Page 26 of The Love Bandits

Sitting here in a backlit case, the switch will be as obvious as if I’d swapped a real duck with a rubber ducky.

Frustration burns a hole in my gut. This isherfault. Elaine’s. If she hadn’t nabbed my good replica, I’d be golden. I could have replaced the necklace, flipped the breaker back on, and pretended I’d lost my way back from the bathroom in the dark.

The fake-as-shit replacement might have worked if the necklace had been hidden somewhere else within the estate, where it wouldn’t be seen immediately. But now…

How do I pull this shit off without them immediately knowing that I, out of all the guests, was the one who did it?

I’m still chewing on that little chestnut when soft footfalls announce a new entry into the room. Then a woman clears her voice and announces, “The petting zoo is open. Please form a line by the door, and I’ll see you to it.”

That voice is smooth and familiar, and it feels like someone just strummed a chord inside of me…

I turn around and drop the brochure Anthony gave me, because it’s her. It’s the woman who fucked me over, and she’s wearing a uniform that looks like it came from the Red Lobster catalog.

She works here.

CHAPTER TEN

LAINEY

When I was outside, a goat pooped on my foot, a chicken pecked my leg as if it were covered in seeds, and a donkey snapped its teeth in my general direction. But none of those things threw me much. I mean, of courseMrs. Rosings picked a shitty petting zoo to set up shop for the party. This, though…

The man I stole from is standing directly across from me in Mrs. Rosings’s sitting room, standing next to Anthony as if they’re best buds. Wearing a black suit as easily as he did jeans and a T-shirt, although his wavy, curly adjacent hair is as messy as it was the other night.

My first reaction is a hot, needy feeling, because damn, can this man fill out a suit. It’s cut perfectly to his body—or maybe it’s his body that’s the true star of the show.

My second?

Fuckkkkk.

Yesterday afternoon, Cleo admitted the necklace had been Jake’s all along. He’d brought her home from a bar, and she’d seen it laid out on his dresser.

So he’s not a cheater. Not a thief. Just a guy with a suspiciously good fake necklace and bad taste in women.

On the one hand that’s good news: I hated myself for being turned on by a dirty cheater. On the other…well, I’ll have to figure out a way to return the necklace—ideally one that wouldn’t end with me getting arrested.

But now he’s here palling around with Anthony…

Is it possible he bought that replica necklaceforMrs. Rosings’s son? Maybe it was supposed to be a gift for Nina since she won’t get the real deal unless she plucks it off Mrs. Rosings’s cold, dead neck?

It’s also possible Anthony wants to pass it off as the real deal to Nina…or steal the real deal and swap it out with the convincing fake.

My brain feels like an overbaked pretzel.

From the intense way Jake’s staring at me, he definitely recognizes me. His sour expression suggests he hasn’t forgiven me for kissing him, grinding against his dick, and then stealing his necklace.

Or maybe it’s the menses tea he resents me for.

Is he going to make a scene? I’m not worried he’ll ruin Anthony and Nina’s big party, because Mrs. Rosings and I already saw to that, but he could cause serious trouble for me.

“Lainey,” a familiar voice says from beside me, and I turn to see Rosie, dressed in the same hideous outfit as me. “Are you checking out that guy?” she asks with a grin. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“No,” I say tightly, watching as the various nicely dressed people gather at the door to visit a petting zoo full of animal shit and animals with an attitude problem. “But I wantyouto keep an eye on him. And Anthony and Nina.”

She grins, a twinkle lighting up her eyes. “Abso-fucking-lutely.” She’s not whispering, not really, and a couple of the guests give her pearl-clutching looks. “Claire told me everything.This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in Marshall since the trash guy came on the wrong day that one week.”

I have to laugh, even though my nerves are prickling, the short hairs at the nape of my neck standing on end. “Marshall’s not doing it for you?”

She sighs and jostles her tray, nearly upending the punch glasses filled with what smells like High-C and vodka. Knowing Mrs. Rosings’s devotion to the bit, it probably is. “I have to move out, man. Living with my brother and Claire is…” She makes a face. “I’m really happy for them and all, but it’s like living with two people on their honeymoon. The sounds they made last night were unreal. I had to bang on the wall.”

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