Page 37 of Five Stolen Rings

YOU ARE BEING STUPID,I scream at myself.He’snot determined to take care of you. He just isn’t going to let you die from a gaping head wound. There’s a difference.

“Get it together,” I mutter, patting my cheeks sharply. I’ve never had feelings for Jack before; I’m certainly not going to start now. I grab my little red purse—a clutch, really—and nod. “All right, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

“I never thought I would want to have my arm wrapped around yours,” I say under my breath, “and yet here I am, hanging on for dear life.”

Next to me Jack nods, looking grim as we enter the decked-out room we were just guided to by a bunch of fancyWINDSOR REUNIONsigns. It’s not as large as a ballroom, but it’s still decently spacious; there’s a giant Christmas tree in one corner, and along the back wall is a long table full of delicious-looking food and drinks, with smaller tables throughout the room.

I feel like I’ve just showed up at a ritzy office Christmas party.

“You know it’s stupid, don’t you, that we’re both here where we don’t want to be, just because you said you would come,” I go on, keeping my voice low. “They don’tneedyou here. It’s not like you promised to be the doctor on call or something.”

Jack stops, and I stop with him. When I glance over, he’s already looking at me, his expression serious.

“Do you feel safe?”

I just stare at him, because the way he’s looking at me feels significant—like he’s trying to ask me somethingwith his eyes only.

“I feel safe,” I say blankly. “Should I…not?”

He glances around, at the large table of champagne glasses, at the food table in the back. “I don’t know,” he says. “It’s your call.”

I…do not know what he’s talking about right now.

“I feel safe,” I say again, my voice bemused.

He shrugs. “Okay,” he says. “In that case, two hours, okay? Suck it up for that long.”

“Fine,” I say. I pause and then add, “So we’ve been together for six months? That’s the story?”

“Yes,” Jack says, “so pretend you like me, please, at very least if anyone looks too interested. I’ll do the same for you.”

I snort. “No one is going to be interested in me.”

Jack sighs, turning his head toward me, and when he speaks, it’s little more than a breath in my ear. “They’ll be interested, Princess,” he says. “Trust me.”

A shiver tickles down my spine, goosebumps spreading over my skin; I’m suddenly extra grateful for my long sleeves. I crane my neck around to hide my sudden jitters; there’s mistletoe hanging from all the doorframes, I notice, and spangled streamers reflect the candlelight glowing from the center of each table.

This whole shindig is kind of…romantic. My stomach turns.

And it turns even further when I think about what I’ve just said. Because the truth is, I’m just telling myself what I want to hear. Iwantno one to be interested. I want to fly under the radar. But I was well-liked at Windsor. Mine wasn’t a story of a girl who tried to fit in, failed, and learned that she was happier being true to herself. Mine was the story of a girl who tried to fit in, succeeded, and carried on.

It’s presumptuous, maybe, to assume the people here will have any expectations for me at all. But what if they do?

And why am I willing to risk these embarrassments just to help an old friend out?

“So,” that old friend says as we stroll into the room, hopefully not looking as awkward as we feel. “What are you going to tell people?”

“About what?” I say. I’m stalling—although there is a lot to be distracted by here, the mood lighting and mistletoe and glittering decor.

“About you,” Jack says, and I look back at him. “About your life, your job, whatever.”

I clear my throat as temptation dances on the tip of my tongue. WhatamI going to tell people, if they ask? Will I let them make assumptions and do nothing to correct them? Will I lie? Will I admit what my life has become?

Will I be ashamed of something I don’t need to be ashamed about?

“The truth,” I finally say. I straighten up, pulling my shoulders back. “I’ll tell them the truth—that I’m working at my parents’ market.”

And for a quick second, I could swear I see a gleam of something like approval in Jack’s eyes, or maybe pride—but the next minute it’s gone, and I’m sure I’ve imagined it.

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