17. Katerina
Chapter seventeen
Katerina
Iremind myself that this is exactly what I do best: orchestrate arrivals, maintain composure, ensure the correct sequence of welcomes and check-ins and dinner gatherings. If anyone asked, I would say I feel perfectly at ease. That is the official narrative.
In reality, I'm leaning against a porch column, scanning every car that pulls into Hollyvale's circular driveway, mentally re-checking the welcome dinner list. Sofia and Jordan will likely arrive first, since Jordan practically lives here.
Then Lexi Castillo and her usual whirlwind of enthusiasm.
Casey and Skye are already on the property.
Possibly Nico, though it isn't certain whether they're traveling in with Bex or meeting us here. And of course Bex herself.
I tell myself I'm not focusing on that last name. Not in any personal sense. I am simply double-checking that the entire party is accounted for, and Bex is at the tail end of the list because it makes logistical sense.
The problem is that every time I think about Bex, I feel that traitorous flutter in my stomach again. The memory of New Orleans keeps sneaking in uninvited, bringing with it the recollection of how Bex's voice sounded in the hush of that midnight chapel.
I inhale slowly. The ring is still in my carry-on, carefully hidden. Not relevant.
Two cars approach in quick succession around midday.
Sofia steps out of the lead car in a crisp sundress that makes her look luminous, if I have to choose a descriptor.
Not "beautiful," I remind myself. I'm avoiding that word.
But luminous is safe, because it implies an inherent glow that comes from somewhere deeper than aesthetics.
Sofia is all easy smiles and that subtle confidence that has made her so successful in hospitality management.
Jordan, stepping out of the passenger side, wears slim trousers and a neatly rolled button-down and an expression of profound relief. "We're here, we're on time, and the schedule's intact," Jordan says, weaving an arm around Sofia's waist.
I dip my head in greeting. "Welcome back. Everything is ready for you. Skye has your cottage keys at the desk." I hand them an itinerary for the weekend. I typed it up myself, and it is color-coded.
Sofia presses her lips together as if suppressing a laugh. "You're amazing," she says.
I shrug in the polished way I've long mastered. I have a standard line for that compliment: "I just aim for clarity."
The second car door slams, revealing Lexi Castillo in cut-off shorts and a neon tank top, bounding up the steps to spin in a circle at the porch garlands and the life-size reindeer by the doors.
"This place is decorated. I love it, it's like a Hallmark movie collided with a summer block party.
" I give her a polite nod and keep my professional response to myself.
No Bex yet. That's all right. I have a schedule to keep.
By late afternoon, the rest of the group has arrived or is accounted for on the property. Skye has updated me on each check-in, all on time. No sign of Marcello and Lucia yet, but that's normal. They're slated for Saturday.
I spend those hours finalizing the porch arrangement for the welcome dinner.
Sofas, low tables, pitchers of sweet tea and lemonade lined up on a sideboard, small trays of appetizers.
I personally measure the distance between tables, just to be sure servers can navigate without stepping on a trailing wire of Christmas lights.
Hollyvale's porch is not large. I discover that fact anew every time I step outside: an elongated rectangle with a view of the lake. It's exactly enough space to make a gathering feel cozy and, as a side effect, impossible to hide in.
I've just finished adjusting the last string of bulb lights along the porch rail when Skye leans out the front door. "They're here," comes her soft announcement. No specification of who they refers to.
I know anyway.
I turn, smoothing my blouse, controlling my expression. I knew Bex's arrival was inevitable. I knew it would happen today. I told myself I was prepared.
Then Bex steps onto the porch, wearing a lightweight jacket over a black T-shirt, hair braided into a half up, half down arrangement.
Silver catches the light on her right index finger and my stomach drops before I recognize it: the etched band she always wears, the same one I clocked in a jazz club three weeks ago.
Not the ring. My eyes flick to her left hand anyway.
Bare.
Her hands. Quick, agile from years of controlling a tattoo machine, a faint streak of ink still visible near the cuticle on her thumb.
My pulse jumps. I reclassify the observation: relevant only because Bex is about to help with signage for the bridesmaid schedule, and I need to know how comfortable she is handling small lettered cards. Yes. That's it.
I shift my attention to Bex's face, her wide eyes scanning the porch, taking in the decorations, the little garlands, all of it. Her gaze lands on me for the briefest moment. Then her lower lip tugs inward, like she's holding back a smile or maybe a comment.
It's barely a second, but it tugs at my stomach in a way that feels like half thrill, half panic.
I look away.
Sofia and Jordan arrive at the porch soon after, shepherding everyone into seats.
Skye brings out trays of hors d'oeuvres.
Casey snaps pictures at intervals, capturing the group from various angles.
I can feel Casey's lens hovering over me sometimes, though I refuse to turn and look.
I am certain Casey is trying to read the unspoken tension and record it in pixels.
I busy myself adjusting the seating chart in my mind even though these seats aren't assigned.
I make sure to wedge myself on a small sofa between Lexi and Jordan, leaving Bex at the opposite side with Sofia and Casey.
The distance isn't huge, but it's enough to maybe keep them from noticing the number of times my mind screams at me to keep my posture relaxed.
