P-town and the Rules of Writing About Famous Settings

In mid-June of 2009, my wife and I decided to vacation in one of the U.S.’s greatest lesbian mecca’s, Provincetown. While we would’ve loved to enjoy Women’s Week in October, and walk shoulder to shoulder with our sisters, two public school educators can’t just abandon their posts, fly across the country and drive literally to the tip of North America right before Halloween.

I was looking for inspiration, a great setting for my next romance, and both of us were just curious to see what all the fuss was about. It was indeed a wonderful vacation. We saw all the sites, stayed at a wonderful B&B, the Fairbanks Inn, that I recently learned has permanently closed, ate at the Lobster Pot, went out to Long’s Point, and enjoyed the eclectic shops.

I definitely had found my setting but writing about a place most of the readership knows is, well, very tricky. Descriptions have to be detailed and homage must be given when it’s deserved.

The entire experience helped me forge together my general rules about setting:

1. Don’t over-describe: I’d taken pages of notes and at least a few hundred pictures, determined to get it right. I soon realized less was more, especially for those who had traipsed down the cobblestone sidewalks. Their imaginations filled in all the gaps.

2. Never have something bad happen at a real place: This probably goes without saying, although, as a reader, I have raised my eyebrows a few times at the daring of certain authors, wondering if they found themselves on the other end of a lawsuit because something gruesome had occurred in a true locale.

3. Do include much local color: This might sound like a contradiction to #1, but whereas little descriptive details can become tiring for some readers, local color is the flavor of the place, the combination of people, places, and events that truly plant the reader in the setting. Local color immediately engages our senses—the image of a favorite hangout, the taste of our favorite pizza, the loud train whistle that happens daily—you get it. I tried to do this in many scenes, including some of our favorite shops throughout P-town.

Over the years, readers have consistently told me that what they like about Petra’s Canvas are three things: the abundance of chocolate (both main characters are chocolatiers), the description of “Petra’s Canvas,” and P-town. Perhaps it’s also important to mention that P-town, like so many places since 2009, has undergone significant changes, weathered tough financial times, and now, survived the pandemic. For some, reading this book will be a step back in time.

Chapter Two

After a quick scolding from Ray about her tardiness, Dani found Romeo her favorite Plaza bartender. He handed her a martini and she made the rounds playing the part of the gracious hostess and the proud mother of the groom. She worried for a moment about what she would say if people asked what she thought of Cassidy but fortunately everyone, particularly those old enough to have marriageable children, worded their comments as statements not questions.

“Cassidy’s such a lovely girl.”

“Cassidy and Liam seem quite happy.”

“It was a beautiful ceremony.”

It certainly was. The insane price tag could’ve fed a country in Africa for a year. She’d already decided that to appease her humanitarian guilt she’d donate one hundred thousand dollars to a charity as a way to offset her daughter-in-law’s hedonistic tendencies. I can’t wait for Cassidy’s Christmas list. I’ll bet the luxury car catalogs will soon litter their apartment.

The slew of round tables that dotted the ballroom was a racetrack and she navigated each turn making pit stops with influential colleagues and closely related family members. She posed for pictures, gave endless hugs that saturated her with ten different perfumes and pretended to listen attentively as two of Liam’s former schoolmates vehemently shared their concerns in whispered tones. It shouldn’t have surprised her that his fellow Harvard classmates were so perceptive or they just recognized that a shotgun wedding to a stripper was a bad idea. Halfway across the room Romeo found her and replaced her empty martini glass.

By the time she was close to the finish line—a seat next to Uncle Jimmy—she’d made a lunch date with an old friend, secured a meeting with a lucrative distributor and gained a pleasant buzz that would ensure her smile remained plastered on her face. Romeo was indeed the best bartender in the world, lacing her martini with extra gin.

She found Jimmy at a table near the back. All of the chairs were vacant and she slid next to him certain that no one would join them. Jimmy was facing the wall but he was engaged in a rambling conversation with her dead father, his brother and business partner for forty years.

She pushed her chair closer to discern his mutterings over the live band and the wedding chatter. He smelled of Old Spice, the only aftershave he’d ever worn, but his liver spots, wrinkles and disappearing hair revealed his age. He was barely hanging on at eighty-seven. She often visited him at his care center to listen to his stories and his piecemeal version of the past, gleaning tidbits of advice that periodically dislodged themselves from the vice grip of Alzheimer’s.

