Page 1 of The One Who Got Away

Chapter One

“Is it completely inappropriate if I say I want Lincoln Carraway to bend me over, hike up my skirt-”

“Yes!” Mom and I replied in unison, sending Josie a glare for good measure. The three of us had the same golden locks, bright blue eyes, and quirky little pouts, but that’s where the similarities came to an abrupt end. My mother was too cordial and too steeped in Southern tradition to do much more than cluck her tongue at my loose-lipped sister. And Josie? She lacked the internal filter that sifted through one’s secret, private thoughts and prevented you from saying the first ridiculous thing that came to mind. My filter was in good condition, but I lacked the motivation to not call my sister on her BS.

“You can pick your bottom lip off the floor,” I snarled despite the fact that a smile was tugging at my lips. “And to answer your question, yes, it’s inappropriate to say you want my fiancé to bend you over.” When she held up her hands in defense, I chucked my lipstick at her head. “And saying it on my wedding day is just-”

“Bad timing?” Josie grinned as she narrowly avoided the tiny missile.

Both Wilkes women had our mother’s willowy dancer’s limbs, but the agility that allowed my sister to dodge out of the way without landing on her butt must have run out by the time it reached me. I’d practically flung myself from the aged beauty parlor chair just trying to hurl something at her head.

Josie smoothed the front of her lilac-colored dress. “How about mean? Rude?” she offered unhelpfully, trying to finish my sentence.

“Very Josie-like.”

I threw up both hands when she bounded over like she was about to ruffle my hair like she used to when we were kids. She stopped a few feet away and gawked, her palms pressed against her cheeks with glee.

“I can’t believe my little sister is getting married!” she sniffled. Any annoyance that my married, about-to-pop-out-baby-number-two older sister was still making passes at my fiancé evaporated.

I saw myself in the sheen of tears that filled her eyes. All the years of feeling like an outsider, that I was missing some vital ‘Wilkes gene,’ had been disproven. That drive for love and duty and something greater was passed along, just like my eyes and smile.

I felt all those things, felt forever, when I looked into Lincoln Carraway’s eyes.

It used to drive me crazy, absolutely groan-inducing, squeeze-my-eyes-shut-because-I-was-so-filled-with-disgust crazy to watch my parents. Mom would practically jump into Dad’s arms when he came home from the station. I didn’t understand how she could be bursting at the seams with love when she literally just saw him a few hours ago. And while Josie could be bold and inappropriate with her winks and lingering hugs, I knew that she wasn’t really gunning for Linc. She only had eyes for Anthony, her high school sweetheart and as soon as she turned 18, her husband—just like our parents. She did the same ‘cheeks go red’ and ‘voice does the record skip’ thing whenever Anthony entered the room—just like Mom.

I turned as red as a tomato whenever Lincoln smiled at me—just like Dad whenever Mom flashed him a grin.

Here I was, Catherine Allison Wilkes, the girl that once proclaimed I’d never fall in love, especially with anyone in Rhoades, North Carolina. I was hopelessly in love (and the other L word) with Lincoln, and ready to continue the once-annoying, now kinda endearing, hitched at 18 family ritual.

Josie wrapped me in a sumo-like embrace, squeezing the life from me. I’m not too proud to admit that a handful of tears trickled down my cheeks, and I even let Mom coo over how adorable we were before I stuck out my tongue and extricated myself.

“I can’t walk down the aisle looking a mess, you guys,” I scolded them.

Josie fixed one of my wayward curls before she wheeled me back to face the mirror. She knelt down until we were cheek to cheek. I’d fought the resemblance to my All-American, cheerleading and football-loving sister, even dyeing my blonde hair jet black in middle school. My natural hair color was back: a soft, flaxen wheat hue that also sprung from my sister’s scalp in abundance. Even with my shoulder-length locks contrasting with her waist-length hair and a few sharp angles that I got from Dad, I saw the Wilkes thing I’d fought so hard against.

“Heaven forbid you let the good folks of Rhoades see that you’re not nearly as badass as you seem, right?” Before I could pretend that Josie wasn’t a teeny bit right, she pecked my cheek with a kiss and ducked out of the line of fire. “I’ll go get them warmed up for your triumphant arrival.” She winked back at Mom and me on her way out the door. “Break a leg, Cat!”

