“There’s no curse.” During Knot Fest, the other of Bliss’s two annual wedding festivals, a glitzy prize was offered to the tourist who found a hidden gold-painted bouquet. Any local who found it was supposedly cursed. Max had always thought the hex was a story made up to discourage the townsfolk from spoiling the tourists’ fun. That a stupid plastic bouquet couldn’t actually cause seven years of bad luck in love. But tonight was enough to crack his resolve. “Owl got me,” he lied.
“It went after the tiara again?” Rachel reached for Dan’s hand. “Is it okay?”
“Tiara’s fine. As fine as it was, anyway. I’m fine. But I—”
He what?
He needed to confess that he’d just run into a girl he’d dated who happened to be the daughter of a notorious jewel thief? And that he’d found her lurking behind With This Ring?
And that he’d been irrationally turned on by the idea of playing a real-life chess game with the angel-voiced vixen?
“I’ve got frostbite places a man shouldn’t ever have frostbite, and if I don’t get out of these damn tights, loss of circulation is going to kill whatever the cold didn’t.”
Rachel laughed. “I’ve always said men should try tights, heels, and bras. When the hex is finally lifted, you’ll relate so well to your future bride.”
Were she anyone but his sister-in-law, she would’ve gotten an eyeful of a two-fingered salute. “You guys don’t need me?”
Who was he kidding?
He was always extraneous. The second son, the single son, the spare. The spoiled one. The fast one. The party boy.
The one who dated daughters of jewel thieves.
Dan clapped him on the shoulder. “Nah, we got this. You’re coming over for dinner tomorrow, right? Rach is practicing the prime rib for Christmas.”
“And the chocolate mousse,” she said.
It was hard to hate Rachel for being perfect when she made chocolate mousse. “Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll bring noisemakers and science kits for the brats too. And a camera for when Dan tries on his tights, heels, and bra.”
Rachel pecked his cheek. “You’re so cute when you act grouchy. But the only thing you need to bring is your hockey stick. Tyler’s been practicing. He’s convinced he’s good enough to score on you now.”
“You tell him I eat trash-talking eleven-year-olds for breakfast.”
Dan snorted. “Gonna be eating your words when that trash-talking eleven-year-old schools your trash-talking thirty-year-old self.”
“Go relax, Max. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
But relaxing was the last thing on Max’s mind when he left the festival.
He had the daughter of a jewel thief to find.
Chapter 3
Phoebe Moon hadn’t ever wanted to return to devilish Uncle Sandy’s laboratory, but someone had to stop him from poisoning the water.
—Phoebe Moon and the Sinister Cloud
* * *
Since Mom tended to humor Merry’s insecurities and paranoia, she had been given the corner turret room of the B&B, with a clear view of all the shady dealings that might occur in the back alley or the side street. But since this was Bliss, there was little movement beyond bare branches swaying in the wind. She sat in the window seat, notebook in hand so she could scribble the occasional Phoebe Moon note while she watched.
Daddy could be out there.
Max could be out there.
The police could be coming for Merry right now.
She’d never ruined one of Mom’s weddings before. Or gotten arrested. Not that she was entirely sure what she could be arrested for, but even being questioned by the police would put a damper on Mom’s grand Christmastime wedding plans. And goodness knows they’d both been questioned by the police before.
Not generally because Merry was under suspicion of anything, but there had been a time or two since she’d gotten her driver’s license—like last year’s incident—when Daddy had pulled her in on something before she realized what was going on.
“Never again,” she whispered to herself.
Never ever again. Even for the good causes.
The only thing left for her here in the States was Mom’s wedding. And then she was gone.
Shortly after eleven, she heard Mom and Patrick on the stairs outside her room.
She tucked her laptop and notebook into a hidden pocket in her luggage, then stepped out into the wooden hallway of the lovely Victorian house.
Mom hung off Patrick, giggling, her eyes glassy. It had been ten years since Merry had lived with her mother, but they’d done enough weddings that she knew the routine.