“Can’t make the deadline… need more time in development… Traynor’s an asshole… never’ll make the shipment.”

He was talking about the sixties and the seventies. She’d learned everything she could about the O’Grady employees and Traynor was one of the vice-presidents her father had hired and Jimmy later fired. She sipped her martini and listened as his babbling turned to reminiscences of his life—his and Dempsey’s mother who’d made the original candy, including Curly Q’s, Sour Puckerz and Choco Delite.

“Gotta talk her into it, Dempsey. She’s the future,” he muttered and Dani smiled. She’d heard this conversation a hundred times. “It doesn’t matter that she got an English degree. Dani’s bright and we need to send her to Wharton. She’s gotta take over someday. And now that you’ve got the cancer…”

He choked up at that moment as he always did and she tapped him on the shoulder until he came back to the world.

“It’s okay, Uncle Jimmy,” she said, suddenly missing her father terribly.

Applause filled the room as Cassidy and Liam made their entrance with Cat following behind snapping pictures.

Her gaze found Harry and when he noticed she was alone with Uncle Jimmy, he disconnected himself from his date’s arm and joined her at the table.

“Hiding?”

She looked offended. “Of course not. Someone needs to keep Uncle Jimmy company and it certainly won’t be his good-for-nothing children,” she added, throwing a glance at the table full of his offspring, their spouses and bratty kids. She’d bought them out years ago and kept the residual payments flowing into their bank accounts, thus ensuring they stayed far away from the business. It was an arrangement that suited everyone.

“What did you want to talk about?” she asked, finishing her fourth martini and motioning to Romeo, who acknowledged her in a second. I’d marry that man if I was straight.

Harry squeezed her arm and stared into her eyes. “I got some news yesterday that’s a little shocking.”

She chuckled. Once she hit forty very little surprised her. No topic was taboo and she was open to just about anything. Even Liam’s decision to marry Cassidy only threw her for a second. And now that the wedding was over she was working on an empathetic face for when he announced his inevitable divorce.

“Tell me.”

Harry set his face in first position like a car getting ready to shift. He always started a serious conversation with the same expression. “Well, I wouldn’t even mention it today except I know that you’ll eventually check your messages and she may have already called you.”

“Who?” she asked absently, noticing the hoots and shouts rising from the dance floor as Liam removed Cassidy’s garter with his teeth. She shook her head and looked back at Harry.

“You have a sister, well a half-sister,” he added.

She froze. “Excuse me?”

“You may recall that your father spent a lot of time working the Eastern seaboard gaining distributors.”

Uncle Jimmy swiveled his head. “Providence, Boston, Burlington, Augusta.”

“While he traveled around,” Harry continued, “he made dozens of trips to Provincetown.”

Uncle Jimmy laughed and his shoulders bobbed up and down. He was staring at them now as if he was part of the conversation, a huge smile on his face.

“Apparently there was a woman there. Her name was—”

“Cruz.”

They turned to Jimmy who seemed completely lucid.

“Cruz,” Harry confirmed.

“What was she like, Uncle Jimmy?” she asked.

“She was magne´tico,” he replied and turned back to the wall.

“Like a magnet,” she surmised. “Was she Spanish?”

“Portuguese,” Harry said. He reached into his jacket pocket for the tiny leather notepad he carried with him and put on his reading glasses. “Her name was Cruz Santos. Her family came from Portugal and landed in Provincetown where they were fishermen for decades. Eventually they bought a part of the pier and opened a restaurant. One night your father walked in and their affair lasted a few years. Apparently she learned she was pregnant right after they broke it off and she had a baby named Olivia. That’s your sister or half-sister, I guess.”

Her first thought was that it was a joke but she looked at Jimmy’s smiling face and knew it was true. She swirled her drink, remembering that Dempsey was an enigma and never around. He always worked and she went to boarding school after fifth grade. Their family survived because of the U.S. Postal Service. The fact that he had a second life shouldn’t surprise her.

“Did Mom know?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so. You know how she was, Dani. Your mother was a distant woman. She wanted the money, the house and the social circle but she never really wanted Dempsey. That’s the truth.” He waved a hand. “I don’t want to get into the particulars right now. This is Liam’s day. I just wanted you to know.”

