Picture this: A yacht.
It sounds like, well, an impossible dream at this point.
Below, read an excerpt from the engrossing first chapter before the book hits shelves on June 30.
Credit: Grand Central Publishing
How liberating to be able to move about the world so easily, without the inconveniences of mass transportation.
Yeah, I could get used to that.
I’m reminded of when I was first introduced to caviar at a swanky dinner party many years ago.
“It’s easy not to crave caviar if you haven’t tasted it,” he said.
I suppose the trappings of wealth that seem indulgent at first soon become necessities.
Nor will I be turning down any bread, cheese, butter, chocolate, or gelato.
I rip my eyes away from the spectacle on the runway to rummage through my bag one last time.
S–t.
“What is it?”
my sister asks as I dump the contents of my purse into my lap.
“My watch,” I moan.
“I swear I had it this morning, and now I can’t find it.”
“Do you really need a watch on a yacht trip to the Riviera?”
“Just help me find it,” I beg.
She tucks a wisp of blond hair behind her ear and paws through the junk in the center console.
Not that she needed itmy little sis spent even more time in the college library than I did.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Got it.”
“You’re kinda wired this morning.
You have too much coffee?”
I fasten the watch on my wrist.
“I guess I’m just a little nervous about this trip,” I confess.
“I’m not totally sure why I’m still invited.
I’ve hardly seen Summer recently.”
“But you guys have been BFFs forever,” she says, surprised.
“Didn’t she just give you that ridiculously expensive bag a few weeks ago?”
I nod, fingering the red-and-green stripe down the middle.
It’s the most expensive bag I’ve ever owned, and despite myself, I love it.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Thanks for letting me borrow your car,” she says with a smile.
And hey don’t come back with a boyfriend twice your age."
“Haha,” I return.
“I’m not Summer.”
She gives me a wry smile.
“I’ve never understood what you see in her.
“Okay, now get out of here before anybody sees me with this beater.”
I slap the roof of the car for emphasis.
I jerk my hand away from the blazing-hot metal.
“Keep me posted!”
She blows me a kiss.
“Give Grannie my love!”
I shout after her.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“New security measures.
Check back shortly.”
The fabric is too thick for this weather, the bodice too tight.
At least I have the purse.
Shimmering waves of heat rise from the tarmac, distorting the horizon.
Past the line of jets, a yellow twin-engine Cessna takes off.
Helicopters come and go from a couple of helipads in the distance.
I wonder if that woman is happy.
She surely must becomfortable.
Certainly more comfortable than I am, melting here in my stupid dress.
What if lovedoesn’tconquer all and moneycanin fact solve all your problems?
Summer’s clearly placed all her chips on that bet.
Excerpted fromThe Lion’s Den, by Katherine St. John.
Copyright 2020 by Katherine St. John, Inc. Reprinted with permission of Grand Central Publishing.
