by Sage Rae
But she immediately squashed that thought from her mind. Yes, she’d thought her and Carter meant something. She’d thought that that gut feeling she’d had, when she met him, had been trustworthy. Now, she was unsure whether or not she should trust herself ever again.
Winnie’s father parked at the Austin-based butcher shop, where the city sourced most of its BBQ-meat. His boots found the pavement, clacking strangely as he walked from the truck. He waved a flat palm to Winnie, shrugging. Did she want to come in, or?
Winnie didn’t. She shook her head, then watched as her father sauntered the rest of the way inside. His jeans were worn-out, rugged, probably unwashed for the previous year or two. This was the life Winnie had joined back, for. The life she’d thought would keep her safe.
But she felt so stifled, unable to breathe.
And soon, that feeling became literal. Within seconds, the inside of the car made her sweat, pools of it lining her armpits. She bucked from the side, falling onto the pavement. Around her, the air was sticky with the smell of BBQ sauce and burning meat. She felt she might vomit if she didn’t get something to drink.
A magazine stand sat at the end of the parking lot, baking in the sun. But it had a refrigerator, filled with pop and water. Winnie walked toward it, like it was some kind of beacon of light, and reached for her wallet. As she flicked through, finding a few dollars, the woman at the magazine counter chewed her gum, cracking and smacking it.
“I’ll take a Mountain Dew,” Winnie said, pointing her dollar toward it. Her eyes traced the magazines to the right, assessing each brightly-coloured headline.
“Magazines are buy one get one,” the woman offered. When she spoke, she showed that she’d lost most of her teeth.
“That’s good to know, thanks…” Winnie’s voice trailed off.
Was that… Was that really who she thought it was?
On the second-from the-left magazine, directly in the center, was a man she recognized. Carter Russell’s face peered out—those dark eyes seeming to penetrate through the page, his hair scruffier and more “artistic,” wearing a dark grey suit, its shirt beneath unbuttoned slightly to reveal that coarse hair beneath. Winnie’s hand shot toward it, gripping it and flashing it through the air. She huffed, trying to read the text.
“Carter Russell on cutting family ties and becoming his own man,” she read aloud, her throat tightening. “What?”
“I’ve been looking at that hunk of man all week long,” the magazine woman sighed. “I mean, look at him, honey. He’s the best looking man in all of Texas. I read the article a few times…”
Winnie reached for her wrist, squeezing it. The woman twitched, then gave Winnie a wry smile. It was almost as if she knew, somehow, how dreadfully important this was.
“He’s back in Texas? He’s not with his brother?” Winnie asked, her voice like a string.
“Naw, baby girl. He ended his contract with his brother, and he broke out on his own. Brave thing for him to do.” The woman clucked, reaching for a piece of gum from a container she was meant to be selling. “I can’t imagine going into business with family, myself. Hardly get along with my sister. Can’t imagine what would happen if she tried to take over at the stand…”
Winnie fluttered the pages of the magazine, hunting for the interview. It was directly in the centre of the magazine, with a complete spread of photographs of Carter Russell throughout his newly-purchased apartment in New York, as well as his home in Austin. “Between New York and Texas, I feel like I get the best of both worlds,” he explained in bold quotes. “But of course, Texas still has my heart. The music. The morals. And, of course, the food…”
The morals? Winnie began to read, her eyes burning over the text. The interview began with a breakdown of what had happened between the two brothers.
“I looked at Dan, and Dan looked at me, and we both realized that—although we started in the same place, mentally and physically…”
“As twins do…” the interviewer offered.
“Right. Of course. Good joke,” Carter said. Winnie could almost hear his chuckle through the page. “But anyway, we realized we wanted different things. Even down to our morals, you know? I met someone who showed me something else. That you were allowed to be a good person, and also want to build an entire world.”
“Ha. And who was this person, Mister Eligible Bachelor?” the reporter teased.
Winnie seethed with a moment of jealousy, realizing this reporter was a woman—flirting with Carter with abandon. Of course, it didn’t matter. Surely, Carter was speaking of someone else.