“Did you know?” She shot him a sharp glance that demanded honesty.

“No.” He pointed a thumb at Jimmy. “I think he’s the only one who did.”

“Cruz. Cruz,” Jimmy twittered. “Let’s go down to the Seafarer, Jimmy. I’m feelin’ like some chowder.”

She imagined that was the name of the restaurant and her father often felt like something. Her mind went into business mode and all of the ramifications. There was too much to process and her brain cells were numb from the alcohol.

Ray hurried over. “Get up here. It’s time to cut the cake and for you to appropriately beam at your son and new daughter-in-law, no matter how much of a slut she really is.” She grinned at Ray whose expression remained deadpan until Ray turned toward Harry and frowned. “Today is not about business. Am I clear?”

Dani ignored her and asked Harry, “What does Olivia want?”

“I don’t know. I’m guessing money but she didn’t say on the phone. She just wants to meet you.”

Ray pulled her from the chair and she said, “I’ll call you on Monday,” dismissing the problem as business.

And that’s what it was. Olivia wanted money from the company and Dani had no intention of thinking about finances today. Today’s about drinking. She grabbed another martini as they passed the bar and joined her son by the cake. Cassidy’s sister was making a toast, the content and vocabulary of which could’ve been written by a first-grader. Between the giggles and the tears she managed to convey her heart-felt message of love for her big sister who’d taught her so much. Like how much grease to put on the pole?

Once the reception rituals were completed—cake, toasts and the first dance, she stepped outside to the patio. She hated receptions almost as much as the ceremony. And why was that? She liked cake. She enjoyed dancing with Liam. But the other stuff was so hetero—throwing the bouquet and that whole garter thing was just macho man. Too much ritual, that’s it.

Couples passed by giggling from the booze she’d paid for, and she leaned against the railing and stared up at the sky. She couldn’t believe she had a sibling. Throughout her life she had often bemoaned the lack of a sister or a brother but after eavesdropping on a conversation between her parents when she was ten, she knew she’d be an only child. Her mother Margaret insisted that she’d done her wifely duties and produced an heir. She told Dempsey she was done with breeding. It would ruin her figure. At that moment Dani realized how cold and vain her mother really was. No wonder he had sought solace from another woman.

She was almost jealous of him. He’d found love from another source but Dani had felt alone through her childhood. While most of the other wealthy mothers on the upper west side employed nannies to raise their children, Margaret O’Grady wouldn’t stand for it. Dani’s third therapist had convinced her that her mother couldn’t bear being compared to someone else and Margaret had decided that Dani’s subsequent isolation from the world was a small price to pay for her pride. So she’d spent the first six years of her life friendless until she went to school, which proved disastrous. With no social skills she was again isolated until she went to boarding school four years later and escaped her mother’s bizarre world.

She drained her martini glass, imagining she was her mother at one of their fancy parties. Margaret had lived for all the frivolity of wealth like expensive wedding receptions, beautiful gowns and a handsome husband. Dani had never been interested in any of those things and when her mother suddenly dropped dead from a heart attack just before her eighteenth birthday, it had been surprising and shocking but her pain floated to the surface and never submerged. And according to therapist number two that was a linchpin issue for her, one they never explored since she fired her after the sixth session.

The full moon illuminated the rich green lawn surrounding the hotel. Cigarette smoke wafted through the air and she noticed a dark figure and a burning ember in the corner. She could tell from the outline it was a woman—Cat. She was staring in her direction but Cat said nothing and didn’t acknowledge her. She felt incredibly vulnerable standing in the moonlight while Cat hovered in the shadows. She had to know she was there. The patio was empty except for them and a drunken couple making out on the steps. She watched the ember burst each time Cat took a drag. Realizing it was a battle of wills that she wanted to lose, she joined her in the darkness.

“Why are you standing over here? The moonlight’s gorgeous tonight.”

“I can see it,” Cat replied in a voice that floated away into the night. “And I don’t have to share it with anyone except you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She passed the cigarette to her and she inhaled deeply. I could get used to this again.

