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"Slow down, Kat." Annabelle's voice is the calm to my storm. "What's going on?"
“I’m going to tell them.” My hands ball into fists at my side. “Emrys was perfect last night. Perfect. But so was Wyatt. So was Wilder. They’ve got me all sorts of screwy up here.” I jab at the side of my head erratically. “I realized that I can’t choose. I actually like them all. I’ll just leave it up to them.”
"Sounds like a…plan. I guess?" Annabelle quips, her lips twitching with amusement.
"More like a headache," I shoot back, but my heart isn’t in it. Truth is, they each bring something unique and irresistible to the table, and I don’t think any woman in my position could come up with a better plan.
How do you choose between different shades of perfection?
"Kat," Annabelle grabs my shoulders, stopping me mid-pace. "Look, I can't tell you what to do, but you have to talk to them. Be honest about your feelings."
"Right, because telling three insanely competitive men that I want to date all of them simultaneously won't cause a war the likes of which this world has ever seen before," I say, sarcasm dripping from every word.
"Hey, you're the one who fell for them. Now you've gotta deal with the consequences," she says, letting go and giving me a playful shove.
"Thanks, that's super helpful," I reply dryly, but a smile tugs at my lips. Only Annabelle could make me feel better while calling me out on my own mess.
"Anytime, sis." She winks. "Now, go out there and tell those boys who's boss."
"Boss of her own heartbreak," I grumble, but the encouragement does its job.
I straighten up, flexing my french-tipped fingers, and try to shake off the nerves that are threatening to go supernova in my chest. Annabelle watches me with hawk-like intensity, her own hands poised like she's ready to catch me if I fall apart.
"Kat," she starts, her voice a soothing balm, "you've built an empire from scratch, saved countless animals, and climbed mountains–both literal and metaphorical. You're a force to be reckoned with."
I snort, but deep down, her words start to stitch together the tattered edges of my confidence. "An empire that apparently includes a harem of heartthrobs," I mumble under my breath.
"Exactly!" She exclaims as though I've just solved quantum physics. "You didn't let anyone tell you how to run your sanctuary. Why let them dictate your love life?"
"Because love isn't like business. There's no strategic plan for the heart." My eyes drift to the floor, a soft sigh escaping my lips.
"Maybe not," Annabelle counters, tilting my chin up to meet her gaze. "But there's honesty, Kat. And if there's one thing I know about you, it's that you never hide from the truth."
"Even when it’s more tangled than last year's Christmas lights?" I ask, half-joking.
"Especially then," she insists. "You’re Kathryn Motherfucking Sharpe. If they can't handle the storm that you are, they don’t deserve to bask in the sunshine."
"Annabelle, when did you get so poetic?" I tease, but her words resonate with me, lighting a spark that ignites into a blaze.
"Since you started forcing me to watch those cheesy romance movies," she admits with a shrug. "Now go, before I start quoting sonnets at you."
"God forbid," I chuckle, shaking my head with affection for my sister. She always knows just what to say to kick my butt into gear.
"Remember, you're a badass," she calls out as I stride toward the door, Aunt Sarah’s bewildered look barely registering in my peripheral vision.
"Badass," I whisper to myself, rolling the word around my mouth and letting it build like a battle cry. I square my shoulders, my heart thumping a rhythm of courage that drowns out the fear.
Stepping into the hallway, the luxurious carpet muffles my determined strides as I make it to the elevator up to my suite. The white fabric of the dress swishes softly against my thighs with every step, reminding me of the feeling of their hands in the exact same spots.
The elevator softly dings my arrival, but the suite seems empty, until I step in closer to where the bedroom is. Then I hear it.
The closer I get to the closed door, the more distinct the sounds become–a cacophony of male voices clashing in a way that has nothing to do with harmony. My pace slows, not out of hesitation, but to catch the ebb and flow of their argument. It sounds suspiciously like a heated debate over...me?
"Seriously?" I scoff quietly, shaking my head. My lips twist in annoyance as I press my ear to the cool wood, catching fragments of sentences spiked with possessive undertones.
"We should never have even started this ridiculous bet." Wyatt's voice cuts through, sharp as the crease in his perfectly tailored trousers I’m sure he’s wearing.
"Ah, I see. Someone feelin’ a little left behind, old man?" Wilder counters, his southern drawl wrapping around the insult like a lasso.
