Page 55 of Mexico Can Choke On It
That I deserve a future that doesn’t come with a tip jar.
“They want proper? Fine, I’ll be a proper fucking lady in this stupid princess costume.”
I flip Sebastian’s instruction card over.
WELCOME DINNER ENSEMBLE (Dusty Rose Oscar de la Renta)
Mr. Sterling personally selected this Tiffany ten-carat Mozambique ruby ring as the focal accessory. I’ve sized it up considerably to accommodate your working-class knuckles. Try not to get it caught in your hair or use it to open beer cans.
I grab the Tiffany box and march to the balcony.I need air.I should fake an illness and escape this whole bullshit dinner. When I push through the French doors, the warm evening breeze ruffles my dress. I slump onto a curved iron chair, watching the sun dip below the horizon.
The jewelry box feels unusually heavy in my palm. I lift it to reveal—
“Holy shit.”
The ruby is enormous, a deep, bloodred stone that seems to pulse with its own heartbeat. A halo of diamonds surround it, catching the fading sunlight and scattering tiny rainbows across my skin.
I slide it onto my finger—my left ring finger, because apparently my newfound resolve hasn’t caught up to my brain yet. It twirls loosely, at least two sizes too big, spinning around and resembling a tiny, sparkly hula hoop.
“Thank you, Sebastian, for your vote of confidencein my sausage fingers.”
I hold my hand up, watching the light play through the deep red stone. The exact shade of my favorite lipstick. My lips I’ve caught Bryce staring at more than once.
He chose this. Specifically this color. For me.
For one dangerous, indulgent moment, I let myself slide down the slippery slope of what-ifs.
What if he picked this ring because he has feelings for me?
What if he wasn’t engaged to Perfect Amanda and this was actually my ring?
What if Bryce wanted to marry… me?
God, you’re embarrassing! No more thoughts of him. No more daydreams.
“You want dignity, Petra? Start acting like you’ve got some…” I push up from the chair, determined to go back inside and channel my inner duchess or debutante or whoever the hell manages to look elegant while secretly spiraling—
—and promptly trip over the massive poufy ballgown wrapped around my legs.
“Motherfu—”
THUD!
I faceplant.
The floor is stone. The pain is instant. The sound… is worse.
Tink-tink-tink-tink.
The ring. Thestupid ringpopped off my finger and— “No-no-no-NO!”
I scramble to my knees and lunge toward the balcony edge in time to see it disappear over the side.
Gone.
Straight into the jungle landscaping, swallowed by thick ferns.
“Fuuuuuuuck.”
