He takes the microphone from Principal Aster, grinning and waving like a game show host. The entire ballroom goes nuts, clapping and hooting and chanting ‘JGH’ as glasses slosh beer and bubbles onto the floor.
“Think he’ll brag about his own stats, or play it humble?” Cece asks.
“Both, somehow,” Davis says, putting an arm around her waist. “That’s your boyfriend, Demon. That douchebag, right there.”
I don’t answer. My blood’s turned to nitroglycerine. Jake starts talking, and I don’t absorb a single word. Not because I’m mentally composing, on the contrary, it’s like someone’s started a chainsaw in my head, my brain buzzing so loud I can’t think.
A kid so huge it’s hard to believe he’s still in high school lumbersonto the stage to accept his scholarship. He and Jake shake hands, and as Jake lowers the microphone, relief flickers through me. He’s not going to do it after all.
Then he turns to face Principal Aster, who’s waiting stiffly at the edge of the stage, hands practically twitching to snatch back the microphone.
“Principal Aster,” he says. “Would it be okay if I take a second to do something important?”
She purses her lips, clearly wanting to refuse and clearly too smart to do so. The crowd cheers louder than they did for the award, and someone shouts, “Go for it, JGH!”
Principal Aster nods, and Jake rewards her with that million-dollar smile before turning to face what feels like the whole fucking town.
“Now, where is she?” he mutters into the microphone as he scans the crowd. I know he’s looking for me, and despite my fears and all my doubts, I raise a hand to make it easier for Jake Graves-Holland to spot me.
“There she is,” Jake says, with that warmth that already feels like home. “Ada, baby, can you come on up here?”
The chainsaw in my head sputters, falls silent. The ballroom seems to freeze around me. People stop drinking, bartenders stop pouring, wait staff pause, holding trays of mini hot dogs. My feet move without conscious will, the crowd parting in front of me, so many blurry, half-familiar faces, it’s like a nightmare. But I have years of performing to thank for the fact that my spine is straight and my smile is calm and composed as I climb the steps to the podium and reach the stage.
Jake is looking right at me, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Then his eyes burn, turning black as outer space, and unless he’s about to mount me beside the DJ booth, I know it’s time.
“Adalasia Renaldo,” he rasps into the microphone. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. And if I was smart, I’d have asked you out then and there. But you knowme, baby, I’m not the brightest bulb.”
Half the crowd laughs, the other seems to be holding its breath, aware of exactly where this is going.
“It took me a long time to track Renaldo down,” Jake says, turning to face the ballroom. “But seeing she went and became the most beautiful, talented musician in the world, that’s not exactly a surprise.”
Amidst the chorus of awws,there’s an audible scoff. A woman’s voice. Jenny, or some other hanger-on who wanted to end her night in Jake’s bed. The sound sends that ancient high school terror racing through me. The fear I’ll be dragged out of the light and back into the mud where I belong.
Jake’s smile falters. He scans the crowd with cool authority, looking every inch the King they crowned all those years ago.
“Ada belongs to this town,” he says, his voice hard as stone. “She always will. And I want her to belong to me. So, without further ado…”
He drops to one knee, and the room erupts. I hear gasps of horror, screams of delight, applause loud enough to split the sky, but none of it matters. What matters is Jake setting the mic on the floor, reaching into his pocket, and pulling out a black velvet box.
This was the plan,I remind myself.It’s just for show. But then why does he have a ring?
In bed, Jake explained why he should propose at the reunion. He wanted to prove to Pukekohe and everyone involved with Thompson Farms that Ada Renaldo wasn’t just some stray they could shove around. As his fiancée, I wouldn’t just be valuable, but practically untouchable.
Hearing that was so insultingly sexist it stung, but after I was done yelling about misogyny, I had to admit he had a point. At a time when criminal indictments were about to fall like bombs on the most powerful men in town, because of me, Jake’s offer was the best and only protection on the table.
“We can have a long engagement,” he promised. “We don’t even have to be really engaged at all. The point is me laying down the law, and you being safe.”
But right now it doesn’t feel like Jake is proving a point, and it certainly doesn’t feel safe. His eyes are soft in a way that makes my chest ache. Like, he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life, and he’s both terrified and hopeful. And I didn’t know there was a ring. Why is there a fucking ring?
“Ada…” Jake says, opening the velvet box. “Will you marry me?”
The stone flashing at me is a deep, bloody red. Glowing under the stage lights like a sword pulled straight from a forge, held in place by silver claws as sharp as my tongue and Jake’s will.
It’s a ruby, I think deliriously.
I look at the man holding it, and in Jake Graves-Holland’s face, I see everything I ever wanted to see in a man asking me that question.
My hand rises to my heart of its own accord. Somehow, I don’t think Jake and I are going to have a long engagement. Somehow, I think we’ll be married by next year.
