Page 15 of Keeping Kaitlyn

Jimmyis Ryan’s nickname for Grace. Its origin has never been explained and I’ve never asked.

Remember when you had a nickname? Hell—remember when you had ahusbandbefore you went and fucked everything up?

I’m not usually a jealous person. I don’t usually covet what other people have, but I covet that. Not Ryan—he’s like Damien was. Like a brother. No, it’s not the man I covet.

I love you.

That’s what I want.

What I’ve always wanted.

What curdles my gut with bitter jealousy.

I want someone to love me enough to say it out loud. Not out of pity or obligation. Not because they’re trying to manipulate or guilt me. I want someone to tell me they love me because it’s the truth.

When the elevator doors slide open, I practically lunge through them and into the lobby, rushing for the back entrance where Tess is waiting for us in her stupid fucking limo because the only thing I want less than facing Went again, is having to face what I want more than anything, but will never get to have.

“Hey.” Catching up with me in the parking lot, Ryan snags my elbow while Grace climbs into the back of a sleek, black limousine. I plaster a smile on my face before turning to face Ryan.

“What’s up?” I answer while behind me, I hear the distinct sound of a champagne cork popping.

“You tell me,” Ryan counters, his dark brown eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re being weird.” Dropping his hand away from my elbow, he shoves it into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out his car keys. “Like you’re nervous or something.”

“I’m not nervous,” I tell him, oddly hurt by his assessment. “And I’m not beingweird.”

Ryan’s gaze narrows even further. “You look like you’re about to throw up.”

Caught, I feel my resolve begin to waver. “I?—”

“I hate to break up whatever the hell’s going on here but it took all of my favorite ex-girlfriend points to talk Went into opening his shop for this little shindig,” Tess says, poking her head out of the limo’s open door. “If we don’t get there by eight o’clock, I know that grumpy motherfucker is going to close up and go home.”

“Everything’s fine.” Giving Ryan another fake smile, I start to back away from him and whatever the hell I was about to be dumb enough to tell him.

Like the truth.

“If you say so.” Ryan gives me another one of his bland smiles. “Tell Grace I’ll text her on my way home.” Keys in hand, Ryan turns away from me, heading for the classic Mustang Conner converted from stick shift to automatic for him over a year ago. Behind me, Tess lets out an overly dramatic sigh.

“KaitlynI don’t know your last name, if you don’t get in this fucking car, so help me?—”

Fiorella.

My last name is Fiorella.

At least it was.

For five weeks, three days, and twenty-two hours.

“Barrett.” Swinging around to aim my fake smile in her direction, I move to climb into the back of the limo, giving Tess no choice but to move out of my way. Settling into the plush leather seat, I look out the window while the driver shifts into drive and the car slowly glides through the parking lot, taking me to the last place I should be. “My last name is Barrett.”

EIGHT

WENTWORTH

HELENA, MONTANA 2013

The Hawthorne Helenais one of our smallest hotels. Where New York is over sixty-stories tall and Boston is nearly fifty, Helena isn’t even half as tall. After my summer visit with Damien and Kota when I was fifteen, I asked my grandfather when he planned on remodeling the building. Making it bigger. Taller. He told me never.

The two tallest buildings in Helena are the state capital and the Cathedral of St. Helena. Both of them have been here for a century or better. They’ve earned their glory and I have no interest in robbing them of it.

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