Page 495 of Bad Prince
Her pulse seems to stumble even from across the room.
“Tristan.”
“It’s not a big thing,” I say, which is already a lie.
She takes the box and looks up at me once before opening it.
Inside is a slim gold bracelet so delicate it almost doesn’t look real. A fine chain. A small oval charm. Dark blue enamel edged in gold, the exact deep midnight shade of the dress I chose for her. On the back, barely visible, a tiny compass rose is etched into the metal.
For one second she doesn’t speak.
“It reminded me of you,” I say quietly.
Her throat works.
“The color,” I add, voice lower now. “And the compass.” My eyes hold hers. “You feel like north to me.”
That does her in instantly.
She laughs once, small and watery and wrecked.
“That is an insane thing to say to a person.”
My mouth curves.
“Still true.”
She lifts the bracelet carefully from the box. I take it from her without asking and fasten it around her wrist, my fingers warm and steady, the gold looking delicate against her skin.
It’s perfect there.
Not flashy.
Not loud.
Just beautiful.
Just her, somehow.
She touches the charm with her thumb.
“You bought me Newport.”
I glance at the bracelet, then back at her.
“No.” A pause. “I bought you something so you’d remember this wasn’t a dream.”
She looks at me like I’ve just struck somewhere tender again, and maybe I have.
The hotel lounge is all low light and polished wood and the kind of beautiful discretion money buys when it’s old enough to stop announcing itself. Fire glows in twin hearths at either end of the room. The sea is visible through the windows in dark flashes between stone columns. Waiters move like choreography.
My parents are already there. My mother’s in charcoal silk and diamonds so restrained they’re almost rude. My father in a navy jacket, one hand around a low glass, the other tucked in his pocket like he owns not just this room but the concept of rooms.
They stand when we approach.
Stella’s hand tightens very slightly in mine.
I squeeze once back.
