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He ducks his head, looking me in the eye. I huff out a sigh because, dang it. He’s right.
But he’s wrong, too. Katherine was nineteen when I left. She was stuck in her mother’s world and needed to grow. Spread her wings without another person dominating her life. So I left. But she’s always been the woman I compare all others to. And she’s only gotten lovelier. Funnier.
“Whatever it was that sent you away from her, maybe it’s time to return, yes?”
“I sent me,” I murmur, staring down at the cash.
“Go win her.” Marko’s smile is back.
He makes it sound easy. Just sweep into the ballroom, call out the winning bid, and watch Katherine smile with relief, blue-green eyes twinkling as she descends the stairs straight into my arms.
That’s some fantasy.
His earlier question blares through my mind. What are you waiting for?
What am I waiting for? Some sort of sign?
The same feeling I got in my stomach, telling me to go, to leave New York and travel... well, I’ve got it right now. And it’s not the Scampi na Buzaru I had for dinner.
“It is enough?” Marko asks, his gaze dropping to the envelope.
I suck in a deep breath, warring with myself. There’s a reason I haven’t gone back to New York. I don’t belong there.
But if that’s where Katherine is, and I belong with Katherine...
I shove the envelope into Marko’s hands and clasp him over the shoulders. “It’s more than enough. But I can’t accept it. I’ve gotta go. I’ll text you!”
I dart off and then turn back, gaze sweeping the messy bar.
Marko waves me off. “Go. I have this.”
“You’re sure?”
“Da!” He waves both hands in a shooing motion, and I laugh.
My loafers slap against the pavement as I race back to the marina. My sailboat is tucked into the seventh slip on the right. Slowing as I approach, I pull out my phone and hit the group chat labeled SisMonsters. They’re gonna love ribbing me about this, but Marko’s right. It’s time to head home. To Katherine.
Kingston: which of you has tickets to the Give Back Gala tomorrow?
While I wait for their answer, I start packing a bag. My tuxedo, still safe in its garment bag, joins the pile. I sweep my toiletries into the duffle, thankful that they’re already travel-sized because my boat is small. A handful of shorts, a pair of jeans, and a stack of t-shirts go in next. What else?
Flights. I snap my fingers and turn toward the dinette. I need a plane ticket.
I plop in front of my laptop and see what’s available. The result? Not a whole heck of a lot.
My phone pings as I scrub a hand down my face.
Mel: are you in town??
Kingston: not yet
Ella: wasn’t aunt Margaret on the board this year? bet she could get you in.
Sighing, I fire off a text to my aunt. Then I’m back in search of a flight. My left knee bounces beneath the table as I scroll and scroll.
If I drive to Zagreb, I could catch a flight first thing, but there’s a long layover in Munich. That won’t work. I’d miss the gala.
I shoot off a quick text to the family pilot, asking how soon he could be here. For all I know, he’s in Athens with Mama on one of her scouting trips. That’d be perfect.
