I Left Your Family, Now You Want to Join Mine

On the eighth day after I left the Ellison house, I stood in front of the mirror in my old bedroom and tried to decide whether my hands looked like they belonged to a woman who was about to get engaged.

The week had been quieter than I'd expected. Adrian took me to dinner twice and to a lumberyard once, because I wanted to see walnut in person before I approved the desks. He remembered that the twelfth floor was waiting on lighting samples. When I canceled Wednesday lunch to meet the electrician, he texted back, *Good. The fixtures matter more than my sandwich.* He hadn't asked me to move into his place. He hadn't asked me for anything except honesty.

So last night, I'd given him some.

"I'm not over the last four years," I'd told him in his car outside Grandpa's house. "Not completely. I don't know when I will be."

"I'm not asking you to be."

"And if this doesn't work, the hotel stays separate. I won't lose the Hawthorne because we lost each other."

"It's already in the contract," he'd said. "I wrote that clause myself."

"Then yes. We date for real. We don't pick a wedding date yet. And I'm not wearing your ring to get back at Liam."

"I'd never want you to."

Now the ring box sat open on my dresser. A sapphire, oval and deep blue, set in plain platinum. I'd picked it out myself on Tuesday while Adrian waited across the store, pretending to be fascinated by watches.

I slid it onto my finger. It fit.

A knock sounded on the doorframe. Adrian stood there in a black tux, holding the thin diamond necklace I'd left on the bed.

"Your grandfather said you were fighting with the clasp."

"I was losing."

"May I?"

I turned and lifted my hair. His fingers brushed the back of my neck, warm and careful, and the clasp clicked shut on the first try.

"Show-off," I said.

"Practice." He met my eyes in the mirror. "Ready?"

I picked up my clutch. At the bottom of the stairs, before he could offer, I slipped my hand through his arm.

---

The Riverside Children's Fund gala filled the ballroom of the Grand Mercer with string music and candlelight. Half the hospitality industry in the city was there, and most of the people who wanted to fund it.

"I need five minutes with Margaret about the seating," Adrian said near the entrance. "Don't let anyone talk you into a timeshare."

"No promises."

He was barely gone before a cream wool coat landed across my arm.

"Oh, perfect, you're here." Chloe was already fixing her earring. "Hold that for a sec. And Eleanor wants a seat near the restrooms. Her ankles are swelling again. Can you find her one? You know how she gets."

I looked at the coat. Then at the emerald still on her finger.

I walked three steps to the coat check counter and handed the coat to the attendant. "This belongs to her," I said, nodding at Chloe. "Please give her the ticket. She'll take care of the fee."

The attendant smiled politely and held the claim ticket out to Chloe. She stared at it a beat too long before she took it.

I went to the seating table and found my card. *Ms. Nora Whitmore. Table One.*

Chloe leaned over my shoulder and read it. Her laugh was light and sharp. "Table one? Wow. Adrian must really want to get under Liam's skin. Bringing the ex-girlfriend up front like a trophy." She tilted her head. "Liam said you'd pull something like this."

I tucked the card into my clutch.

"Chloe, I'm only going to say this once. Tonight, don't hand me anything that belongs to the Ellisons. Not coats, not seats, not schedules. None of it is mine anymore."

Her smile slipped. I didn't wait to see what replaced it.

---

I made it halfway down the aisle toward the front before Liam stepped into my path.

He looked tired. His bow tie was crooked, the way it always was when I wasn't there to fix it. His eyes dropped straight to my left hand.

"What the hell is that?"

"A ring."

"Rented?" He gave a short laugh. "Come on, Nora. Moreau stuck a prop on your finger so he can parade you in front of everyone I'm trying to do business with. You don't see it? He's using you."

"Move, Liam."

"Take it off. Right now. Before people start talking."

I didn't take it off.

He watched me for a second, and something in his face changed. His shoulders came down. His voice went low and soft, the voice he used to use when he wanted me to stay up late finishing his presentations.

"Mom keeps asking when you're coming home," he said. "Every night. She can't sleep. Chloe doesn't know how she likes her tea, and Patrice is about to quit." He stepped closer. "Just stop this, okay? Stop punishing me. Come back, and we'll talk about the wedding. For real this time. I'll set a date."

Four years ago, I would've cried hearing that.

"You stood in that dining room," I said, "and watched your mother put your grandmother's ring on another woman's hand. You poured her wine. You told me my job was to take care of things at home." I kept my voice level. "I ended it that night. That wasn't me punishing you, Liam. That was me leaving."

"You don't mean that."

"I've meant it every day for eight days."

His hand shot out and closed around my wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but tight enough that I couldn't pull away without making a scene.

"We're going outside," he said. "Just you and me. Five minutes, and you'll remember who you are."

He already had his weight turned toward the side doors, like he was sure that once he got me out of this room, everything would snap back into place. Me in the kitchen. Him on the phone. His mother's pills sorted by color.

At the front of the ballroom, the microphone hummed.

"Good evening, everyone," the emcee said. "Before dinner, I'd like to recognize a few of our honored guests—"

Over Liam's shoulder, I saw Adrian at Table One. He'd been pulling out a chair. He stopped halfway, looked down the aisle, and set the chair back.

Then he walked toward us. He didn't rush, but people moved out of his way anyway.

Liam hadn't seen him yet. "Nora. Let's go."

I looked past him at Adrian. When he reached us, I lifted my left hand, the one with the sapphire, and held it out to him.

He took it. His palm was warm and steady. He stepped up beside me, close enough that his shoulder touched mine, and faced Liam.

Liam's grip tightened on my other wrist. "This doesn't concern you, Moreau. It's between me and her."

"It concerns me," Adrian said. He didn't raise his voice, but the tables around us had gone quiet. "Let go of my fiancée."

The word landed hard.

Liam's fingers loosened one by one, until my wrist was free. He stared at the ring in Adrian's hand, then at my face, as if he was waiting for me to laugh and tell him it was a joke.

Behind him, near the coat check, Chloe's laugh broke off mid-sound. She stood frozen with the claim ticket still pinched between her fingers.

Adrian's thumb moved once over my knuckles.

"They're waiting for us," he said quietly.

Then, with every eye in the ballroom on us, he led me up the aisle toward the main table.