“There’s an old legend about gazing at the moon. If too many people stare at her she becomes self-conscious and that’s why she changes. It’s an old explanation for the rotations of the earth. Legend says that if you stole a glance at the moon or hid in the darkness, the moon wouldn’t notice and would stay full forever.”

“I’ve never heard that,” she said.

Cat molded herself against Dani’s back and stroked her hair, pulling it to the side and revealing her neck. When her soft lips touched the exposed flesh, Dani closed her eyes and the imprint of the moon was a curtain dividing her practical, sensible self from the one she hardly knew, the persona that only Petra had seen—a darkness that glimmered whenever they made love.

Cat’s touches grew more brazen without her reproof and she pushed her against the stone wall into submission. She fell deeper into the unknown and felt no desire to scurry back to the safe side of the curtain.

Cat kissed the slope of her breast once again, caressing the angular heart-shaped tattoo, broken in half, as apparently Petra’s love had been. Dani was too involved in her work to recognize her growing detachment and what little she noticed she dismissed as Petra’s quirky artistic nature. It was my fault. If I’d paid more attention to what was happening, I might’ve kept her.

“I’m really horny,” Cat whispered. “I want you naked and I want to see the rest of them.”

She rolled her eyes at the trite line but Cat was determined to have her way. She unzipped her dress and unfastened her bra before Dani could stop her.

“Wait!” she hissed, pulling away and stepping behind a large potted plant. “We’re in public.” She re-hooked her bra but couldn’t reach the zipper. “Help, please.”

She turned, offering her back to the moonlight and Cat gasped. She’d heard that sound many times before from shocked lovers and even a salesclerk who’d accidentally opened the dressing room door when she was half-naked. She carried Petra’s favorite work on her back titled At the Edge, a highly detailed and complicated piece featuring two naked women cradling each other during lovemaking. Their expressions were riveting and Petra had told her she’d copied their faces when they made love. Dani had been so flattered by the compliment she’d readily agreed to endure days of agony on her stomach while Petra etched the ink into her skin.

When Cat made no effort to zip her dress she knew she was studying the amazing design. Eventually she heard the click of her shoes and felt the dress tighten around her, covering Petra’s masterpiece again.

Cat rested her chin on her shoulder and circled her middle. “You’re a goddess. Your body is a temple.”

She chuckled slightly. “If you ask to worship at me, I’m going to puke.”

“Too much a hackneyed cliché?”

“Slightly.”

Cat took her hand and led her through the shadows that surrounded the enormous patio and down the side stairs where the limos waited in semi-circle formation to shuttle the wedding party back to their homes.

“Which one’s yours?”

She saw Ernest’s unique silhouette leaning against the shiny black stretch limo, his wide frame hunkered over the soft glow of his cell phone. He was doing what he always did while he waited for her—texting his girlfriend who worked nights as a health aide.

She pointed toward him and Cat said, “That’s perfect for what I want.”

“Are you ready to go, Miss O’Grady?” he asked, snapping his phone shut and reaching for the door.

She knew she should go back inside and at least hug her son and new daughter-in-law but they were probably out on the dance floor with all of the younger, serious partiers. Much of the older crowd had left after the cake was devoured and only the diehards remained doing the Macarena and Electric Slide. They wouldn’t notice she’d gone until much later, but then Liam would be hurt, certain that her abrupt departure was a symbol of her dislike for Cassidy. Damn that kid. He’s always psychoanalyzing everything and he’s usually right when it comes to me.

Cat sensed her hesitation and rubbed her back. “Why don’t you send him a text? Tell him that you’re exhausted and you’ll call him tomorrow.”

“That’s a terrible excuse,” she said already reaching for her phone.

“Or you could tell him that you’re hooking up with the photographer for hot sex.”

She ignored her and sent a message that simply said I had to go. Love you. I’ll explain later, Mom. He’d think it was work.

They climbed into the limo and directed Ernest to circle the park a few times. Cat wasted no time unzipping her dress again and unclasping her bra but when Dani reached for her shirt, she pushed her hand away.

“No, you first. I’ll catch up later.”

She disagreed. “That doesn’t work for me. We either enjoy this together or it doesn’t happen.”

