I press my palms to his broad chest, feeling solid muscle underneath. Then I travel to his powerful arms, shoulders, and back, drawing him closer.
The kiss spans minutes, which may as well be lifetimes as we knit ours together—both of us helping the other let go of the past and consider a future together.
Soon after, my mother calls for me to greet a few more well-wishers. Word has traveled fast.
As I flit from one person to the next, an arm suddenly lassoes around my waist, pulling me toward the music to dance. I melt against him, thinking it’s Connor, until the rancid smell of wine and sweat assaults my nose.
Guests clap and cheer.
For half a second, my body is on autopilot, dancing with Gaston as I did for years. My senses catch up and I push him away, but not before he plants a big, sloppy kiss on my face, thankfully missing my mouth. I shove him, sending him staggering. I lose my footing and stumble into a brick wall. Gaston’s buddies heft him back to his feet, encouraging him to go after me.
However, the brick wall is Connor, his expression torn between confusion and rage.
Gaston is an ox, a brute, and not someone I’d ever consider spending more than a required few minutes with. It isn’t a surprise he’s still single, though he’s made his way through various girlfriends—even back when we were supposedly together as a couple. But I was young and naïve and didn’t know better.
The time Connor and I spent in the woods with no distractions and then the hospital and my recovery, where wefocused on survival, created a closeness and understanding that goes beyond words. But I’m not sure how to explain what just happened, other than I wish that it hadn’t.
I didn’t want to dance with Gaston or have his hands on me. I certainly didn’t kiss him back, but no one here has ever listened to me anyway.
Once more, feeling like a teenager on the run, I rush into the house. My pulse thunders in my ears. Memories from the past rise to the surface as I hurry toward my old bedroom. Gaston’s advances on top of the hubbub have me spinning. I have to lie down for a few minutes. Since the surgery, I’ve felt better every day and wouldn’t have been cleared to fly had the doctor not been confident in my recovery, but I have to be careful and take it easy.
This is sheer overwhelm. Stress. Confusion. My eye twitches as I flip on the light.
My mother kept my old bedroom the same as when I left. It’s an unwelcome step back in time. Part of me is proud of the brave young woman who packed up and left. The other part feels like I’ve returned to the scene of a crime and risk being trapped here after all my efforts to escape.
I can’t help but be annoyed at my parents for telling Gaston to visit and then jumping to the next best prospect to marry me off. They’re so stubborn, so backward...or is it desperation?
Me becoming a successful dancer was their ticket to what? What did they so desperately want? My mother to win a war of wealth waged with her sister? My father not to have to work so hard?
Mère grew up in her parents’ patisserie and is a skilled baker. Why didn’t she ever get a job or take over when they retired? Because she wanted to be like her sister, who married into money and didn’t have to work.
But that’s not reality. Instead, she pushed me until my feet literally bled. I sit down on the edge of the bed. Tears brim in my eyes as I look at the awards for my performances still pinned to the wall. An old pair of ballet slippers are on the bedside table. The air is stale, so I open the window and then lie down. I’m just going to close my eyes for a moment and then I’ll go find Connor, apologize for the scene, and we can leave.
Laughter and voices float through the night.
I catch snatches of my mother talking to someone. “We’re going along with it because he’s a famous football player and will bring us much wealth. But not the way you expect.”
A familiar female voice says, “What about Gaston? He and Cateline are meant to be together.”
“Don’t worry. Cateline will end up with him. I will see to that,” my mother assures the other person.
I gasp and my hand flies over my mouth.
“Are you sure?”
Mère says, “My daughter caught herself in a little snare. I will make sure she ends up with your son. She is in a predicament and I have a way out with the unsuspecting football player’s help. Though she thinks he’s her ticket out of here.”
I jump to my feet, ready to storm out of the room, as her motives become clear. My parents aren’t proud of my accomplishments, independence, or the life I created. They don’t care a whit about the man I love. No, they’re just looking for me to provide a payday just as they’ve always done.
Nothing has changed...nothing except me.
As I’m leaving the room, an envelope catches my eye. It’s in my handwriting and addressed to me. I snatch it up just as I exit.
Once outside, I search for my mother, ready to tell her that I overheard.
However, a woman with pink hair, wearing a tight pink dress, and pink high heels marches down the front path toward me. “Cateline!” she calls, pointing.
Looking around, I wonder if there’s someone else named Cateline nearby because I’ve never seen her before. I’m the only one here. “Me?”
