by Linde, K. A.
Camden finally came to stand before me.
I lifted my gaze to meet his. “What the fuck was that about?”
He laughed once sardonically. “You have to ask?”
“We were on a truce!”
“That doesn’t mean you can go and fuck with Penn Kensington and I’m going to ignore it!” he shouted back.
“Penn and I aren’t together! We haven’t been for a very, very long time, Camden. He’s with someone else. And he… he doesn’t want me.”
“But you want him.”
“Maybe I did, but not anymore.”
He laughed, but it was a cruel thing. “I don’t believe you. I saw you two together.”
“You saw what you wanted to see. I don’t even know why I have to justify myself to you. You were the one on the phone with Fiona.”
“So what if I was?” he asked, uncaring.
“It’s my birthday,” I snarled. “You talk to your fucking mistress and then have the audacity to blame me for having a conversation with my best friend. You need to get the fuck over yourself, Camden Percy.”
I pushed past him, prepared to walk the beach until I felt calm enough to go back to my party. But he reached out and grasped my wrist, pulling me toward him.
I tried to yank away, but he held me firm. “Let me go.”
“You know, I was going to ask that we keep this truce going,” he said, low and urgent. “I was going to say that maybe we should go home and try this out again. Try to be together. But we can’t even make it a week without tearing each other apart.”
“You can’t make it a week,” I yelled at him.
He arched an eyebrow. “You fell into his arms as soon as my back was turned. You’re never going to change, Katherine.”
I shoved against him, but he still didn’t release me. “Let me go.”
Finally, he did. My momentum pulled me backward, and I toppled over, landing hard in the sand.
“I was going to grant you your birthday wish,” he said with narrowed eyes. “But we both know that you haven’t earned it.”
Then he strode off toward our villa, leaving me still seated in the sand. Tears burned my eyes. I put my elbows on my knees and my hands on my forehead. With a deep shuddering breath, I tried to hold the tears at bay. I could hear chanting in the distance.
“Five, four, three, two, ONE! Happy New Year!”
Yeah.
Happy New Year.
Part III
Back to Normal
18
Katherine
I’d flown back to New York with Lark.
I hadn’t answered any of her questions. So, she stopped asking them. But I had seen the looks she was giving me. They were the same ones she’d given me in the past. She was worried. I supposed… she had every right to be.
I’d canceled my meeting with ChildrensOne when I got home. I didn’t have the headspace for anything else in my life. The director, Deborah, had been understanding but insisted I call her when I was ready to reschedule.
Mostly, I tried to go back to my normal life. Thankfully, I’d already scheduled my social media accounts with content ahead of time. So, I didn’t have to really pay attention to them. Though I couldn’t ignore the volley of comments asking where I was and why I wasn’t responding as often. Social media was a blessing and a curse.
I’d gone back to personal training with Rodrigo. He’d bumped me from four times a week to five and recommended his nutritionist. In two weeks, I was back down to pre–Puerto Rico weight, and I could see the tone in my muscles again. I was healthier than ever… physically.
My mental state was another thing.
It must have been bad because even my mother noticed.
Never a good thing. She rarely saw anything that wasn’t right in front of her face.
That was how I’d ended up here, in a carefully selected black dress and my favorite fur-lined jacket. My mother preferred Manolo Blahnik. So, even my shoes had been picked with her in mind. Conservative yet stylish. The crux of Celeste Van Pelt.
I stepped into the private tea room, used only for select company on the Upper East Side. It was my mother’s favorite establishment. She came here at least twice a week with her friends for high tea and even higher gossip. I found her seated at her usual table with tea already in front of her along with a glass of champagne. Celeste Van Pelt never thought it was too early to start drinking. She was scrolling an iPad, likely reading the gossip column.
“Hello, Mother,” I said, pulling my chair out and having a seat.
“Hello, Katherine.” She looked up from her iPad and perused my outfit. “Is that new?” She gestured to my dress.
“Yes. Cunningham Couture. It’s part of Elizabeth’s new line. It won’t even reveal until Fashion Week next month.”
“Sensible for her,” she said. “Isn’t she usually a bit more… daring?”
I shrugged. “Depends on the line. I think Harmony is taking over the more daring side of the industry.”
“Ah, her daughter is designing with her?”
“Yes,” I told her. Though I was sure she’d already known that.
“Interesting.” But she said it in a way that made it seem not at all interesting.
A waitress appeared then, depositing a tray of finger sandwiches and little pastry delicacies. She poured our tea and asked if we needed anything else. My mother waved her away. She must have been accustomed to my mother because she left without another word.
Finally, my mother put her iPad down. “Have you heard from your brother?”
“Not really,” I told her, adding a bit of milk to my tea before taking a sip. “How is Sutton doing with the pregnancy?”
