Page 22 of Penelope in Retrograde

One look. That’s it.

My heart pounds against my chest as I take the box in my hand. I peer into the back seat once more. Aidan looks like he’s been born again. He’s sitting upright, which means if I’m going to do this, it’s got to be now. I press the small silver button, and before I can take it back, the box opens. I look down and my heart goes from pounding to an all-out flatline.

It’s my ring.

My ex-husband is carrying around my engagement ring in his luggage. He’s going to give the same ring that he gave to me to some woman he’s known for three months. Three freaking months!

“Hey.” Smith’s voice startles me. I snap the ring box closed and place it back in his bag. “Look who’s awake.”

“Hi, Aidan.” I give a curt wave.

“Looks like traffic is moving now too.” Smith gestures toward the window. The cars in the lane next to us have started to inch forward. “We should be home in no time.”

“Should I drive?” Aidan asks. “I don’t think I’m fit to drive yet. Feels like I still need to sober up, ya know?”

“No problem.” Smith makes his way back toward the front of the car, and I move back to my spot in the passenger seat. “I’ll get us home.”

He’s smiling and giddy. It makes me want to kick him in the balls. How dare he be giddy to go home and give my ring to some woman he’s known for less time than I’ve known my air fryer. That ring is a vintage, one-of-a-kind piece. It has no business being in a box from Tiffany’s. It didn’t come from Tiffany’s. It came from a flea market in London. Why would his air-fryer girlfriend want a flea-market ring from London?

The cars in front of us start to move at a slow but steady clip. Smith puts the van in drive, which means in a matter of minutes I’ll be home. Who would’ve thought I’d ever look forward to being home?

I don’t think Clementine Street will be enough distance between Smith and me. I swear if he thinks about coming over with his young, naive fiancée I’m going to—

“So, who is Martin?” Smith asks. “That was my last question. Unless you’re going to veto it, in which case—”

“He’s my boyfriend,” I say defiantly. “Martin is my boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

There’s a hint of surprise in his voice. I’m not sure what his face looks like, because I personally don’t think I can look at Smith without committing a felony. He probably wants to ask me more about Martin, but he’s all out of questions. And our time together is thankfully almost finally over.

Chapter 7

The plan was simple. Impossible to screw up. One hundred percent foolproof. Smith would drive Aidan’s van to Clementine Street. He would park in front of his home—not mine—and Aidan would help me with my bags. I’d be in my house with the front door locked behind me before Smith even considered getting out of the driver’s seat. Nobody in my parents’ house, other than Phoebe and Falon, would ever know that I’d just spent the last two and a half hours stuck in a van with Smith Mackenzie, and if I played my cards right, I might be able to make it through the long weekend without anyone ever noticing he was staying across the street with his sister.

That was the plan.

But what transpired was an absolute nightmare.

“Why is my entire family gathered in the driveway?” I ask the universe as Smith pulls the van onto Clementine Street.

“This isn’t the way they always welcome you home?” Smith, not the universe, replies. “I’m impressed that all of their umbrellas match.”

“Silvia wouldn’t be caught dead in a storm without matching rain gear. Drive slower,” I command.

“Really? The neighborhood speed limit is fifteen miles an hour. If I go any slower, people are going to think we’re part of a funeral procession.”

Little does this man know how close he is to being the guest of honor in a funeral procession.

I reach for my phone and fire off a text to Phoebe.

Penny: WTF

Penny: Why is everyone outside?

Phoebe: Because we miss you?

Penny: Phoebe! Smith is with me.

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