Cat looked alarmed but she meant it. Too often she’d paraded around the house naked or nearly naked while Petra remained clothed. She’d claimed her body was inspirational to her work but it was always Dani who felt vulnerable and powerless. Their relationship was an unbalanced scale where everything worked in Petra’s favor, according to therapist number seven. Such a situation would never happen in her business, a fact all of her therapists had thrown in her face. She was a gamesman and while she prided herself on fairness, she could be ruthless when necessary.

Cat conceded the point and stripped off her clothing. She stretched across the seat flexing her muscles so Dani could study her toned body. That’s the body I used to have ten years ago. That’s what Petra saw when she fell in love with me.

“Happy?” she asked seductively.

They both heard her phone vibrating again.

“Don’t answer it,” Cat said sharply.

“It could be work,” she said, reaching into her purse. She saw the text from the hookup who was quickly moving to stalker status and groaned.

“What is it?” Cat asked, moving against her.

C’mon, baby, light my fire stared at them from the screen.

“Who the hell is that?”

“A woman I met last week who won’t leave me alone.”

Cat grabbed the phone and expertly tapped the keys. “Let me help you. I know how to make people go away.” She showed her the text before she hit send. Stop texting my girlfriend, you fucking bitch! “That ought to work.” She handed the phone back and resumed an erotic pose against the seat. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. It’s your turn to strip.”

Dani suddenly felt incredibly inferior. But Cat had agreed to her terms and she was a woman of her word.

Discarding her clothing was like unveiling paintings and Cat gasped at each discovery. There were nine different pieces of various sizes and brilliant colors that had caused her proportional amounts of physical pain in the name of love. At least that’s what I thought. Each chronicled a time during her relationship with Petra and when she stood in front of a mirror, she relived the high and low points.

Cat caressed her right shoulder and Petra’s self-portrait, aptly titled Epiphany, which depicted the moment when Petra had realized she loved Dani. She’d captured her warm, vibrant eyes and Dani always smiled when she stared into the mirror for the key to Petra’s love had been her eyes. And I knew it was over when I looked in her eyes, too.

After Cat studied the tattoos on her front, Loose Heart and the Flowering, a blooming pink orchid that rode her panty line, and Clinging Vine, a gorgeous symmetrical study of nature that ran the length of her left calf and thigh, she gently turned her over and massaged her back. Dani knew from past experience that lovers were most impressed by The Cleansing and At the Edge, but her personal favorites were an abstract pieces of intense color—Kizmet—on her left shoulder and Birds of Freedom, a colorful symbolic design of two birds that adorned her left upper arm.

The most simplistic one was the first and Petra had never liked it, telling her it was merely to acquaint her with the feel of the needle. Using only black ink, she had created an Arabic design on her right upper arm of several swirling lines that reminded Dani of the sun, its rays stretching out like leaves. While it wasn’t nearly as complicated or as artistic as the others, she still stared at it the most because it was the first, and the memory of the needle touching her virgin flesh was imprinted on her mind. She’d thought of a cow being branded and the pain was unlike anything she’d experienced—except childbirth. And by the time Petra had covered it with a bandage and kissed her gently, she’d decided that Petra would lie to get whatever she wanted.

It had taken nearly two months of coaxing before she allowed Petra to mar her lily-white skin. They’d fought several times over the issue, Petra proclaiming her body would be beautiful with body art and Dani retorting that tattoos were for prisoners and bikers. Petra had stormed out of the condo, leaving her alone with a knot of anxiety in her stomach that grew to a large mass by the time she returned three days later. Dani had barely been able to breathe let alone work. She discovered how much she loved Petra and it was much deeper than the puncture of a tattoo needle.

When Petra had called and said she’d come over, she greeted her wearing only a short robe which she quickly discarded after a deep kiss. She motioned to the dining room table where she’d displayed Petra’s tools and planted herself in a straight back chair.

“This won’t hurt too much, will it?” she asked.

“No,” Petra had assured her as she prepared the machine.

That had been the lie. It had hurt like hell.

“You’re amazing,” Cat whispered in her ear, pulling her into a sitting position and kissing her fiercely.

Apparently the novelty of her body had worn off and Cat saw her as a woman, not a sideshow attraction. They kissed and fondled, the gentle vibrations of the traveling limo adding to the pleasure.

“Go down on me,” Cat said, leaning back. Her luscious center glistened and Dani teased her thighs until she rocked her hips begging for satisfaction. She savored the sweet juices she could never market since women were the tastiest candy of all.