Mom picked a groom. Mom set a date. Mom thought about Daddy. Mom got drunk.
And then Mom married an upstanding man who treated her like a queen, but who wasn’t Daddy.
“Need any help?” Merry whispered to Patrick.
His wink was longer than usual. “I’ve got her.”
It wasn’t a lascivious wink. More like a tired wink. Despite only meeting Patrick a few weeks ago, and despite his unfortunate winking tendencies, Merry trusted he was no more of a scoundrel than any of Mom’s other husbands.
If anything, he was the nicest of the princes she’d found so far. He held doors, he didn’t leer, and he’d expressed his love and affection for Mom so earnestly before he’d asked Merry’s permission to propose, she’d honestly considered warning him away, if she could’ve figured out how to phrase the idea to make Patrick think it was his own.
Phoebe Moon could’ve done it.
Merry, however, had no ready tricks up her sleeve to convince a man he didn’t love her mother. Nor would her conscience allow her to malign the woman who had sacrificed her own true love to give Merry a series of safe, stable homes—rotating stepfathers notwithstanding—through her teenage years.
Plus, that small part of her that still believed in fairy tales kept hoping one of Mom’s marriages would stick.
Patrick slid the key into the lock of the door across the hall, still supporting Mom. “Doesn’t he have the most matching-est shoes?” Mom said to Merry.
“They’re both a lovely brown,” Merry agreed. “And on the right feet even.”
Mom giggled.
Patrick swung the door open, and Mom lurched inside.
“Patrick?” Merry said softly.
“Hmm?”
“Gentlemen don’t take advantage of their drunk fiancées.”
His saggy cheeks went pink. “Oh, no, I—Merry, I promise you, I honor and respect your mother, and I would never—we don’t—the bonds of marriage are sacred, and we believe—”
She gave him a slow wink back. “Counting on you, Patrick.” She turned back to her own room. “By the way, don’t let her eat eggs in the morning. Get her a chocolate chip bagel with peanut butter instead. She’ll argue about the calories, but she’ll feel better once she eats it.”
“Ah—okay, then. Thanks for the tip, Merry.”
“If you can’t count on family, who can you count on?”
Patrick smiled, the sarcasm completely lost on him. He stepped into the room behind Mom. The door swung shut. Merry waited, but there was no detectable sound of the lock clicking.
Because Patrick was idiotically trusting, or because he was open to the idea of Merry bursting in if she felt the need?
Either way, she wished Mom would let herself be happy with him. But most likely Patrick was yet another distraction who probably didn’t know that Mom’s first husband was a jewel thief.
Merry checked out her own bedroom window once more, then stepped lightly into the hallway and softly pulled her door shut.
She’d all but convinced herself she’d imagined the smell of Brut in the alley behind With This Ring. But Daddy had turned her life upside down for the last time last year, and she had no intention of letting her guard down so that he could do it again.
He never meant to.
He simply couldn’t help himself. And he always had a solid justification—right or wrong�
�for any job he pulled.
She tiptoed around the upstairs perimeter, dodging squeaky boards to peek out the lone window over the opposite end of the stairs. Christmas lights twinkled on the houses down the way—blue icicle lights, white lights, candy-cane lights and more hung from eaves and sparkled in bushes and along sidewalks. A giant blow-up Santa in an airplane swayed in the breeze two yards down. The view wasn’t too different from the view from her apartment in Toluca, an Illinois farm town about an hour south of Bliss where she’d spent the past year. Cozy older homes, bare maple and oak trees, quiet streets. No black Cadillacs, Audis, or Lexus sedans. The minivans, SUVs, and older-model beaters parked along the street weren’t the types of rides her father would stoop to, even in the name of watching his ex-wife and daughter. No cop cars, marked or unmarked.
No classic Ford Mustangs like the one Max drove either. But then, she should’ve heard that coming in the alley, and she hadn’t.
