I hesitate. “No.”
“Jane.” Kitty’s voice is gentle but firm. “What if there was more?”
“There wasn’t,” I say quickly. “I heard enough.”
“Did you? Or did you hear a partial sentence and your brain filled in the worst possible ending?”
The accuracy of that hits me like a punch. Because yes, that’s exactly what my brain does. But?—
I heard him, and his voice sounded like regret.
My throat tightens. “I’m not... easy.”
Kitty’s voice softens. “Jane.”
The words tumble out before I can stop them, like water seeping through a cracked dam. “He’s all routines and fences andschedules. And I’m”—I wave a hand vaguely at myself—“noise. I’m wild. I’m a whole problem.”
Kitty’s gaze becomes fierce. “You are not a problem.”
I laugh brokenly. “My brothers would disagree.”
Kitty leans forward, her voice quiet and sure. “I’m sure your brothers love you. But loving someone and understanding them are two different things. And sometimes the people who love us the most are the worst at seeing who we actually are.”
The words land with surgical precision, cutting right through the armor I’ve built around that particular wound. My eyes sting. I blink hard, refusing to cry.
Kitty’s voice gentles, but her eyes stay sharp. “Tell me something. Why do you want a makeover?”
“Because if I can just be quieter and calmer. Less”—I gesture helplessly—“everything, maybe he?—”
“Maybe he what?”
“Chooses me,” I whisper. “For real. Not just because he got stuck with me at an auction.”
Kitty goes very still. Then she reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. “Listen to me very carefully.” Her voice is soft but carries weight.
I look up, my throat tight.
Kitty squeezes my hand. “If you change yourself and he ‘chooses’ that version, who gets loved?”
The question hits me like a freight train. I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
“I...” My voice cracks. “Not me.”
Kitty nods. “Exactly.”
The tears I’ve been holding back spill over because she’s right. She’s so goddamn right, and I knew it all along, but I couldn’t make myself face it.
“If I sand myself down into someone quieter, and he loves that person, then the real me is still alone. I just won't know it until the mask slips.” I swallow hard. “But what if me isn’t what he wants?”
Kitty’s eyes hold mine steadily. “Then you deserve to know that now. Not after you’ve spent months or years pretending to be someone you’re not.”
I flinch. “That sounds terrifying.”
“It is,” Kitty agrees. “But here’s the thing, Jane. You came here to the auction, to Clover Canyon, because you wanted to find out who you are. You wanted someone to choose therealyou. Not the performed you. Not the smaller, quieter, more manageable you.”
“What if the real me is too much?”
“Then he’s not enough for you.”