“Oh, I can’t say. It would ruin her,” Carter offered. “She’s far too pure for any magazine spread. Although, I have to say, she’s one of the most talented musicians I’ve ever heard. She’s got something extra to her. A light in her. I didn’t want to let her go. But, yeah. As you can see…”
“Still an eligible bachelor,” the reporter offered.
“Indeed,” Carter said. “Although, not quite the same kind of bachelor as before. I think I’ve slowed down a bit. Focused on what I might want in life. You know?”
The magazine article finished with a short paragraph regarding Carter’s new building operations in both New York and Austin. “In fact, the grand opening of his downtown Austin boutique hotel is this weekend, September 14, at 7 p.m. Maybe we’ll see you there,” the magazine finished, with a kind of snark to it. Winnie shivered.
“Wait. What day is it?” Winnie asked, her eyes snapping up to the magazine stand woman. She blinked several times. Her brain rushed with feeling. What was going on?
“It’s the 14th,” the woman said. “Saturday.”
“Shit.” Winnie said her first curse word in month, her eyelashes fluttering. From behind her, she heard her father clack his boots across the pavement. Still, her eyes remained on the magazine spread. Could he possibly be talking about her? Could it possibly be true?
“Hey! Winnie!” her father called from the truck. “If we’re going to make it back before dark, we need to head out soon.”
Winnie nodded, pressing her lips together. She tugged up several bills and shoved them toward the magazine woman, paying for the pop and the magazine. The woman winked at her, seemingly poised to give her sage advice. Winnie half-imagined her saying that she would know the right time to act. That when love came calling, you had to answer. Something from a lovey-dovey movie, to push Winnie on to the right decision.
But instead, the woman just yawned, counting out the bills and swatting them into the cash register. Winnie shivered again, turning back toward her father. Beside the truck, he looked haggard and thin, his cheeks sagging toward his neck.
What the hell was she supposed to do?
Winnie curled up the magazine into itself, swatting it against her leg. As she drew closer and closer to her father, her shoulders grew hunched. When she reached him, her eyes fluttered toward his—trying to assess what he was thinking. But all that she was met with was the same-old, familiar eyes of her father, probably thinking the same-old, same-old thoughts of a million other days on the farm. What did she expect, if not that?
And hadn’t she always wanted something else?
“Just have a few more stops, Bean, and then we can get out of this city,” her father said, toying with the rough curls at the top of her head. “Only a few more.”
Winnie blinked down at her hands. She felt that if she didn’t take this potential risk, tear toward this potential future, then she would be back at the farm for the next ten years, maybe twenty. She imagined herself becoming old, haggard, like her parents—yet without the love they shared. What was the point of any of it, if you couldn’t be in love?
“Daddy, can you drop me off somewhere?” she asked, her voice a bit high-pitched, strained. “I don’t mean to be a burden. I just…”
“Where is it, Bean?” he asked.
“Well, really, Daddy. Before anything happens… Before I can even get to where I’m trying to go…” She traile
d off, tapping her hands on either side of her waist. She grinned inwardly, recognizing how crazy all of this was. Hours before, she’d been wallowing at the farm, stinking of hay and dirt.
How could she possibly encounter a billionaire like that?
“I really truly need to get a dress. I can’t get where I’m going without it,” Winnie offered, blinking up at her father.
Within seconds, Winnie found herself whizzing toward the centre of the city in the passenger seat of her father’s car, the windows open so that her hair flowed wild behind her. Her daddy turned up the radio station, finally finding a good stream, and the two of them cried out the lyrics of a song they’d both loved ten years before. How strange that time had passed; that now she was 24, preparing for the biggest risk of her life. Where had this confidence come from? Why did she want so much?
Her father dropped her off at a dress boutique within walking distance of the boutique hotel. Winnie told him he could drive back to the farm; that she’d call him if she really needed him. He blinked at her from the driver’s side, his hands gripping the wheel.
