Page 39 of Five Stolen Rings

“Oh, no,” Sophronia says, waving the questions away. “We hired someone to come do it.”

They hired someone to decorate for a school reunion—spent actual money on it. Amazing.

“But it looks great, right?” Lucretia says. “The food is yummy too, and there are some gluten free options and some light options over on that side of the table”—she gestures to the right end of the table—“if you’re looking for those!”

I am not looking for anything of the sort, but I nod all the same. “Thanks, Lu,” I say. It slips out of my mouth, the name, but Lucretia’s smile softens.

“It’s really good to see you,” she says. “We mean it.” Sophronia nods enthusiastically, and I swallow.

“It’s good to see you guys too,” I say. Then, because I’m suddenly strangely emotional, I nudge Jack. “Let’s go get some food.”

We wave at the twins, who flit off with ease to mingle with other people just arriving. Then we amble our matching behinds over to the food table, arms still linked, neither of us speaking.

“Out of your league, huh?” Jack finally says as we arrive at the stretch of food. “I was joking, but you sounded like you meant it.”

“I did mean it,” I say, eyeing the options as I tuck my clutch under my arm. These are lessfinger foodsand morehors d’oeuvres—no pig-in-a-blanket or ants-on-a-log here. I would have been right at home back in high school, excited to be surrounded by such class.

But now?

Now I could really go for some mozzarella sticks.

I spot what I’m pretty sure is asparagus wrapped in some sort of meat, maybe prosciutto, so I put a couple of those on my plate; there are figs, too, with some sort of unidentifiable spread. I grab a few more dishes that look safe andpile them on next to the asparagus, then look at Jack. “Are you getting anything?”

But he doesn’t answer. He’s staring at me, his features illuminated by the flickering candles lining the back of the food table.

Once again—this is weirdly romantic for a Christmas party.

“Jack?” I wave my plate at him. “Food?”

When he responds, though, he doesn’t even acknowledge the food table. “I’ve never been out of your league, Princess,” he says, his voice gruff.

My answering smile is sad. “Haven’t you, though?” I glance around the room, at the glitz and the glamour. “I ditched you for all of this. That’s what happened, Jack, and we both know it.” I didn’t plan to have this conversation here—over a table of fancy appetizers—but now that it’s come up, I barrel forward. “You were my best friend, and I cared more about what people thought of me than I cared about being a good person.”

Jack moves closer, his steps easy, his expression curious. “I deserved better, maybe, but…” His eyes reflect the candlelight as they dart over my face. “That’s not the same thing as being ‘out of your league.’”

Is it not? It sort of feels like itisthe same thing. But I just shrug.

“It doesn’t matter now,” I say.

“It might matter now,” he murmurs, his voice musing, so quiet I almost miss it—and I blink in surprise.

“What?” I say.

He freezes, his eyes widening slightly. Then he shakes his head, looking frustrated and bemused.He flicks himself in the forehead and then proceeds to grab a plate—the one in my hand.

“I’ll take that,” he says, stepping smartly away again. “Thanks.”

My jaw drops, and then I scowl. “I hope that asparagus makes your pee stink for a week,” I say.

“That smell,” he says, “is due to the body breaking down asparagusic acid into its sulfuric byproducts.”

I wave my hand airily. “Don’t make up words.”

He snorts and grabs a few puff pastry creations, popping one in his mouth. “Get yourself some food, Princess. Don’t just stand there.”

With a roll of my eyes and lips trying to smile, I grab another plate.

JACK

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