Page 17

The color of the day is white.

White clouds in the sky.

White pebbles, white sand beneath my feet.

White dress.

White shoes.

White. White. White.

As my gaze scans the crowd at the annual Academy picnic, I tell myself I’m not looking for anyone in particular.

The gathering is on one of the sandy beaches of Jekyll Island—not at the renowned clubhouse itself, but close enough to sense wealth in the air by mere proximity.

It smells of crisp cotton linens and fresh lemons, of biting sea salt tears of privilege.

There are plenty of potential marks here today, rich fellas with empty brains and deep pockets, but I skulk through the throng almost perfunctorily, searching for a hint of familiar blond hair.

At some point during my not-so-surreptitious hunt, I spot Lady Genevieve.

She’s with her husband and another tall man, hard at work hoisting watermelons onto a banquet table.

The man’s jawline is reminiscent of Matthew’s, but his head is topped with stylishly manicured dark hair, his posture ramrod straight.

A flash of disillusionment hits when I realize it’s Ethan, Matthew’s older brother.

West Point cadet, raised to captain during the Great War.

Known for exquisitely tailored suits and a booming laugh, a laugh I can nearly hear when he tips his head back.

I recognize him from former Academy events.

And perhaps somewhere else…a more recent connection tugs my memory, sliding back and forth at the edges of my mind, like the roiling tide of the Atlantic.

Despite myself, I watch the family for a few minutes. It seems Matthew had to work after all, because he’s nowhere in sight. The three DaMolins move in tandem, quiet and efficient, preparing the watermelon.

There’s a faint thump behind me, but my attention is focused on the tiny group.

They’re so in tune with one another. It’s like me with the Royals…

or perhaps not? This is a real family, united by blood.

I’m trying to discern whether there’s something different about them, something to set them apart from my own.

I tilt my head, pondering, and give a soft yelp when a hand squeezes my shoulder from behind.

“Why are you spying on my family, Katarina?” a deep voice whispers in my ear.

His breath is warm. I fight a shiver.

“Matthew.” I laugh nervously, a little embarrassed but entirely glad to find he’s here.

“Are you looking for someone?” He moves his lips to my cheek, softly pressing them to my skin.

A small shock zings through my body at his unexpected familiarity.

I give a guilty start, then cast a sweeping look around the picnic for voyeurs.

I turn to see Matthew in a white linen shirt, his grin brighter than the sun.

I blink twice, rendered mute.

“Wow, speechless , Katarina? I don’t think I’ve met this woman yet. Hi, I’m Matthew DaMolin.”

He sticks out his hand for a formal shake. I take it with a chuckle.

“You’re in an awfully good mood today.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I have the whole weekend off, the sun is shining, I slept a full ten hours, bathed and shaved this morning—just for you.” He winks, and I laugh again. “And here you are, looking for me out of the hundreds of people here today.”

“Who says I was looking for you?”

“Please! You’ve been found out, Katarina.”

And suddenly, I’m laughing again, grinning from ear to ear like a complete idiot.

“So are you happy to see me?” he asks. “It sure seems like it.”

I strive for a modicum of composure. “I am, actually. I hoped you would introduce me to your brother.” I point at Ethan and smile mischievously.

“Bullshit.”

“Language, Matthew. There are ladies and gentlemen nearby,” I admonish, nodding toward his parents. “Is this going to be our game today?”

“It can be. I call you on your bullshit, that could certainly be fun. It’ll keep me pretty busy, ’cause every other word out of your mouth is full of it.”

“Hey!” I swat him, but he grabs my hand mid-flight.

“So would you like to meet my family? You were looking at them like they hold the meaning of life. I’ll introduce you, then you’ll realize the acclaimed DaMolin clan is just as dysfunctional and ordinary as the rest of the serfs.”

“Serfs?” I chortle, but when he reaches for my hand again, I pull back, uncertain.

The tiniest crease appears between Matthew’s eyebrows. “Is something wrong?”

I lick my lips. Standing here with him, with this man who’s so very luminous and whole, his all-American family ten yards away…

I feel my own story, my otherness, acutely.

I wrap my arms around my core. My words come out slowly, stilted and drawn.

“Your family…it’s rather different from mine , Matthew.

” I nod toward his parents again. “It must have been nice growing up.”

“No family is perfect, Kat. Certainly not mine.” Matthew sighs, frown lines deepening. “Being a DaMolin is a privilege, but it doesn’t magically make things easy. I’m sure you heard the rumors. We make our living publishing news, and my father’s fall from grace was quite a headline.”

I shake my hair away from my face before replying. I have heard the rumors, but I’m surprised he’s bringing them up. Headlines rarely reflect reality. How many times has the tale of the Wolfpack been sensationalized to sell copies?

“Rumors are whispers in the wind, Matthew,” I say. “Loud today, forgotten tomorrow. Not to malign your family’s business, but newspapers exist to sell themselves. They very rarely tell the full story.”

“Well, in the case of my father, they had it right. He fell in line thirty years ago to make a proper marriage, one befitting the DaMolin name, but he considered himself married in theory only. His vows meant next to nothing. He sought companionship outside the bonds of his marriage with courtesans—one of whom was my mother.”

I nod.

“Ethan and I are technically half-brothers,” Matthew continues.