Maybe he’d sold it.
She shook her head. Max wasn’t her business.
Making sure Daddy didn’t take the Mrs. Claus diamond ring from Max’s store, yes. Max himself, no.
Satisfied with this angle, Merry crept down the stairs, guided by the rainbow Christmas lights wrapped with ivy along the banister.
The heater fan whispered through the vents. The yellow glow from the light above the oven cut the darkness in the empty kitchen. Straight ahead, she paused at the entrance to the B&B’s dining room.
There had been a lit Christmas tree in the corner when their hostess showed them around this afternoon, but now inky blackness swallowed the room.
No Christmas lights or streetlamps filtering in through the windows. No nightlight.
She inhaled a slow, deep breath.
Scents of pine, cinnamon, and chocolate chip cookies tickled her nose, but no Brut.
A giggle—Mom’s of course—came through the ceiling. When Merry’s eyes adjusted to the dark, she navigated around the shadowy figures of chairs and tables to the row of windows overlooking the dormant backyard garden and peered through the wooden slat blinds.
Tension seeped out of her bones, and a saggy, exhausted relief took up residence instead.
Bliss was safe. She was safe. Mom and Patrick were safe.
And as long as Merry had the fake Mrs. Claus diamond secured where only she could get to it, Max’s family’s jewelry store was safe too. It would take at least a month for Daddy’s contact to make a second fake. Even if he realized she’d found it right away, she would have time after the wedding to retrieve the fake ring and mail it to Max. She’d include a warning about Daddy’s usual MO when it came to high-value targets, and then she would be gone.
Long, long gone.
She turned to head back to her room.
A massive figure loomed in the doorway, arms and legs spread.
Merry froze. Her heart banged and tried to claw out of her chest. Adrenaline twisted her muscles tight. She’d have to leap four tables to get to the side door to the garden. The windows behind her were locked, and even if they weren’t, she’d have to go through the blinds first.
She was trapped. “What do you want?”
“The better questions in this room are about you,” Max answered.
Her breath whooshed out, and the subsequent adrenaline crash sent a tingle through her fingers and toes. “How did you get in here?”
“The owners are good friends.” He stepped into the room, his movements as graceful as a thief’s. The shadow of his arm went out, a switch audibly flipped, and the gentle glow of Christmas lights on the tree cut the harsh darkness.
Max’s elf suit was gone, replaced by dark jeans and a black Henley. His silent steps suggested he’d ditched his shoes. She had been fascinated by his eyes during their too-brief relationship. His irises were a unique color between sapphire and emerald, wavering more toward the blue or green end of the spectrum, depending on his clothing. Tonight, they were bright and clear and focused, but the dim light in the room masked the brilliance in the color.
Mom’s giggle flowed through the ceiling again.
Max’s eyes drifted upward. “That your mother?”
Merry didn’t answer.
“I wasn’t sure you actually had a mother,” Max said.
She almost snorted. More than one well-meaning social worker had said the same to Phoebe Moon when she’d produced stand-ins to keep herself out of the foster care system. “Surprise,” she said.
He gestured for her to sit.
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
She could’ve snorted again—of the two of them, he was in more physical danger, which he should’ve remembered—but his honest sentiment soothed her lingering panic at finding herself trapped. “You’re adorable. What do you want?”
“To talk. Catch up. Reminisce about the good ol’ days. The usual when you run into someone who disappeared out of your life without a word.”
She’d known from the moment he stepped into view behind his family’s jewelry store that he knew who she was. Not just the Merry he’d dated, but the Merry who was the daughter of Nicholas Raymond, notorious jewel thief.
She’d seen the disgust and the distrust in too many people in her life to miss it in Max.
He curled his fingers around the back of the nearest chair. Casually—no white knuckles, no shoulders up to his chin, no overt anger broadcasting through any of his facial features. “Are you in trouble?” he asked.