When Cat came her whole body shook, dislodging Dani’s tongue and nearly breaking her jaw. It was probably her imagination but she thought her gyrations caused the limo to fishtail across Central Park West.

“Are you okay?” Cat panted. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She threw her head back and laughed. “It’s just that there’s nothing more satisfying than sex. Don’t you agree?”

She shifted her jaw back and forth without any pain. “Well, an exceptional French chocolate truffle comes close.”

Cat stroked her hair. “I’ve never had one. How is it that you can love candy so much and not weight three hundred pounds?” She gently pushed her over and stroked her back. “Your body is gorgeous.”

She closed her eyes and focused on Cat’s caress and the hum of the limo while she imagined skating across the ice at Rockefeller Center. She made one revolution and then another, pumping her legs and feet into a rhythm. She propelled herself ahead, picking up speed as the sharp blades tore through the glassy surface. The other skaters vanished like melted snow and she leaned forward in an arabesque, extending her left leg behind her. It was almost like flying.

She twisted to the left and gained momentum, smiling as her speed increased. She edged the ice harder, scissoring her legs and preparing for the leap. When she vaulted into the air for the double-axle—she moaned and came hard.

The vision disappeared immediately as it always did and she had no idea if she finished the difficult jump or fell flat on her ass. Her fifth therapist had suggested that the ice rink image occurred because she didn’t fully connect with her partner during lovemaking. She’d fired her at the end of that session for her inability to see past the obvious.

She huddled against Cat, whose fingers were still deep inside her causing a small earthquake with each slight movement. Eventually it was too much and she pulled away.

“Had enough?” she gloated, lighting another cigarette.

She could only offer a slight chuckle. I haven’t had an orgasm like that in years. Make a note. More sex in large moving automobiles. To hell with saving the environment.

Cat put the cigarette between Dani’s lips clearly determined to reintroduce her to nicotine. They shared the smoke and stared out the window at the tall buildings along Broadway. Ernest was obviously just driving around waiting for another instruction.

“I love New York,” Cat said.

“Me, too.”

Cat faced her. “What do you love the most? You’ve lived here your whole life so you must be an expert.”

She loved the city and everything about it but the best parts of New York were intangible. It was an energy that some people couldn’t stand. She’d worked with many customers who’d heard nightmarish tales of the Big Apple and when they came to visit they either fell in love with the raucous environment or demanded that she travel to them for any future business.

Cat nudged her shoulder. “Tell me,” she said sweetly.

“I can’t explain it. When I was little I thought the buildings could touch the clouds. They were so powerful and magnificent. And as I got older I felt safer being surrounded by so many people. I was never alone when I walked down the streets. And when I was home from boarding school I saw everything—theater, museums, Central Park.”

She looked at her and sighed. “It’s home.”

Cat seemed satisfied with her answer for she grew quiet and studied the vine along her leg, clearly marveling at the detail. Petra had been as good with a tattoo needle as she was with a paintbrush. The Clinging Vine had happened during their first trip together when Petra tagged along to Las Vegas while she conducted business.

She’d caught her half-naked with one of the hotel bartenders in the suite’s hot tub. She’d always tolerated the advances and flirtations of other women, somewhat proud that Petra was coveted by others. But she’d gone ballistic watching her fondle the woman’s large breasts in the foamy jets. She’d practically thrown the woman out of the suite, focusing on the flowing pictures that covered her arms and back.

“Is that what you like?” she asked. “Is that what you find attractive?”

“Yes,” Petra had answered easily, her hands caressing Dani’s arms and neck.

She had touched the single tattoo on her arm and knew she couldn’t compare to the buxom bartender. “What else do you want to do to me?”

Petra had seen a beautiful trellis that morning as she strolled along the hotel’s ground. She described the balloon vine, its creamy white flowers in full bloom and assured her it would look marvelous climbing her leg. Dani had acquiesced out of love or fear but she wasn’t sure which.

She’d lain still for three different sessions while burning needles seared her flesh. It was excruciating but the absolute joy that it brought Petra, who giggled while she worked, made the experience worth the pain. Only when it was over and Petra titled the art Clinging Vine, did she once again feel belittled and betrayed, recognizing she’d allowed her vulnerability to be displayed on her body.