“You promise you’ll let me know if you need anything in the world?” he asked her, his eyes wide. He reached into his pocket, drawing out three 50-dollar bills and slapping them onto Winnie’s lap.
She gaped at them, aghast. “Daddy, I…”
“I don’t know what you’re up to, Winnie. I’ve never really known what’s going on in that head of yours. But I do know that I can trust you. And that you’re preparing to make your life an adventure. Whatever it is, you’ll do it well.”
Winnie tore through the doors of the dress boutique, looking like a ragamuffin girl, the 50-dollar bills flapping in her hands. The boutique owner blinked at her from behind cat-eyed glasses. Winnie wasn’t a classic customer. No girl from the country was. But Winnie lifted her chin, again masquerading as the kind of woman who could be seen alongside Carter Russell: one of the richest men in the world.
Thirty minutes later, Winnie appeared on the front stoop of the boutique, dressed in a dark yellow dress, which swirled at her knees and dipped deep on her breasts. She curled her fingers through her hair, praying that its wayward look would pass as, maybe, “beach waves.” She glanced back at the glass window, trying to catch a last glimpse of herself. But the sun was too strong, casting only a glare back into her eyes. It was time to go.
The Gatsby
The hotel Carter had designed and refurbished in downtown Austin was based off a favourite book from his youth, The Great Gatsby. As such, the party revved with ‘20s flair, ‘20s big-band music, and gorgeous girls in glittering flapper costumes. They shimmied as they danced, their tight waists curving back and forth.
In another life, perhaps, Carter would have noticed. But he had no eyes for anyone. Not since Winnie had left. And that had been months before: when he’d officially cut ties with his brother. When he’d gone to work for the Short brothers himself, alone. And when he’d decided to start building more projects like this boutique hotel, for the purpose of art—rather than money.
It suited him. He was still a billionaire, and would always be. But what fun was more money, if you couldn’t find ways for your soul to speak? If you always felt stifled, running from bar to strip club to model apartment…
Carter had begun the Gatsby-themed night with a speech, thanking his builders, his designers, the architects that had worked beneath him. “It was my first achievement without my brother, as many of you know,” he spoke, his words buzzing in the microphone. “And while Dan treks on across Asia—with the incredibly lucrative architectural branch of the Malazza Company in China and Malaysia—I’m returning to my roots. After this opening, I’m preparing to open up the tower in Manhattan, for Tyler and Remy Short. It’s a project we’ve been working on for months and months, and one I believe will be my masterpiece. But this—this boutique hotel is my first. And for that reason, it will remain in my heart.”
He knew that the people at the party didn’t give two fucks about his “accomplishments” as an architect. Rather, most of them had inquired just HOW much money his brother was courting with that Italian architectural firm based in Asia. “Remarkable that he found it,” an old colleague had said, between puffs on his old-fashioned hipster pipe. “Although I heard he met the bastard in an exotic dance room. That true?”
Carter wasn’t sure. But he gave the man a wry smile, a half-grunt. He didn’t give two fucks where his brother met the Italian asshole.
Course, there were no bad feelings, not anymore. Dan and Carter, Carter and Dan: they weren’t two peas in a pod any longer. And the world was learning to accept it.
Carter stood at the bar of his boutique hotel, tapping his knuckles against the marble. The bartender passed him his drink—another whiskey, and he sipped it, his eyes glazing over the crowd. A tall woman in shimmering heels made eye contact with him, then batted her long lashes. It was a come-hither look, one that Carter recognized from his many years at the club. But he just glanced back to his whiskey drink, marvelling at how empty he felt without Winnie.
That week with her had forced him to demand something else from his life. It had made him pause, take stock, wonder if he’d become the kind of man the child version of himself would have looked up to. Beyond that—was he the kind of man a woman like Winnie deserved?
Of course, he’d looked into it: wondered if she’d returned back to that slight apartment in Austin. But by the time he’d been able to return to Austin, post-meetings with the Short brothers, Winnie had fled back to her farm. Carter had hummed and hawed about approaching the farm. About telling her that he’d changed, all for her.