Something that felt suspiciously like her heart fluttered. Her acquaintances rarely asked after her well-being, and friends who had been left behind—duped, embarrassed, and often a jewel or two poorer—rarely cared. “Are you wired?”
His brows furrowed. “Wired?”
“Bugged. Taping our conversation. Acting as a snitch to try to catch me doing whatever it is you think I’m here to do. Are you really a jeweler, or do you just play one on TV?”
Max stood stupefied.
Either he was honestly shocked at the idea that he’d be wired or he was an exceptional actor.
And that sliver of her soul that was still pure and innocent and unsuspicious hoped it was the former.
She’d liked Max. He’d been both fun and dependable. Not looking to hook up just for sex, but also not dating with the sole intent of finding a bride. Courteous and attentive in public, a shade on the vulnerable side in private, and a tiger in bed.
His jaw tightened. “I’m asking about your well-being out of respect for someone I once considered my friend.”
She could’ve been so much more than just his friend. “You should pick your friends better.”
“Are you here to steal something?”
“What do you think?”
His gaze bored into her, hot and hard. A familiar longing pulsed between her thighs, but a far more uncommon feeling pinged under her rib cage.
She’d learned long ago not to get attached, but Max made her want to be stupid.
She’d indulged last year. She’d gotten attached.
She still was, if her quick pulse and the pull in her femininity and the overwhelming need in her soul were any indication.
“Or are you just the lookout?” he murmured.
The budding warm fuzzies in her chest croaked and withered.
But if his suspicions kept him on his toes, then she’d let him believe she was the bad guy. She lifted a single shoulder and stayed silent.
“And now I’m back to wondering if you’re in trouble,” Max said. “You were in my house. You slept in my bed. You charmed my dog. If you wanted to steal something, if you’re helping someone, why now? Why not last year when you had easy access to my house, to my keys, to my life?”
“Maybe I’m honestly only here for a wedding.”
“And maybe my fucking curse is real.”
If either of them were cursed, it wasn’t Max. Although, now that she thought about it, Phoebe Moon and the Cursed Heart had a nice ring to it.
The side door called to her. He wasn’t looking. She could make it.
But his concern was a salve to the parched, blistered part of her that never expected friends to last long. She didn’t want to bolt. She wanted to stand here and soak in his reluctant affection.
But mostly, she wanted not to hurt him. Not to have hurt him last year, and not to hurt him more now.
“My apologies,” she whispered. “I’ll go away again, but you don’t have to worry. I’ll be fine.”
His head shifted left, then right, and his arms flexed as though he were cracking his knuckles. “You tricked me good.”
“I never set out to trick you. It wasn’t—” She clamped her lips shut.
Whatever their relationship had been, it couldn’t be again. Rehashing it wouldn’t fix that.
Max twisted back to face her, gotcha written in the semi-satisfied twist of his mouth. “What happened?”
Heat prickled over her skin. Who’d tricked who there?
She jabbed a finger in his direction and stalked toward him until she stood a breath from him, heart clanging in her throat. “You grew up in fairy-tale wedding land. My childhood fairy tale was Robin Hood. I was ten before I began to grasp that my father was a criminal, and I was seventeen before I could acknowledge he was wrong. My moral compass doesn’t point north. It points to safety. I know my daddy isn’t always right, but he’s still my daddy. So sometimes I do bad things too. And sometimes that means I have to disappear. But right now? Right now, I want to go dress and cake and flower shopping with my mom like a normal girl, have lunch in a nice restaurant without wondering how valuable the silverware is, and then get my toes done without noticing everyone’s jewelry and wondering how well they keep it locked up at night.”
He opened his mouth.
Merry covered his lips with her fingers, the firm heat of his mouth and breath making her want to shiver. “Just go, Max. Thank you for a lovely time last year, but we’re over. We never should’ve been at all. As soon as my mom’s married, I’ll be gone, and I’ll never darken the door to your town again.”
Merried Page 3