Mom and I locked gazes, both of us laughing at Josie, and our chuckles spilled into this moment. I glanced down at my dress. It was my something old and something new. The bodice was the same my mother wore on her wedding day, and it had also wrapped its way around Josie on hers. I looked down at the intricate stitching and beads. Every glittering inch was a piece of family history.

“You’ll never guess what I was just thinking,” I murmured, turning away from her. The whole crying thing would be impossible to avoid if she had Josie’s look of sheer delight on her face.

I felt Mom’s palm drift to my shoulder, squeezing tight like she had before—when I was terrified of her letting go when I was learning to ride a bike; before my presentation at the science fair; when I realized that I was irrevocably in love with our town’s favorite son. That squeeze was always followed by a sloppy kiss that made me squeal. This time, I held the squeal inside.

“I was just thinking...” The thought pirouetted on my tongue, and emotion knocked it flat on its ass. “It’s dumb.” I sniffed like that was that and fanned my eyes. I could already hear Josie scolding me for messing up her hard work, even if she’d started this involuntary stroll down Sappy Girl Lane.

“It’s your wedding day, Cat.”

Mom whipped out that impossibly patient tone that used to make me roll my eyes. Today, I didn’t have the urge to barricade myself from the uncomfortableness. The vulnerability. Who would have thought the one guy at Rhoades High who avoided girlfriends and complications would be the one to show me that letting people in, being less than perfect, was not only okay, but important?

“If you can’t be all mushy gushy today, then when can you be all mushy gushy?” Mom nudged me with her words, like some endless fount of hometown wisdom.

And she was right.

Bring on the mushy gushy.

Big, fat tears turned my blue eyes to glass when I met the same eyes, my mother’s eyes, in the mirror. “I was just thinking that you wore this dress, then Josie, now me. And-” I bit down on my lip and tasted lip gloss and happiness. “I was thinking that maybe my daughter will wear it someday too.”

The smile lines crinkled beside my mother’s eyes. Makeup be damned, because she was full-on crying as she wrapped me in a tight hug. Somewhere in between the tears and the laughter because fate had definitely hurled us both a curveball or two, she let loose a breathless question.

“Are you happy? I want you to be so happy, sweetie. Not just today...but a forever kind of happy.”

I snatched up two Kleenex and carefully blotted at my eyes. I’d never tell my sister this, but learning there was more to makeup than black eyeliner and Chapstick wasn’t the painful experience I thought it would be. I’d made it eighteen years avoiding looking ‘like a girl’ and now, on my big day, smoky-eyed and bold-lipped, I didn’t want to mess up her masterpiece. Lincoln had nearly forgotten all about senior prom and skipped right to us spending the night at his family’s cabin in the woods when I’d just swiped some mascara on my eyes and lip gloss on my lips. I wanted to watch his blood pressure rise and his jaw drop when I walked down the aisle. I wanted the whole town, our whole world, to see that what we had was beautiful and real. Not a rush job. Not two silly kids making some silly decision.

I balled up the tissue and tossed it on the peeling vanity. “I’m happy, Mom.”

“And you’re not doing this because of pressure or-”

“Mom.” I eyed her closely, trying to not get offended by her last-minute interrogation. “I know Dad is far from thrilled about all of this, but today is not the day to stage some sort of intervention-”

“Hey now, relax.” She gently placed both hands on my shoulders. “This isn’t an intervention. You know I like Lincoln. And everyone can see how in love the two of you are. But eighteen is so young and you have your own dreams-”

“And marrying Lincoln doesn?

??t mean I have to sacrifice my hopes and dreams,” I assured her firmly. “I’m not losing myself. I’m gaining a partner.” I shrugged off her hands. “I thought you understood that.”

“Catherine Allison Wilkes,” Mom growled, stepping back and putting a hand on her hip.

I rose to the occasion, taking a stand and putting my hand on my hip. I held my pout until she gave me ‘the look.’ That Wilkes look that said it takes more energy being pissed than just letting go.

I sighed as I backed down. She was nearly my height, even though I was wearing tiny heels and she was in flats. I was picking a fight, and I knew she was just making sure I was okay. It made sense. Lincoln Carraway was the son and heir to the Carraway family business: a multi-million dollar empire with a big merger that his father boasted would take their net worth to the stratosphere.

And I could care less about the money.

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