My brother, David, lived in middle-of-nowhere Lubbock, Texas, where he was the CFO for Wright Construction, one of the largest construction companies in America. He’d moved to San Francisco after college to escape New York. And then Lubbock to escape San Francisco. He’d promptly fallen in love with a Wright and decided to stay permanently. Sutton was pregnant now, due sometime next month. David had never really been loquacious before he left. He didn’t talk to me much now that he was thousands of miles away.
“Going wonderful. It’s her second, so she seems confident.”
“Do they know if it’s a boy or a girl?” I asked distractedly.
“A girl. They haven’t told me her name yet.”
“Smart.”
My mother arched an eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“Because if you don’t like it, you can’t say anything about it if it’s already the kid’s name.”
She relented and reached for a small cucumber sandwich. “Anyway, I thought that you and I could go down there when the baby is born.”
I nodded. Though I didn’t particularly want to fly to Texas right now. But I wanted to see David. I wanted to meet my niece. It would be a welcome distraction from my life on the Upper East Side.
I picked at my food, finishing off my tea and champagne as my mother droned on about her life. She didn’t ask me about mine. Which was just fine by me. I didn’t want to talk about it. She hadn’t batted an eye at my arranged marriage. I doubted she would bat one now at the circumstances.
“Katherine, are you listening?” she asked.
I blinked and looked up. I had completely lost the thread of the conversation. My head was a bit fuzzy from the champagne. I’d had a second glass when offered.
“What were you saying?”
She sighed in disappointment. “I had a call from a friend.”
“Oh?”
“Deborah Morrison.”
“Oh,” I said again.
“She runs that charity foundation, ChildrensOne.”
“I know,” I told her.
She was the director that I’d blown off when I got home in such a spiral that I was able to do nothing but work out and sleep.
“She mentioned that you had spoken with her but that you canceled.” My mother’s voice dipped into a tone of disapp
roval.
Following through on promises had been the cornerstone of my upbringing. I hadn’t wagered that Deborah would know my mother. But of course, Celeste Van Pelt knew everyone who was anyone.
“Yes, I have been… under the weather.” It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the truth either.
“You don’t seem sick now,” she mused.
“No,” I said softly. Not precisely the truth either.
“Well then, I suppose you can let her know that you will make time again.”
“I cannot believe that she called you about this.”
“Why ever not, dear? She’s a close friend. She was worried about you,” my mother said. “You were taught not to break commitments. Hasn’t the Van Pelt name been dragged through the dirt enough?”
I took a deep breath and then released it. “Of course.”
There was no point in arguing.
“Should I reach back out to her?”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll go see her as soon as we’re done.”
“Excellent. Glad to clear that up.” She raised her hand for the check. “Also, have you lost weight?”
I stilled in my seat. Was this a trick question? I didn’t know the right answer. Not here with my mother. She played more head games than even I did.
“You look great,” she added.
I relaxed. Okay. She wasn’t going to say something negative or make it into an issue.
“Thanks,” I said with a confident smile. “I’m working with a personal trainer and a new nutritionist.”
The waitress dropped the check off.
“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s clearly working.” My mother gestured to the check.
Oh. Right. I pulled out the Percy black card and placed it on the check. My mother had her own money that my father hadn’t been able to drain away. Her maiden name was Cabot, and the Cabots were an old-money family that had essentially died out with my mother. So, now that my grandparents had passed, my mother had the reins of it, but so much of it had been squandered that it wasn’t enough to live as she once had. Just enough to stay comfortable. I shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d wanted Percy money to secure us further. She’d wanted the arranged marriage maybe more than I had.
Once the check was paid, we both stood.
“Excellent,” my mother said. “Wonderful to see you, dear. Do let me know if you need any other help with the charity.”
“I will,” I lied.
“You know, you should plan a party for them,” my mother suggested.
I soured. Why did everyone think the only thing I was good at was party planning? “Maybe. We’ll see what they need from me.”
“I’m sure your contacts would be sufficient.” She laughed. “Nothing brings in money like a party planner on the Upper East Side.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, hedging the conversation.
My mother kissed my cheek and then disappeared through the room with her iPad back in her oversize bag. I followed her out, taking the Mercedes uptown to Deborah’s office, which was across the street from the children’s hospital. I texted her to let her know that I was incoming.
“Katherine!” Deborah cried when I stepped into her office thirty minutes later. “I’m so glad that you could join us.”
I didn’t mention her subterfuge. I just smiled genially. “It’s good to be here. Last we talked, you were going to show me around the facility.”
I wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. I’d never been a fan of hospitals. Not since I’d been stuck in one for six weeks.
But Deborah rose quickly to her feet. “Yes, of course. Do you have time for that now? I could take you around the children’s ward. Let you see why we do what we’re doing.”
“I’m free for a while. I have another appointment in an hour.”
She smiled. “Plenty of time. Come on.”
We walked out of her office and across the street to the hospital. My throat closed as we crossed the threshold. I’d thought that by volunteering for a children’s hospital, I’d be able to overcome my fear. That I’d realize it wasn’t the place that was the problem but rather that I had been locked away against my will. But now that I was here, my body didn’t seem to care about the difference.
