Page 27 of The Love Bandits

Laughter bursts out of me. “Go, Claire. Why don’t you come stay with me?”

My eyes find Jake again. He’s watching me, his gaze hard, and when our eyes meet, he very deliberately joins the back of the line. Something tells me it’s not because he has a burning desire to check out the petting zoo.

“No offense,” Rosie says, “but you’re still too close. I think I’ll find a place with some other girls in Asheville.”

I nod, barely listening to her now. My gaze is on Jake, and the look he’s giving me leaves little doubt that we’re about to have a conversation. He’s decided not to carry on that conversation in front of everyone, which is good news, but I suspect it won’t be pleasant.

Anthony doesn’t join the line, not that I’m surprised. He’s here, but he’s not pleased to be. He’s not the only one. I saw Nina outside just now, hiding out by the side of the house with a cigarette. Shaking her head every five seconds.

In my peripheral vision, I see Rosie smirking at me. “I’m going to have questions about this later, you know. Probably a lot of them.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

I walk away from Rosie to spread the good word about the petting zoo to the guests who might not have heard me in the cavernous room. Or were trying to politely ignore me. I’m guessing that was most of them because no one seems particularly happy to see me coming, and one woman makes for the door, grabs a glass of champagne from Rosie, and downs it on her way out of the room to parts unknown.

“Aren’t you going to join your friend, darling?” I hear Mrs. Rosings ask Anthony, who’s standing by the fireplace, looking up at the urns as he sips from his cup. It hits me that it must have been strange for him, growing up beneath the shadow of his father’s urn.

I pause in rounding up the stragglers. I have to wonder what Adrien Smith was like…what any of Mrs. Rosings’s husbands were like. She’s such a strong, independent woman, it’s hard to imagine her tied to anyoneuntil death do us part.The people in this town have taken to calling her the black widow, because she’s been celestially parted with three of her husbands. Of course, it goes without saying that the people who say that are dicks.

“No thanks,” Anthony says. “I’d rather stand here by myself and slowly get drunk. But it looks like you’ve convinced plenty of other people to go along with your plan.”

Mrs. Rosings smiles as if she’s won something. She’s always trying to entice some sort of reaction out of Anthony. She’s like one of those kids who doesn’t care if it’s good attention or bad so long as its hers.

“Emma’s not coming to the party, I take it?” he asks flatly.

“She told me maybe.”

He laughs humorlessly and tightens his hand around his drink. “Which we both know means no.”

His mother sniffs. “She’s exactly the sort of person who will show up the moment people start making assumptions.”

“You mean she’s exactly like you,” he says, his tone making it perfectly obvious he doesn’t mean it as a compliment to either of them.

This is interesting. I’d either love or hate to meet a mini Mrs. Rosings, but—

Mrs. Rosings gives me a significant look and nods toward the line of people at the door. The guests seem to be getting impatient, shifting their weight from foot to foot and murmuring to each other like kids waiting to leave for a school field trip.

Duly noted.

I head to the door before turning around and facing the group. “Let’s go, friends. An animal adventure awaits you.” It’s a mark of skill that I manage to say it with a straight face.

I start to lead the circuitous way to the front door, deeply aware of the group following me. Especially aware of one person. I glance over my shoulder, not surprised to see Jake has made his way toward the front of the group.

He’s conducting small talk with one of Mrs. Rosings’s relatives, but I can feel his eyes burning into me. I turn back around, but I’m still aware of him in a primal way, from the short hairs along the slope of my neck to the tips of my toes. I can picture him in that suit, his fox on fire tattoo completely hidden by a button-down shirt and jacket. ButIknow it’s there. I can feel him. It’s as if a hot, stalking predator is breathing down my neck, and a strong hand might at any point wrap around my hip and pull me back against him, pinning me to him, and—

There is something deeply wrong with you, Lainey. This man is a therapist. The most he’d do is talk you to death.

Mrs. Rosings falls into step beside me, perfectly unaware that the man who’s several feet behind us wants to rip my world apart. She’s silent as we leave the house, pausing only to give Nina, still stationed in front of the shrubberies with a cigarette, such a scathing look it should burn her.

Could I have warned Nina that we were about to come past her?

Obviously, but she really seemed to need that cigarette.

Finally, we circle the last side of the mammoth house and reach the playpen set up in the backyard, overseen by a woman with wild white and blonde hair and a cane. “Ah, they’re here!” she says, presumably to the animals. The goat who pooped on my shoe earlier, requiring an extensive clean-up operation in the bathroom, lifts its head hopefully.

Mrs. Rosings leans in toward me and says, “A word, Elaine.”

Then she turns to face the guests, giving them an enigmatic smile. “We have half an hour to enjoy the petting zoo. Please try to contain your excitement. I’m told the donkey bites.”

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