Page 41 of Play the Game

The velvet is soft against my fingertips as I brush the edges, feeling for the crease.

My knees are weak, and I start to sweat.

Just holding something this important…and expensive…makes me feel like a criminal. The smallest seed of guilt plants itself into my chest, but I dig it up a moment later when I think of William behind bars for something he didn’t do.Never lose focus.It’s something my dad used to say, and if I try hard enough, I can hear his voice encouraging me.

This is for William and what’s left of our family. Besides, it’s not like I’m just some freeloader. I already have a full schedule planned, with dates and all, for posting on Emory’s social media, announcing our marriage and relationship going forward.

Sucking in a quick breath, I open the box and freeze.

I gape at the big, solitaire diamond and each tiny cluster that sits perfectly aligned on the thin gold band. My lips part at the breathtaking beauty of the ring. It’s simple and delicate, but with the size, it surely makes a statement.

I cannot wear this.

I spin and put my back to the living room. It feels like the furniture is watching my reaction, and I don’t like the way it’s making me feel.

The box snaps shut, and I run my fingers along the velvet again, only to open it up and stare again.

Wearing something this valuable feels wrong, given the way I grew up. Not to mention my debt and how much money I have to come up with to open William’s case again… It’s unethical.

“You should have seen the ring Ellie tried to get me to buy.”

I slam the box shut and turn quickly, slipping on the tiled floor. My back rams into the sharp edge of the counter, but I hide the bite of pain.

Emory’s lip twitches, but for once, he doesn’t insult me.

He walks farther into the kitchen, wearing dark-gray sweatpants and a black hoodie. He grabs my cup of coffee off the counter and drinks it in one gulp. My jaw slacks when he lifts the back of his hand and wipes the excess liquid from his mouth. “Thanks for the coffee.”

My lips slam shut, and my brow furrows.

Rude.

Emory rounds the counter and grabs a container out of the fridge then pops it into the microwave. I watch his every move and find myself wondering how someone so large can get around so gracefully. He makes the kitchen seem smaller, but I have an inkling that it has more to do with his ego than his body stature.

Without looking up from what he’s doing, he asks, “How was the couch?”

“Great,” I lie.

It takes everything in me to stand straight and not massage the knot in my neck.

Emory nods and stares at me in between heaping bites of eggs. My heart beats faster the longer he looks at me, and I hate that I can’t read his mind. The house feels tight, like the windows are going to shatter at any second, so I finally look away and break our intense stare-off.

“I…” I clear my throat. “I have a schedule for posting on social media about our wedding and future marriage.”

“Oh, do you?” he muses.

I know he’s smirking, just from the way his words sound. Heat crawls up my back when I slide my phone across the counter.

He catches it at the last second. “It’s no wonder your phone is cracked.”

“Someone else cracked my phone.” I slam my mouth shut at the audacity of my brain allowing that to come out.

He scrutinizes me. “Who cracked your phone?”

I shrug, attempting to hide my lie. “It just fell at work one night.”

What a pitiful excuse, and if Emory is as smart as he seems, he’ll see right through it.

He pairs his airy chuckle with a shake of his head, and I know I’m correct. He doesn’t press, though.

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