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I shift in the leather-like seat and navigate to my browser, then search to see if anyone’s posted pictures from the event.
‘Katherine Montgomery bachelorette’ returns a flurry of results.
A handful of photos from the glittering Winstead ballroom, with Katherine on the stage. I’m not surprised that she’s got that cool mask frozen to her gorgeous face. It’s her standard ‘I don’t trust any of you’ expression.
I skim past the next headline: Two Million Dollar Girl
But then the next one reads: Who is Katherine Montgomery and why is she worth $2 million?
What the hell is going on?
12
ALEX
I glance out the helicopter window, Katherine’s question ringing in my ears. Where is here?
She seems so much calmer than she did in front of the hotel. But my gut churns at the thought of the media stalking her. Men on motorcycles! What the hell? You’d think she was related to the monarchy.
Then again, they could just as easily have been chasing Gabe. His image has mellowed over the years, but there was a time when he didn’t shy away from any kind of publicity. Good or bad.
“My place,” Gabe says just before the pilot opens the door for us.
We step off, keeping our heads low. I reach for my go bag, swinging it over my shoulder.
The air coming off the ocean cuts through my button-down. Katherine has gathered herself on the flight out and now hovers in the doorway, head ducked and a few loose strands of her gorgeous hair whipping in the wind.
I offer her my hand. She gathers the silky skirt of her dress in one hand and places her other palm against mine. I tighten my grip, and our eyes meet, transfixed.
What I told her during her panic attack is as true now as it was then. I won’t let her fall.
Her fingers are cool as she glides down out of the helicopter like a queen arriving to see a new land. I immediately tuck her hand into my arm, annoyed that the weather won’t make up its mind. She clings to my bicep, pressing close as we crunch our way across the drive.
“It’s like the Hamptons didn’t get the memo that we’re having an early heat wave,” Gabe says, ushering us toward the door.
We use the flashlight on our phones to guide the way. By the time we make it to the porch, Katherine is snuggled deep in my jacket. I love seeing her in my things. Will the fabric absorb her delicious scent?
“It’s not finished yet,” Gabe says of the house.
I hear so much in the quick warning. Second-guessing himself, that constant desire to surpass his father’s expectations. Pride and imposter syndrome rolled up into one exhausting cocktail. “But my interior designer says she’s close. The pictures look amaz?—”
The words die on his lips as the key turns in the lock and the front door swings wide. Stale air hits my nose, and I immediately tuck Katherine behind me.
“Wha—” she starts but quickly falls silent, burrowing deeper into my coat.
Gabe flicks on a light, and it’s obvious why something felt wrong.
“What the actual hell?” He moves through the house like he’s clearing it of terrorists. Swift, precise, bold.
There are holes in the walls, a door lies on its side in the entryway, and a light fixture dangles from a wire.
“This isn’t finished. It’s barely started!” His voice thunders from the rear of the house.
I close and lock the front door behind us. More lights flick on, and Katherine gathers her dress and gingerly steps forward. Part of me wants to go through the house and do a survey of my own. Old habits die hard. But I think our bigger concern right now is spiders, not stalkers or photographers.
We find him in the living room next to a pile of lumber.
“I don’t understand,” he says, sounding far younger than his thirty-seven years.