The hospital I’d been in for my anorexia was nothing like this, of course. It was a top-of-the-line private facility that my mother paid a fortune for. We didn’t have the money at the time, but she still paid it. And she’d paid to expunge the records so that no one would ever know her daughter was sick.
Deborah didn’t even seem to notice my discomfort as she walked me through the halls, explaining volunteer schedules and treatment areas. I took in what I could, even though I felt the beginning of a panic attack coming on.
I just remembered waking up in a strange room and being told that I couldn’t leave because there was something wrong with me. I had been kept in that room for six straight weeks with only time out for one-on-one and group therapy. Of course, they said it wasn’t a psych ward, but I did have a mental illness—anorexia—and I would be kept in the private center with other eating disorder patients until I was well enough to enter society again. They monitored everything I put in my mouth including the medication, which made me feel worse rather than better.
It’d saved my life. That was what they’d said.
But I’d never really been able to shake my fear of being forced back here. That if they could do it once, they could do it again. I’d never expressly trusted hospitals since then.
“And this is the cancer ward,” Deborah said as she led me down the hallway.
My hands shook at my sides. This wasn’t the same hospital. It wasn’t the same. And yet, the anxiety crawled up my throat and burrowed in my skin.
“Is there a restroom nearby?” I asked, swallowing down bile.
“Oh, sure. Right down the hall, to the left. I’m going to check in on a patient. You can meet me when you’re done,” Deborah said.
I nodded and hastened into the restroom. My already-pale skin was pasty white. I looked like a ghost. I needed to get it together. I splashed water on my wrists and the back of my neck and tried to remember the meditation exercises to calm my breathing. In my mind, I repeated the soothing words over and over that I’d used after therapy.
This doesn’t control me. I control it. No one will ever force me back here. Not ever.
After a few minutes, I felt more composed and stepped out of the restroom. I didn’t know which way Deborah had gone. She’d said she was seeing a patient but not mentioned which one.
“You look lost,” a small voice said behind me.
I turned around and found a little girl with tan skin in a hot-pink dress, pink flip-flops, and a hot-pink wrap around her head. “Hi,” I said to her. “I am a bit lost. I came here with a friend, and now, I don’t see her.”
“Are you looking for Miss Deborah?” the girl asked, dramatically putting her hand on her hip and then sinking into it with extra force.
“I am,” I agreed.
“I know where she is. She’s with Patricia. I can show you the way. What’s your name?”
“That would be nice. My name is Katherine. What’s yours?”
The girl abruptly turned around with all the flare of a dancer and gestured for me to walk with her. “I’m Jem. Do you know that you look like a Disney villain?”
I laughed. “Do I really?”
“Uh, duh. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You’re dressed in all black. You’re wearing high heels and red lipstick. Your hair is dark. You’re pale and pretty,” Jem said. She arched her eyebrows. “Villain.”
“Well, maybe I am a villain,” I told her.
“Hmm,” Jem said, narrowing her eyes. “Does that mean I’m going to have to fight you in a battle to the death?”
I couldn’t stop the smile that stretched on my face. “That sounds very serious.”
“It is,” Jem agreed. “Okay, here we are. Miss Deb
orah is inside. But, Katherine,” she said, raising her finger and pointing it up to my face, “I’m keeping my eye on you.”
I stared down at this little pip-squeak of a child. She was in the cancer ward, and she had more oomph than most of the people I knew in my life. More life and vibrancy. More color—that was for sure. And she had completely obliterated the nerves that jumbled inside of me. That quick, and I’d forgotten why I was afraid. Maybe if I’d had my own Jem when I was hospitalized, I wouldn’t have even felt like this.
“That sounds okay to me,” I admitted. “Jem, do you mind if I come visit you again?”
Jem crossed her arms. “Depends on if you show up in all black again, missy.”
“I can probably find another color.”
“Pink,” Jem insisted. “It’s my favorite color.”
“I would have never guessed.”
“Okay. Sounds good. Bye, Villain Katherine. I’ll be here when you come back.” Jem turned and skipped down the hallway.
Deborah appeared then with a laugh as she pulled Patricia’s door closed. “I see you met Jem.”
“I sure did.”
“She’s a handful. They can never keep her in her room.”
“I think I’ll do it,” I told Deborah. “I’ll help out. I can volunteer here at least once a week, and I think I can plan a party to raise money for the hospital.”
Deborah’s face split in two. “Oh my god, really? That would be so amazing, Katherine. We would just love to have you on board.”
And for the first time in a long, long time, I felt like I was really doing the right thing.
19
Camden
Every Monday at three o’clock in the afternoon, I left work early and went in for my weekly meeting at the gentlemen’s club, Height. It was a members-only bar and lounge for the most elite in the city. People jokingly referred to it as a secret society, but that was just the mystery surrounding it. So far, I hadn’t been inducted into a cult… as far as I knew. Not that any of us said anything to dispel the notion. It gave us credibility.
