5. Katerina #2
Sofia and Lexi lead the group, discussing some half-formed plan for tomorrow’s activities. Skye’s drifting behind them, occasionally reminding them we have spa appointments in the afternoon. Casey is capturing the lamplit arches of the square on her camera, half-walking backward.
I end up beside Bex again, which feels inevitable at this point.
We’re not talking about the earlier moment, just walking comfortably.
My mind replays the quiet hush of that conversation around the table, how she described her parents, how I offered more about my own.
Usually, I’d regret that kind of reveal. But I don’t.
She breaks the silence. “So… about Nico’s shop, I texted them, and they said they’d love to have us tomorrow night. Or tonight, I guess, since it’s after midnight. You in?”
My stomach flutters. “I’m definitely in for the social part. But I’m not…” I hesitate. “I’m not getting a tattoo, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She slides me a sideways glance, half-lidded. “Okay. No pressure.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Really?”
She smiles a little. “I’m not going to drag you into the chair if you don’t want it.”
There’s something about her expression that suggests she’s thinking more than she’s saying. But I can’t read it fully. The city is dark, the streetlights overhead casting a faint glow.
“All right,” I say, clearing my throat. “Just wanted to be clear.”
“Crystal clear,” she says softly.
The group banks left at the next corner, our hotel in sight. There’s a doorman propping open the door for a small trickle of late-night arrivals.
Sofia turns around to face us, walking backward. “We have to recap in the morning,” she says, bouncing on her toes. “This was the best bachelorette day one ever.”
Lexi, beside her, flings her arms dramatically. “And tomorrow we get tattoos, or at least watch Bex do more tattoos. Right?”
Bex lifts a hand. “I’ll just facilitate tomorrow. Nico’s the real star.”
Skye hums. “I’m… semi-terrified. But count me in.”
They push into the lobby, where the air conditioning hits us full in the face. My skin feels damp from the humidity, and the sudden chill makes me shiver. Everyone splits off toward the elevator bank, still chattering about the wedding countdown and whether the spa day is at noon or one.
I slow near the reception desk, rummaging in my tote for tomorrow’s schedule. I sense Bex behind me, her footsteps.
“Need help?” she asks lightly.
“I’m good. Just checking if the spa reservation is confirmed for 1 p.m. or 1:30.”
She huffs a tiny laugh. “Of course you want to confirm.”
I can’t resist an eye roll. “We have a block of appointments. I just want to be sure.”
Her amusement is clear in her voice. “Uh-huh.”
I find the email, see that it’s indeed 1:00 p.m. We’ll have an hour or two of mani-pedi, massage, the usual wedding party pampering. Then the rest of the day is free until Nico’s shop.
Clutching my phone, I look up at Bex. “All set. Very important to keep track,” I add with mock gravity.
She smirks. “Can’t argue with the queen of organization.”
We drift together toward the elevator. The rest of the group is probably already upstairs.
The bright lights of the lobby make me suddenly aware of how rumpled I must look: hair half-fallen, a faint sugar stain on my dress.
Normally, I’d scramble to fix it, but here, I stand with a kind of unexpected ease.
Bex shifts closer, hitting the up button. A short beep, and the doors slide open with a muted ding. We step inside. Just the two of us.
The doors close. The quiet is a little too intimate. I can see a small ring of sugar dust on the side of her T-shirt. My pulse does something I decline to analyze.
She clears her throat. “So, see you in the morning?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Breakfast is around nine, if that’s okay?”
“Sure. Unless Lexi decides earlier. That woman is unbelievably energetic.”
I laugh. “Yes, she is.”
The elevator stops on my floor first. The doors open, revealing a silent hallway lit by soft sconces. Carpeting underfoot, stale air.
I ease out, turning back. “Good night.”
“Night,” she says. She looks like she might say more, but the door is sliding shut already.
I stand there, hearing the hum of the elevator ascend.
I exhale. A quiet swirl of energy pulses in my chest, telling me this was no ordinary day. I cross to my room, letting myself in. The air conditioning hits my skin. The hush is total.
In the mirror, I catch my reflection: sugar on my dress, cheeks flushed, hair undone. I don’t see the usual carefully presented Kit. I see someone else. Someone who let the night unfold without a script. Someone in the process of rethinking what it means to want something.
I set my tote on the desk and glance at the corner of the room, where my garment bags hang neatly. Usually, I’d start prepping tomorrow’s outfit right now, steam it, set out my shoes. Instead, I sit on the end of the bed, stare at the phone in my hand, and think of Bex’s words:
We really do have some overlapping stuff.
I find myself smiling at no one, then scolding myself for doing so.
A moment later, I flop backward on the bed, eyes on the ceiling. Another day of bachelorette madness awaits, culminating in the trip to Nico’s shop. I’ve insisted I’m not getting a tattoo. That’s presumably final, right?
Except I can’t stop picturing how it felt to hear Bex talk about that first apprenticeship. The determination in her voice. The tired, proud grin that said, “I did it anyway.”
Would it be so impossible for me to do something less…structured?
I don’t have an answer, but I feel the question buzzing in my chest.
Tomorrow’s going to be interesting.
I’m not sure if I want it to be or not.