I try to focus on the star that appeared at the top of the pine tree earlier today.
The staffers were talking about it all morning, some local tradition, hoisting the star up for the final nights leading into July 25th.
In the fading sunlight, it's just starting to glow, a single bright shape against the sky.
Sofia's voice pulls me back. "Kit, this is amazing. I love the candle holders." She gestures to the table, where small jars with tea lights are spaced among the garlands.
I allow the smallest smile. "I'm glad. It felt important that the wedding vibe not get swallowed by the Christmas in July décor."
Sofia laughs. "It's so unique. Easily the most memorable place we've ever done an event."
Jordan nods. "We're definitely not lacking in photo ops."
From the corner of my eye, I see Bex shift in her seat. Probably just adjusting.
I tell myself not to look.
Which, of course, ensures that three minutes later, I glance at her anyway.
Bex is leaning forward, forearms on her knees, talking with Casey about something, maybe a place for tomorrow's photo shoot. The sun slides across her cheek, picking up the lines of a faded jacket patch near her elbow. An old band logo, half peeled.
I swallow. The jacket patch reads "Molotov Something." I reclassify it: relevant only because it reflects Bex's personal style, which might matter for the group photos if the wedding party is coordinating.
My heart thumps. I make myself pay attention to Jordan asking a question about final vow wording. I answer reflexively, rummaging in my mental binder for the correct phrase.
Time slips by. The evening light turns gold, the lake shimmering behind us. Laughter rises and falls. Even Lexi's cackling commentary about the Christmas reindeer feels warm. It should be relaxing, but my pulse stays elevated, as if anticipating something.
As the sun sinks lower, the porch lights turn on in a slow chain of bulbs, the garlands glowing. The star at the top of the pine tree burns brighter now. And from the town just beyond the resort's property, a wave of laughter and music drifts up, signifying the ongoing festival.
Casey stands to snap a few more photos, aiming her lens around the group.
At one point, she aims it directly at me and Bex.
Except I am not sitting next to Bex, so the shot must include the entire porch.
Still, I feel singled out. I also feel the prickle of a second camera flash a moment later. Casey capturing something else.
I force myself to act normal. This is normal. I am perched on the edge of a sofa, sipping a fizzy drink, occasionally making polite conversation with Jordan about tomorrow's timeline. The rest of the group is deep in their own chatter.
Eventually, people begin drifting away: some to take a walk, some to check out the festival in town, others to rest after traveling.
Sofia declares she'll find Skye to finalize details.
Lexi suggests a drink at the lounge. Jordan follows, laughing about wanting to see if there's a half-Santa, half-tiki bar setup.
I stack plates and cups on a tray with methodical efficiency, hyper-aware that Bex is still on the porch, talking quietly to Casey.
Finally, Casey backs away, camera in hand, and shoots me a meaningful glance, one I struggle to interpret. Then she waves good night and leaves, footsteps tapping down the wooden steps.
The porch grows quieter. I exhale. I place the tray on the sideboard and glance around to see if anything else needs tidying. I realize I'm the only one left out here.
Well, not exactly alone. Bex is leaning on the porch rail, facing the lake, her expression unreadable.
For a moment, I consider staying. But my pulse skitters at the thought of initiating conversation. I tell myself I should get back to my cottage, double-check tomorrow's schedule.
I turn to go, only to find Bex's gaze on me.
"Hey," Bex says softly, stepping away from the rail. She rocks on her heels like she isn't sure if she's coming closer.
I dip my head in greeting but say nothing.
Eventually we end up walking side by side down the path that curves around the lake, heading toward the cottages. The route is lined with decorative candy canes and strung lights overhead, the reflection bouncing off the water's surface in scattered ribbons.
Thirty seconds of silence pass, punctuated by a gentle breeze off the lake. My heart hammers in my chest, though I tell myself it's just from all the day's excitement.
Then Bex says, "You okay?"
I clear my throat. "Yes."
We keep walking.
"Same," Bex murmurs.
The hush that follows feels like an admission, like we both know that was a lie. The distant sound of the town's celebration wafts over us: music, voices, joyous cheers.
My mind conjures the memory of our last real conversation in New Orleans, that café table where everything was raw and honest for one quiet minute under the noise. I glance at Bex's hands again, searching for any sign of a ring. I see only that etched band on her index finger.
Before I can decide what to say next, some logical statement about how to proceed with the next few days, Bex gives me a small nod as if to say good night and veers off on another path that curves toward Sofia's cottage.
I continue alone, passing under a cluster of twinkling lights shaped like ornaments. I reach my cottage steps in a daze, breathing in the crisp summer air that smells vaguely of cinnamon from the holiday diffusers the staff has placed around the property.
This is so far from okay.
I climb the steps, let myself in, and press a hand to my chest. The ring is still in my carry-on. A second ring might be in Bex's jacket pocket. And the vow we made is this silent, unacknowledged thing that hovers between us in every glance.
I inhale and tell myself to calm down, that I'm simply overtired from the day. I tell myself I will handle it tomorrow, in the same measured, thorough way I handle everything else.
Tomorrow. Yes.
All around the resort, the lights keep glowing, as though it were a real holiday.