26. Cat

The Plaza tourwas followed by a pit stop for a warm bagel smothered in chive and onion cream cheese—for me, since Noah still wasn't hungry—and yes, it lived up to the hype. I bought extra bagels to take to Otto.

By the time we reach Noah's apartment, we have about thirty minutes to get dressed before we need to leave for the party. I put on the blush pink midi dress I got for a wedding earlier in the summer. It runs high in the front, sweeping across my collarbones and dipping in a V in the back, but the best part is how it fans out when I spin. The curls I put in my hair this morning have fallen, but they're like gentle waves now, which is okay. I pin back one side and look at my face from every angle to make sure I'm satisfied. This is when I need Holland to work her magic and give me a great hairstyle in under three minutes, but she's a little far.

At least I had thought to toss mascara in my purse, because the New York heat melted my face off today, and I need a little pep.

Noah hasn't come out of his room yet, so I take a minute to examine his apartment. It looks like a man's home, for sure. The camel-colored leather sofas sit on a navy rug surrounded by dark wood floors and a charcoal-colored statement wall. The TV is enormous, of course, and everything looks specifically chosen to give the feeling of a comfortable, calm place to relax. All blue and brown and dark wood and bright light. The windows are open, proving that we are way too high in the air right now.

I cross the room to check out the bookcases flanking the TV when Noah steps from his bedroom. "You ready?" he asks.

I glance back and almost run straight into the wall. Um, hello GQ, have you met Noah? He's in blue trousers, brown shoes, and a crisp white shirt open at the collar—effortless and cool. Nothing about him looks casual, but at the same time, he's so relaxed I would imagine he's just heading out to dinner with a friend. A super expensive fancy dinner on the Upper East Side, but still just dinner.

"Am I overdressed?" I squeak.

"No." His eyes run over me, making my muscles clench. "You look perfect."

I lift a bare foot and wiggle my toes. "Perfect, huh? Now I know you would say that regardless of what I put on."

His smile looks?.?.?. different. It's soft, like melty chocolate left in a sunny window. I'm trapped in it. My body screams to step forward, closer to him, but my head bleats a warning cry.

Don't even go there, Cat. The last time I dated a wealthy guy, he dropped me the moment I wasn't convenient anymore. That's all I was to Jake back in high school—his island girl. Someone he didn't need anymore once he reached Yale. I'm Noah's island PA, and I would consider myself Noah's island friend now, too, but I will never be his island girl. My heart deserves better than that.

A nomad with three homes (that I know of) and offices in two different states and no permanent house on the island—his family home doesn't count—isn't going to stick around for a relationship. He's not looking for that.

So I break the stare, despite how much I want to fall into it instead, and move toward the couch to slip on my heels and fasten the thin strap at my ankle. "I'm ready when you are."

The Apollo Loungeis the bougiest club I've ever seen. It's tucked beneath a fancy hotel, down a secret side entrance. The room is long and narrow with orange-toned dim lighting. The wood-paneled, barrel-vaulted ceiling is lined with chic Edison bulb fixtures. A long copper bar runs along one side of the room and a continuous leather bench dotted with velvet pillows lines the other. There are groups of square velvet benches and leather chairs. The place screams luxury and so do the people filling it. My blush pink dress and white heels suddenly feel too light and airy for this sultry bar. I should have worn black.

Which is only further proved when we move deeper inside. All I see are dark sheath dresses and chic skintight numbers that probably cost more than I make in a year. They all blend into the atmosphere; even Noah in his navy pants and crisp white shirt fit in seamlessly. I stand out like a fur coat on the beach. In July.

Noah is tense. He holds himself straight, like his abs are contracted, his movements stiff. I can't tell if it's the light or something else, but his mouth is tight, his skin kind of pale.

It's probably just the lighting.

"You okay?" I ask quietly.

His eyes scan the crowd. "Just looking for my parents and hoping they aren't near each other."

Right. Because he has difficulty with conflict. My clothing choices don't even matter anymore. All I want is to protect him.

"Cat," Bree says, approaching us with her eyes bright and round. "We need to talk."

"Um, hey sis." Noah blocks Bree from dragging me away. "You aren't taking her into a den of wolves without me."

Bree rolls her eyes. "Then follow us." She slides her arm around mine and pulls me toward a group of sofas that aren't occupied yet.

"Your family parties aren't small," I say. There are so many people here. Despite watching episodes of The Belacourts, I don't recognize most of them.

"Not usually," she agrees, plopping down on a sofa and bringing me with her. It's a deep russet velvet that is just as silky as it looks.

Noah sits on my other side, kitty corner to me. "What's wrong, Bree?"

"Nothing." She tucks her chin, looking at me. "I took your advice."

Oh, crap. What was my advice again? There was something about Taylor Swift and taking charge. Was that really only yesterday? It feels like a week ago. "I didn't even know the situation," I start.

"You said the right thing. I'm guessing Noah told you?—"

"He didn't tell me anything."

Bree glances at her brother with suspicion.

"I didn't," he confirms.

She looks at me earnestly, then lowers her voice so she's not overheard. "I had an opportunity to be part of a country music duo, and they decided to go another direction. The manager called when we were at the beach to tell me, and he wasn't nice, to put it lightly. He said all these things about my voice that sent me into a spiral."

"How awful."

"Well, yes. Alonzo tried to convince me to try again. Said all these things about it only being one man's opinions. Anyway, rejection is hard."

"It is hard." I've had my fair share. From Olive when I was a young teen to being ghosted by Jake in college to various things since. It's never easy to be told that, essentially, you are not enough.

