Page 52 of The Wrong Brother

“I’m the store manager, yes. How may I help you?”

“I need to respectfully ask that you get your employee, Trina, away from me right now.”

“What seems to be the problem, sir?”

“For starters, she’s been incredibly disrespectful to my girlfriend and less than helpful. Then she let herself into my fitting room, touched my bare chest, and propositioned me! What kind of store are you running here? I came to get clothes for an engagement party, not to get indecent proposals while my girlfriend is having to find me a shirt, doing your employee’s job for her.”

The woman’s face is blanched white, the set of her jaw severe. I follow the loud clacking of her heels across the store, my heart beating wildly. Trina is leaning against the doorway into the fitting rooms and she straightens up, looking worried when the manager walks up. Catherine is standing close by, holding the shirt and looking confused. I drag her into the fitting room with me, pulling the curtain closed angrily. We can hear the manager angrily whispering, not able to keep her voice as low as she’d like in her fury. Trina is getting fired.

“I’m sorry, Cat. I should have said something the moment she ignored you and made that comment about my eyes.”

“What’s going on, Raff? Are you ok? You’re shaking!”

“She kept touching me out there. She grabbed my ass for fuck’s sake! And then she came in here. I thought she was you.” Catherine hands me the shirt and squares her shoulders. She walks calmly out and I follow her, curious. She walks right past the manager, addressing Trina.

“You knew we were here together, the fact was stated directly to you, and yet you still put your hands on him? More than once? You treated my man like a piece of meat and dared to violate his privacy?” Trina stares open-mouthed at the goddess she dared to call a frump. Catherine moves forward, not even taking a step, and Trina flinches like she was expecting violence. “Our lawyer will let you know if we decide to press this matter of sexual harassment any further.” She then turns on her heel and walks back to the fitting room as if nothing happened.

Once behind the curtain, she gathers up the pants and shirt, her face set. I slide on my slippahs and trail behind her, yanking on my t-shirt as we walk. Catherine doesn’t say another word. She’s gliding, as regal as genuine royalty, across the store, with her head held high and her shoulders back. She hands the girl behind the register the clothes, pays, and leads us out. She reaches for my hand as we walk and I take it gladly, weaving my fingers with hers. We don’t get very far before she drops onto a bench.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I can’t believe I did that! I’m sorry I labeled you. I shouldn’t have done that either. It just came out. I was so mad!” She’s babbling, wringing her hands together. I quiet her with a kiss, holding her hands between mine.

“You can call me anything you want, Kitty Cat. And that was amazing. You’re a badass.” She gives me a wobbly smile, swiping at her eyes. “Let’s go home.”

32

catherine

Who am I? Being with Rafferty has awakened these sides of me that I didn’t even know were in there. I feel free and sexy, maybe even a little wild when we’re intimate. I’m holding my head higher, confident in who I am. I’m apparently possessive and the kind of woman who will step up to a bitch for touching her man! Although I’m for sure not the kind of woman who can pull off saying that. Self-awareness. In the last few weeks, I’ve laughed more with anyone outside of Mina than I have in years. Even the stress of dealing with Connor at work isn’t enough to bring down how flat-out happy I am right now.

I come home from work to an eerily quiet apartment. Rafferty tends to keep music playing in the background, no matter what he’s doing. I head back to my bedroom to change and he’s holding a hanger, head buried in my closet.

“What’s going on in here?”

He jumps at my voice then laughs at himself and greets me with a kiss. “I was hanging up a shirt and spotted this fabric in the back. It piqued my curiosity. What’s the story here?” He’s holding my one funny keepsake from my maternal grandmother. The memory makes me smile.

“That belonged to my mom’s mom. Gran was feisty and, at least in my eyes as a child, the most glamorous woman in the world. Before we moved here she let Mina and I each pick out something from her closet. I believe Mina selected a dress coat from Paris that she wore the entire time she lived in New York. That’s how beautiful and timeless Gran’s things were—the coat Mina picked out as a 7-year-old was fashionable enough for her to wear in New York City as an adult. I have no idea what possessed me, but I chose this. It’s entirely impractical. In fact, I’ve never once worn it. But at the time it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.”

I run my fingers along the delicate lace scallops that edge the opening of the sheer ivory robe. The sleeves are wide and end with more scalloped lace and I suspect all of the tiny floral appliques that dot the garment are hand-made. I have to admit, all these years later, it’s still the most beautiful garment I’ve ever seen. I never considered before how risque it is! Gran was a woman of many layers. Rafferty’s eyes have a naughty glint.

“Will you model it for me?Please?” His hands are folded and his pleading expression is over-the-top.

“No!” I can feel heat rising on my cheeks and across my chest. Stupid ever-present blush.

“Why not?”

I consider the question carefully. Why did I say no? I don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. And I like how Rafferty looks at me.

“Ok, then. I will. But you have to leave while I get ready. I want to do the robe justice.”

He agrees and I can hear him in the living room, putting on a record. I strip naked and look myself over in the mirror. What specifically would make this special, visually? I smooth lotion over my skin and appreciate the glow the late afternoon light gives it. Brushing through my waves, I pin one side off of my face. I decide to add to my normal workday makeup, making my eyeliner more dramatic and sweeping a gold eyeshadow over my lids before applying mascara. I like the effect. I feel glamorous enough for the robe now. I slip it on and arrange my hair but now I don’t know what to do. Where should I stand? Do I just stand here? Like a weird mannequin? Shit, I need Rafferty to get in here before I overthink and freak out. I settle for standing in the rectangle of warm sunlight from the high-set windows.

“Love?”

The door opens slowly and it’s so quiet when he steps in, I can hear his quick inhale. He stands barely inside the doorway, eyes moving over me so that I swear I can feel them, like he’s touching me. Finally, he walks toward me.

“Goddamn. I need photos. May I?”

I nod, too nervous to speak, and he takes his phone out, moving around me silently. I can feel his presence and every cell in my body is begging him to touch me. When his fingers finally brush along the open front, sliding down the curve of my breast, a bolt of heat shoots through me and I gasp. He touches lightly, teasingly, leaning down to trace those places with the tip of his tongue. Goosebumps track in his wake and I shiver under the warmth of his exploring mouth. When his teeth scrape my nipple, I moan and he lets out one of his own as he bites. He whispers against me, breath caressing my skin as his hands slide lower.

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