Page 86 of Five Stolen Rings
“Merry Christmas, you filthy animal,” I say, quotingHome Alone.
He glances up. “I’ll beyourfilthy animal?—”
But I cut his ridiculous words off with a laugh, and he smiles too. “Would you really not visit me in prison?” he says.
I grin at this. “Depends. If you asked very, very nicely, I would consider it.”
He finishes tying my bracelet and then lifts my arm, pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrist. “I can ask nicely.” His nose skims down my wrist and to the palm of my hand, where he places another kiss. Then, with a tug, he pulls me closer; my arms wind around his neck as his wrap around my waist.
“Will you, Stella Partridge,” he breathes, his lips so close to mine that I can feel them move, “please visit me in prison if I ever end up there?”
“Definitely…” I say slowly, letting my lips brush against his, “not.” He snorts with laughter as I go on, “You’re a grown man. Get your act together. If you go to jail, I’m out. Unless you were framed,” I add quickly. “Or if you were secretly innocent.”
“Noted.” And then he’s kissing me, slow and lazy and deep, promises of things to come—a prison-free future of Christmases and family and quiet, unhurried love. “My true love,” he whispers against my lips as we kiss.
“Yes,” I agree, running my fingers through his dark hair. “Your truest love.”
JACK || FIVE YEARS LATER
Stella freaking Piorra.
I think it’s safe to say that I am crazy about that woman. She keeps me on my toes; she drives me mad; she’s sweet and soft and sexy. She also says she married me for my health insurance—but last week I woke up to see her watching me sleep with a little smile on her face, so she’s a big fat liar.
She loves me.
…Except maybe right now, at this very moment, she loves me a little less than usual.
“No way.”
She shakes her head and then winces, her hand jumping to where there isonce againblood in her hair.
“Yes way. You brought this on yourself,” I point out, folding my arms across my chest and leaning back in my chair. These seats by the ER beds leave much to be desired. “What did I tell you about climbing trees?”
“Oh, please,” she says with a scoff as she looks over at me. “Like you would have done any different.”
“I would have climbed up, retrieved the kite, and then gotten back down safely,” I say. “Without tearing a gash in my head. That’s what I would have done.”
Our daughter, Millie, is three years old, and she carries her kite everywhere she goes. It was a gift from Auntie Maude, and she adores it. So it comes to meals with her; it goes to bed with her.
It goes out to play in the backyard with her, too. And when the winter wind caught her precious kite and carried it up into the scraggly branches of the tree…
“So obnoxious,” Stella says under her breath now. “I would have climbed down without tearing a gash in my head,” she mimics. “I’m tall, so climbing trees is easy.But you know”—she glares at me now—“we’re not alltall,Jack.” She reaches up and probes her head wound gently, her glower receding, her lip quivering.
“I know,” I say with a grin as my very nice colleague Dr. Winters enters the room. “It will be over before you know it, Stella girl. We’ll pick up Millie from your parents’ and go home and watch a movie together. Okay?”
“No,” Stella says again. Her eyes zero in on the stapler that Dr. Winters is holding. “Nope. I am being punished for doing a good deed?—”
“This isn’t punishment, Princess,” I cut her off. “This is the medical care that your emergency doctor deems necessary. You’ve given birth; a few staples is nothing next to that.”
“It’s different,” Stella says. “I got a baby at the end of labor.”
“Deep breaths,” Dr. Winters intones in his low, calmingvoice. Stella squeezes her eyes shut and takes a couple breaths—they’re not deep, but they’ll do.
“And on the count of three,” Dr. Winters goes on, “in one, two?—”
“Ow—ow!”
“All done,” he says soothingly. “You did great.”