“His mom died during childbirth, and my dad married my mother—my mother the courtesan , less than six months later. A marriage of honest love this time, but certainly not one recognized by polite society. It was, so I’m told, the height of scandal.

“The irony of all this”—he waves his hand at the picnic around us—“is that, in those early years, my mother had little business teaching anyone how to be a lady. She needed the lessons Telfair provided as much as the few girls who enrolled. Her life’s work, turning out premier ladies of high society, was her own veiled barb against the institution at large.

I quite love that about her, actually.” He smiles wryly.

“She found a way to have the last laugh—the women who once looked down their noses at her now quietly send their daughters to Telfair to be educated.”

“I was right,” I reply, “the full story is far better than the rumors. I absolutely adore your mother after hearing this. The gumption—can you just imagine?”

“I don’t have to imagine.” He pulls a face. “I lived it, Katarina.”

I wince softly. “I’m sorry, Matthew. I wasn’t assuming—”

“I know you weren’t.” He stops me. “It’s okay.

You’re right. Scandal or not, I was luckier than most, and I love my family.

They’re wonderful. Not perfect, but forged in fire and all the better for it.

My dad looks at my mom like she walks on water, so what does it really matter what other people sometimes say? ”

“And Ethan?” I ask.

Matthew shrugs. “He wasn’t even six months old when my mother married our father.

He’s called her ‘Mom’ since he learned how to talk, and he views her as nothing less.

Beneath his banter and bluster, Ethan is fiercely loyal.

He has a big heart, with great capacity for compassion and empathy.

We all do. How could we not after what we went through together? ”

“How did you put it…forged in fire?” It’s the way I describe my relationship with the Royals. I quite like that he views his own family similarly.

“I did. Our family name has been restored, but it took a lifetime to do it. Along the way, I’ve been called every name in the book, and ‘bastard’ is perhaps the kindest. My parents raised us to be progressive in a world still clinging to the skirts of pomp and circumstance.

I’m not interested in the bread-and-circus show.

I want to be in the trenches, helping people who need it, not looking down my nose at them.

Because trust me, I know what it feels like to be both. ”

“I suppose I owe you an apology,” I say, surprising myself. “I misjudged you. ”

“You’re hardly the first to do so, and you certainly won’t be the last. I hope you’re taking a second look now though.” His eyes pool so deep into my own, the world tilts beneath my feet.

Dangerous, dangerous.

For my own safety, I pull away. And because I’m a coward, I lighten my tone, desperate for levity. “Well, from one serf to another then, I suppose I’m prepared for an introduction.”

Matthew smiles, full white teeth and dimples. “You’ll be brilliant. There’s nothing to be nervous about, they don’t bite…well, sometimes my brother does,” he admits, “but he’s mostly harmless.”

Without waiting for my reply, Matthew stoops to pick up a box of watermelons by his feet. He shifts the weight to his hip so he can manage it with one arm, then he grabs my hand, towing me forward.

His mother tracks our approach with sharp eyes. “Matthew, dear,” she calls, “right here.” She points beside her feet for the box, her gaze lingering on our joined hands. “Miss Quinn, wonderful to see you. How are you, dearest?”

“Good afternoon, Lady Genevieve. It’s nice to see you too.” I slip into my Academy training. “Everything is quite well, thank you.”

“Andrew.” She swats her husband’s arm. “Andrew!”

The patriarch of the DaMolin family glances up from the melon he’s slicing.

“Andrew, darling, this is Katarina Quinn.” She looks hard at her husband, trying to convey significance. “She’s in her final year at the Academy.”

“Good afternoon, sir.” I sink into a brief curtsy, but he holds out a hand to stop me. In the corner of my eye, Ethan smirks.

“That’s not necessary, I assure you.” Andrew turns to his wife. “Are you really still teaching them to curtsy at the Academy? That’s quite antiquated, darling. Do we need to overhaul the curriculum? ”

As his father speaks, Ethan’s eyes flicker between his brother and me, assessing. He steps forward. “Hello, Katarina. I’m confident my reputation precedes me—Captain Ethan DaMolin, infamous heir to the DaMolin empire.” He smiles impishly. “Do I get a curtsy too?”

“Ethan!” his mother hisses.

“Only jesting.” He extends his palm. “I’m Ethan, Matt’s older, infinitely more dilly brother.”

“I’m Katarina.” I take his hand. “Matthew’s younger but still infinitely more dilly friend.”

Ethan graces me with a sultry laugh. He knocks his brother on the arm, but his eyes stay zeroed in on me. “Shall we take a promenade, Katarina? Matt, buzz off for a tick to help Mom and Dad.”

“Not a chance,” Matthew says.

“Did he tell you I’m nice?” Ethan suddenly turns to me. “I’m perfectly nice. I’ll bring you right back to him so you can do more of that adorable hand-holding in just a few minutes.”

Matthew glowers at his brother.

“Actually, he told me you bite,” I reply. “But that’s hardly a problem. So do I.”

Ethan throws his head back and guffaws, then punches Matthew’s arm again. “Where in tarnation did you find a dame like her?” he chides his brother. “Are you a masochist? I don’t pull your leg enough?”

“I guess not.” Matthew’s response is dry.

“All right, you know what? I’ll let it slide this time. All three of us can go. This will be simply grand.”