has already been so much.
Plus, experience has taught me that change takes major effort.
Leaving home, for instance. Going to college.
Learning the ropes as a headmistress. I had to make sacrifices, scrimp and save, and all but sneak away.
Instead of thinking about what’s next and all the change, I seal the moment with a kiss, because right now is perfect.
If my parents had fireworks, they’d be lit because the kiss is explosive, sparkly, and the perfect kind that makes me want to ooh and ahh.
Connor’s lips melt against mine, filling me with a kind of warmth I’ve never before felt standing here on the bank, in the house, or back in town.
I press my palms to his broad chest, feeling solid muscle underneath. Then I travel to his powerful arms, shoulders, and back, drawing him closer.
The kiss spans minutes, which may as well be lifetimes as we knit ours together—both of us helping the other let go of the past and consider a future together.
Soon after, my mother calls for me to greet a few more well-wishers. Word has traveled fast.
As I flit from one person to the next, an arm suddenly lassoes around my waist, pulling me toward the music to dance. I melt against him, thinking it’s Connor, until the rancid smell of wine and sweat assaults my nose.
Guests clap and cheer.
For half a second, my body is on autopilot, dancing with Gaston as I did for years.
My senses catch up and I push him away, but not before he plants a big, sloppy kiss on my face, thankfully missing my mouth.
I shove him, sending him staggering. I lose my footing and stumble into a brick wall.
Gaston’s buddies heft him back to his feet, encouraging him to go after me.
However, the brick wall is Connor, his expression torn between confusion and rage.
Gaston is an ox, a brute, and not someone I’d ever consider spending more than a required few minutes with.
It isn’t a surprise he’s still single, though he’s made his way through various girlfriends—even back when we were supposedly together as a couple.
But I was young and na?ve and didn’t know better.
The time Connor and I spent in the woods with no distractions and then the hospital and my recovery, where we focused on survival, created a closeness and understanding that goes beyond words. But I’m not sure how to explain what just happened, other than I wish that it hadn’t.
I didn’t want to dance with Gaston or have his hands on me. I certainly didn’t kiss him back, but no one here has ever listened to me anyway.
Once more, feeling like a teenager on the run, I rush into the house.
My pulse thunders in my ears. Memories from the past rise to the surface as I hurry toward my old bedroom.
Gaston’s advances on top of the hubbub have me spinning.
I have to lie down for a few minutes. Since the surgery, I’ve felt better every day and wouldn’t have been cleared to fly had the doctor not been confident in my recovery, but I have to be careful and take it easy.
This is sheer overwhelm. Stress. Confusion. My eye twitches as I flip on the light.
My mother kept my old bedroom the same as when I left. It’s an unwelcome step back in time. Part of me is proud of the brave young woman who packed up and left. The other part feels like I’ve returned to the scene of a crime and risk being trapped here after all my efforts to escape.
I can’t help but be annoyed at my parents for telling Gaston to visit and then jumping to the next best prospect to marry me off. They’re so stubborn, so backward...or is it desperation?
Me becoming a successful dancer was their ticket to what? What did they so desperately want? My mother to win a war of wealth waged with her sister? My father not to have to work so hard?
Mère grew up in her parents’ patisserie and is a skilled baker. Why didn’t she ever get a job or take over when they retired? Because she wanted to be like her sister, who married into money and didn’t have to work.
But that’s not reality. Instead, she pushed me until my feet literally bled.
I sit down on the edge of the bed. Tears brim in my eyes as I look at the awards for my performances still pinned to the wall.
An old pair of ballet slippers are on the bedside table.
The air is stale, so I open the window and then lie down.
I’m just going to close my eyes for a moment and then I’ll go find Connor, apologize for the scene, and we can leave.
Laughter and voices float through the night.
I catch snatches of my mother talking to someone. “We’re going along with it because he’s a famous football player and will bring us much wealth. But not the way you expect.”
A familiar female voice says, “What about Gaston? He and Cateline are meant to be together.”
“Don’t worry. Cateline will end up with him. I will see to that,” my mother assures the other person.
I gasp and my hand flies over my mouth.
“Are you sure?”
Mère says, “My daughter caught herself in a little snare. I will make sure she ends up with your son. She is in a predicament and I have a way out with the unsuspecting football player’s help. Though she thinks he’s her ticket out of here.”
I jump to my feet, ready to storm out of the room, as her motives become clear. My parents aren’t proud of my accomplishments, independence, or the life I created. They don’t care a whit about the man I love. No, they’re just looking for me to provide a payday just as they’ve always done.
Nothing has changed...nothing except me.
As I’m leaving the room, an envelope catches my eye. It’s in my handwriting and addressed to me. I snatch it up just as I exit.
Once outside, I search for my mother, ready to tell her that I overheard.
However, a woman with pink hair, wearing a tight pink dress, and pink high heels marches down the front path toward me. “Cateline!” she calls, pointing.
Looking around, I wonder if there’s someone else named Cateline nearby because I’ve never seen her before. I’m the only one here. “Me?”
“Yes! You, Cateline Berghier. Don’t think for one minute that you’re going to take my man.”
My jaw lowers, but I should’ve known it would only be a matter of time before one of Wolf’s women caught up with him, er, me.