The Wake-Up Call(20)

“That was right after you told Mrs. SB on me when I’d broken lockdown rules for that wedding. I was pissed off,” I say, looking down at the path. We’re lit by little inset lights—they glow against Lucas’s ridiculously well-polished shoes with each step.

“I did not ‘tell on you.’ I raised a concern, because if you continued risking the health of everyone at the hotel in order to please a handful of guests, you could have got us closed down.”

“It was their wedding day,” I say, and here’s the rising tide of frustration that always comes after prolonged exposure to Lucas. “They wanted their whole family there, and all I did was find an innovative solution to how to get more than fifteen people celebrating without technically all being at the same—”

“It’s done,” he says, breaking in as we step onto the lawns. “We have already agreed to disagree on whether it was right.”

I grit my teeth. We’re almost at the hotel car park. Almost time to slam the door on my beautiful sky-blue Smart car, get Harper Armwright’s Christmas album playing, and drive away from Lucas at speed.

My phone buzzes in my hand, lighting up, and we both look down at the screen. An email from Mrs. SB. Subject line: ?15,000 reward from Eric Matterson?!?!

“Holy shit,” I whisper, coming to a halt and flicking the email open.

New plan, it reads. Return every ring. Even just one more reward like that would make this worth every bit of effort. Wow. You’re an absolute star, Izzy—WELL DONE!! X

“Well,” Lucas says stiffly, setting off towards the car park again. “You certainly got the credit.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It was me who did it, so . . .” I have to double-step to keep up with him. “Don’t be jealous. This is a hotel mission now. You’re officially part of the Ring Thing.”

He waits a long moment before responding. “That is a significant reward.”

“I’m sorry, was that an admission that the Ring Thing was an excellent idea and from now on you’re going to help me?”

“You didn’t do this in the hope of a reward.”

“I did it because it felt right, and putting good stuff out into the universe gets you good stuff back.” I spread my arms as we step between the hedges and into the car park. “Isn’t that kind of the same?”

He stares at me flatly. “I hope you don’t actually think that’s how the world works.”

I do, absolutely, so I roll my eyes at him. He slows, and I glance at his car. It’s one of those sleek, dark ones with blackout windows, the sort of car a supervillain would drive. Figures.

“To answer your questions, yes, I will join you in working on this ring . . . business,” he says. “Since Mrs. SB wants it done. And no. I don’t find you repellent.”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Lucas’s head is turned away from me, towards the hotel, with its beautiful eighteenth-century windows glowing gold. I take the opportunity to really look at him. His eyebrows are hard slashes, drawn together in his habitual frown, but his lips are surprisingly full. He has the sort of soft, wide mouth you’d describe as expressive on someone who had more than one expression.

“It is one of the many things about you that annoys me,” he says.

I intend to snort a laugh and take my moment to walk away when he’s conceded something. But I’m still looking at the light and shadow playing across his face, and instead, on impulse, I find myself saying, “Vice versa, Lucas da Silva. You are offensively handsome.”

It clearly catches him by surprise, which surprises me—I mean, he knows I used to fancy him. Plus, he’s so objectively gorgeous, it didn’t feel like a particularly revealing thing to say—it was like telling him he’s tall or bad-tempered. He jangles his car keys in his hand, and I get the sense he’s lost for words, which makes me a little giddy. All of a sudden I feel like doing something risky. I’ve not felt that particular zip of daring go through me for a while, and I’d forgotten how fun it feels.

“If you’re helping with the Ring Thing,” I say, “do you want to make it a bit more interesting?”

“Interesting . . . how?” Lucas says, keys still jangling.

I reach for my own keys in my pocket, Smartie’s lights blinking in the dark car park as I hit unlock. This is a conversation that feels like it might need a fast exit.

“A bet. Whoever returns the next ring wins.”

The wind blusters through the car park, ruffling the hedges, sending a lone plastic bottle skittering under the cars.

“Wins what?” Lucas asks.

“Well . . . what would you like?”

The keys stop jangling. He is suddenly very still.

“What would I like?”

“Mm.”

It seems colder now, the breeze sharper. Lucas’s stillness reminds me of a big cat waiting to pounce.

“I want one day,” he says. “One day in which you do things my way. I am in charge. What I say goes.”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” I say derisively, but my breath quickens.

He looks at me with dark, glinting eyes. “If you win, you can have the same.”

Lucas at my beck and call, agreeing with everything I say, doing as he’s told? It is almost too good to imagine. And I’m confident I can return a ring before he can. This sort of challenge is made for me—Lucas will try to use statistics and spreadsheets, but this is about understanding people. I lift my chin, shucking off the strange, hot-cold feeling that’s come over me in the face of his steady stare.