The truth is, all of those situations—Bree's included—have nothing to do with personal worth and everything to do with the other person. That can be hard to remember in the moment, though.

"So hard," she says, driving the point home. "Anyway, when we talked before I left Sunset Harbor, you said something that stuck with me and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

"It's been like a day," I say, laughing. Though I'll admit it feels much longer.

"I still haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I decided I don't need a manager. I have Alonzo, and he gives me great advice. I'm going to make an EP on my own and put it out myself. I don't need a middleman. I can afford to produce a professional track, so why should I allow anyone else to tell me if I'm good enough?"

I have no idea what an EP is, but I'm guessing it's some type of album. "That is really empowering, Bree."

She straightens, her smile bright. "Right? I feel so empowered."

"Do you have songs already?" I ask.

"Yeah. More than I need. Now I just have to narrow them down and find someone to produce them."

"And a marketing guy," Noah says, his business acumen kicking into high gear. "Might be worth using what connections you have to get into podcasts and radio shows? You'll have a lot of work to do to make up for not having a label, Bree."

"I know," she says. "I'm okay with that. I'm Swifting this."

There's a beat of silence before Noah says, "Like Taylor? She's not a verb."

Bree looks at me. "Yes, she definitely is."

"Noah," a woman says, her hands jangling with diamond tennis bracelets and golden bangles. She's wearing a charcoal-colored dress that shimmers in the light, and she doesn't have nearly enough wrinkles for what might be her age. It's hard to tell. "Introduce me to your friend, darling."

"Tootsie," he says warmly, rising to kiss her cheek. The aunt. "This is my friend, Cat."

I stand beside him. "Happy birthday," I tell her. "Thank you for letting me join."

"We're always eager to meet Noah's friends," she says, giving me a wide smile of perfect teeth. Her hair is so big I wonder if it got blown out in Texas. "Tell me about yourself."

"Oh, there's not much to tell." I give a little chuckle. "I've known the Belacourts for a long time."

"She grew up on the island with us."

Tootsie nods slowly, looking between us with a flicker of interest. She glances behind me and raises her hand. "Nancy, over here, darling."

Nancy Belacourt. Noah's mom. She steps around the crowd and comes to stand beside her sister, giving me a long, slow once over. She's wearing a violet sheath dress and extremely tall heels. Her makeup is flawless and her mouth flat. "Hello."

"Mom," Noah says, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. "You know Catalina Keene."

She doesn't show a flicker of recognition, despite the fact that I've been cleaning her house for a few years now.

"Her uncle is Otto Keene," he continues.

"Who runs the BB," she says, connecting the dots. "In Florida."

Can she not say Sunset Harbor or the island? Florida sounds so distant with her edge of distaste. I paste on a smile. "Yes. Otto's been running the BB for thirty years."

"Not alone though, I think." Nancy screws her eyebrows together. "There was another couple before. Died in a tragic accident."

"My parents." I try to sound nonchalant but fail. It comes out like a raisin in a bowl of chocolate chips. I'm supposed to be keeping things not stressful for Noah, though, so it's time to alter the course of the conversation. "This lounge is incredible."

"Thank you," Tootsie says. "I've always liked to pretend I'm sneaking down here for an illegal drink in the twenties."

"You should have said," Nancy says. "You know how much I love a good theme."

"And how much Tom hates them."

Nancy tips her glass against her mouth. "Well, that goes without saying."

"Speaking of Dad," Noah says, "is he here?"

Nancy throws back the rest of her drink and looks away, frowning.

"Not yet," Tootsie says. "Go on and get this girl a drink." She leans in and lowers her voice. "I'll take care of your mother."

She shoos us away, so Noah slides a hand behind my back, his fingers on my bare skin, and directs me to the bar.

He leans against the counter, waiting for a bartender, and I climb onto a stool. We're almost eye to eye now. I smile at him. "You're doing great so far. I'm starting to think you didn't need me at all."

"I need you." His gaze is hot on my face.

I look away.

"What are you drinking tonight?" he asks.

"Club soda with lime. It's my go-to. At least while the night is young. You?"

"Probably ginger ale."

"Hard drinker."

"Tonight I'm just trying not to puke," he mutters. "My stomach is in knots."

"Are you that nervous?" I reach for his arm, tugging until he steps a little closer. His face is still looking tight and pale, but again, I don't know if that's just the lighting. "What can I do?"

"You're doing it," he whispers.

"I'm literally just sitting here."

"You're here. You're with me." His eyes are so hard I can't look away. "Trust me. You're doing it."

"Okay." I need you.

The bartender approaches so Noah orders our drinks.

"Noah!" a guy calls, forcing him to turn around.

Noah lights up. "I didn't think you'd make it."

I get a good look at the guy and nearly fall off my stool. Here in the flesh is one of the biggest Hollywood stars in America. He's British, naturally, with a super smooth, deep accent and a million-dollar smile. Dash Malone. Olive's boyfriend.

Of course, Olive is standing right beside him.

All of a sudden, my club soda with lime is looking extra interesting.

"Cat," she says, coming right up to me. Is this a calculated play because she doesn't think I'll be rude and ignore her in front of her ultra famous boyfriend or the rest of Noah's family?

She's right, but that's not why I give her my full attention. I do that because of Noah and my strong desire not to heap more trouble on his plate. If he can't stand conflict, then I'll do my best to be as conflict-free as possible. Even if I have to fake it.

"Olive," I say, trying to give her a smile. I probably look like I'm chewing on metal.

She looks at me for a beat. "Can we talk?"