When she vented her anger, Petra’s only response had been, “My love, it only represents you if you allow it to.”

The logic made sense and when so many coworkers and friends commented on its beauty, she stopped thinking about its origin and ignored Petra’s later indiscretions, always glancing at her leg when she needed a reminder of what she didn’t want to be.

“I’ll bet there’s a story to each of these,” Cat murmured and she wondered if she’d spoken her thoughts.She nodded and extended her leg for Cat to caress. “Yes, but they’re very personal."

Cat’s fingers traced the tendrils up and down her thigh. “I have a confession to make. Our meeting today isn’t coincidental. I pushed for this job the minute I found out it was your son’s wedding.”

“Why?” she shrugged, nonplussed. As a wealthy woman she was used to people stalking her for favors.

Cat nervously fidgeted on the bench, her sexy confidence entirely depleted. She lit the last cigarette and tossed the package into her purse.

“It’s just that we’re kinda related,” she blurted suddenly.

“What?”

“Not biologically,” she added quickly. “But the woman who’s like a mother to me is your half-sister, Olivia. It’s more like we’re connected by someone.”

Lying naked in a limo on her son’s wedding day, she wasn’t at the top of her game. It took her longer than usual to connect all of the day’s conversations. Harry had mentioned Cruz Santos, the woman from Provincetown who’d had an affair with her father. Olivia was the product of that relationship.

The mood shifted from pleasure to business in three seconds and she reached for her bra. It wasn’t uncommon for women to come on to her once they knew she had money but usually she could spot the gold diggers and she really appreciated the women who just said up front that they wanted a good meal, great drinks and hot sex. She’d misjudged Cat. Maybe I’m losing my touch.

“What are you doing here?”

“Are you furious?” Cat asked timidly.

She shook her head. “No, I’m not mad. I just wish you’d been honest about your intentions. If you’re here to get something for your godmother, or your pseudo-mother, or whatever you call her, I’d rather you talk to me not fuck me. I keep my personal and professional lives separate.”

She gestured for the cigarette. Her lungs weren’t used to such abuse but it felt good. She adjusted her dress and turned so Cat could zip her up and they could go back to the reception. Maybe Liam was still there.

Cat obliged but pulled her into a hug. “I didn’t plan to sleep with you. I was just going to meet you and see what you were like. I’m protective of Olivia and I don’t want her to get hurt. I know she’s been talking to your lawyer and wants to meet you.” The words tumbled from her mouth and then she paused. “And I’ve heard the story of Petra’s Canvas. It’s one of those legends that’s been passed around the art world but nobody knows who it is—”

“Thank God for small favors,” she sighed.

“Then I saw you in the dressing room. And when I saw that tattoo I knew who you were and I wanted you for myself.” Cat kissed the nape of her neck and her spine turned to jelly and her head lolled to the side. “I don’t want anything from you. Olivia’s talked about you forever and she’s always wanted to meet you but Cruz, that’s her mother, begged her not to contact you. She said you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t,” she murmured.

Thanks to Romeo the world’s greatest bartender, her brain had cannonballed into a vodka swimming pool and she refused to surface. Her coherency was drowning.

“Do you want to talk about this now?” Cat asked gently, already tugging at her zipper again. “I could tell you all about Olivia and what she wants.”

She scowled and leaned back as Cat cupped her breasts lovingly. She wouldn’t concern herself with the questions she should ask or the reasons she should grow indignant about Cat’s continued sexual advances. She didn’t protest as she nibbled her ear and once again stripped off her dress. Clad only in her bra, thong, nylons and garters, she watched Cat’s fingers outline Petra’s name above her panty line, which she had tastelessly included as part of the Flowering as revenge on Dani for her single affair.

“I fucked you because I wanted to fuck you. And I want to do it again and again.”

Her voice slowed and softened, lost against the city noise outside and the purring engine. The silky dark hair that smelled like oranges tickled Dani’s cheeks as she kissed her neck.

She sighed and pressed the intercom button. “Ernest?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I need you to make a stop, please.”

“Of course, Miss O’Grady. Where are we stoppin’?”

“At the first liquor store you see. I need two bottles of Stoli and a carton of Marlboros.”