But the thought of going all the way there, only to meet rejection: it chilled him.
He sipped his whiskey. On the stage, a jazz band blared through some more Gatsby-ish tunes, making the crowd whirl with dance. His eyes flashed again toward the bartender, as he tapped his empty glass. He wasn’t an alcoholic, like his brother. But damn, did he want to take the edge off.
As he waited, he turned his head toward the entrance of the ballroom. A woman appeared at the doorway, wearing a knee-length dark yellow dress, which sparkled as she moved. Her hair was a curly mess, like she’d been riding in the back of a pickup all day—her eyes toward the horizon, anticipating what was around the corner.
And the moment the woman stepped onto the red carpeting of the ballroom entrance, her face broke into the loudest, most delicious smile Carter had ever seen.
It was her. Impossible. How could she have found him? How could she have known?
Carter abandoned his drink. He surged through the crowd, accidentally knocking into random passersby, all who looked at him—hopeful for his attention. But he couldn’t give it to any of them. Not with her here.
Winnie had stopped walking. Her large eyes seemed to swallow him. As they reflected the glittering lights of the Gatsby party, Carter could see a million possibilities for the next twenty, thirty, sixty years of his life, alongside her. He’d never been able to associate monogamy with such creative vision and excitement. Not until now.
Carter reached his Winnie. He stood before her, just a few steps down. Her yellow dress continued to whirl around her knees, and she tried to press it down. Her fingers fluttered, anxious.
“Hello,” Carter said, his voice soft. He could hardly hear it, himself, over the chatter behind him.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Winnie whispered, shrugging her little shoulders. She stretched her arms on either side, at the boutique hotel’s ballroom. “This is. Well. It’s absolutely stunning. Did you design this?”
Carter nodded. He tapped up the steps, so that he towered over her. His hand found her light curls, allowing his fingers to tangle through them.
“I look like I’ve been on a farm, don’t I?” Winnie whispered, tittering. “I certainly don’t look like any of these women here. God, they’re all so beautiful.”
But Carter didn’t glance away from her. He just shook his head, al
lowing a slight laugh to escape. “If you think I have eyes for anyone else in the room but you, then you’re completely delusional. I’ve been thinking about you non-stop since you left.”
Winnie’s cheeks became flushed. Carter reached for her thin fingers, holding them along his palm.
“I’m sorry I did that,” Winnie whispered. “I just thought that you and your brother… I thought you were using me.”
“You had every right to go,” Carter said. “You showed me what I really want in this life. I can’t thank you enough for it. Because of you, I created this. You’re in every sketch I drew, every style decision I made. You, Winnie. Because you forced me to see into myself for the first time since I became rich and famous. I was losing it.”
A small rain-droplet tear fell down Winnie’s cheek. Carter flicked it away with a soft finger, then moved toward her, wanting more than anything to kiss her. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and closed her eyes. Around them, the party spun on without them: the band blaring its loud trumpets and the women and men, hobnobbing and celebrating a billionaire’s achievement. There was so much about Carter they would never understand. So much only Winnie really could.
“I love you,” Carter murmured, taking her hands into his. “I want to always love you.”
They kissed, then. Winnie’s little body fell against him, and he wrapped his thick arms around her, holding her tight. He felt lost in her smell, in the soft, sweet taste of her lips. Nothing could be better than this.
Epilogue
It had been a year. A year since that fateful night, when Winnie had taken the biggest risk of her life and gone to the opening of Carter’s boutique hotel in downtown Austin.
In many respects, that single year had felt like many lifetimes—eras of laughter, of love, of hardship, of figuring out how to be the kind of couple that pushed one another, who were there for each other through ups and downs and in betweens. Carter had built another several boutique hotels across the country, founded deals across Europe, and completed the tower in New York with the Short brothers. He’d also made peace with his brother, who’d officially broken ties with Penelope and moved in with an Asian woman in Shanghai. “If he’s happy, I’m happy,” Carter had said.
