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“Then why don’t you go put everything on and show it off for us?” he murmurs suggestively.

The fact that he says “us” instead of just “me” makes my stomach flutter. I still worry occasionally about jealousy, about potentially driving a wedge between the men, but so far that hasn’t been an issue. They all seem comfortable with this arrangement.

Maybe that’s simply because they all know I’ll be gone soon, out of their lives for good.

I head back upstairs and put everything on. The jewelry is elegant in its understated sophistication, and the dress drapes beautifully—a lighter blue than the sapphires so the gemstones still make a stunning statement. The fabric is expertly tailored to flow gracefully around my curves, showcasing the quality through the material itself rather than flashy embellishments. Simple but undeniably elegant, just like the jewelry.

The shoes, however, are different. They have only a modest heel and appear to be crafted from buttery leather with the most exquisite embroidery I’ve ever seen. These shoes are definitely worth showing off. There’s a playfulness to them that makes me think immediately of Hayden—I’m certain they’re his contribution.

I’ve never owned shoes with this kind of intricate embroidery before. It represents a type of elegance and craftsmanship you rarely see anymore. Most people prefer designer heels with recognizable brand names, but this is a different category of expensive entirely. The kind that doesn’t need to announce itself because it knows its own worth.

Once I’m ready, I take a deep breath and head downstairs. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to hide my smile at the men’s reactions as I descend to meet them. They’re all wearing classic black tuxedos for the evening—elegant, timeless, and of course they all look absolutely devastating. They might be dressed identically, but each carries himself differently, each with his own distinct presence. I’m equally drawn to all three of them.

Maybe it’s fortunate this won’t last forever. I could never choose between them, and that kind of greediness never ends well.

“You always look so lovely, Maeve,” Elaine says, smiling at me with such warmth that I both hope for and fear the maternal affection I see there.

I would give anything to have a genuine mother figure in my life, but I don’t want her to care about me like that when I’ll just end up hurting her later when this “engagement” inevitably ends.

Ford offers me his arm and I slip mine through his, allowing him to escort me as Charles does the same for Elaine toward the waiting cars.

We’re attending the local production of The Nutcracker at the historic theater downtown, an elaborate old building that apparently the men funded to have properly restored a few years ago. Lydia tells me this during the car ride, because naturally the men would never mention it themselves.

“For god’s sake, would it kill you to ever tell me about the nice things you do?” I hiss at them once Lydia’s out of earshot as we exit the cars.

The theater is illuminated on the outside not with the traditional Christmas greens and reds I expected, but with soft white-gold lights and varying shades of blue. They seem to be going for a winter theme rather than strictly Christmas, or maybe it’s simply lighting that’s more accessible—brighter and less color-dependent.

“It’s gorgeous,” I comment as we approach the entrance.

“What is?” Gabriel asks.

“The lighting.” I gesture toward the building. “I mean, I love all Christmas lights, but these yellow and blue tones are much easier for me to see clearly. It helps me appreciate them so much more.”

Ford makes a humming sound as we enter the theater.

The interior is breathtaking, decorated in rich burgundies and golds that I can only partially appreciate due to my color blindness. But the architecture and historical details are still stunning, clearly lovingly restored, and I’m genuinely grateful the men provided the funding to preserve this cultural treasure properly.

There’s still some time before the performance begins, so there’s an opportunity to mingle with other attendees, several of whom I’ve met at previous social events. I’m terrible with names, so I mostly stay quiet and smile while the men, Lydia, and Ford’s parents handle the actual conversations.

Ford places his hand on the small of my back and leans close to my ear. “I’ll get us some drinks.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

While he’s gone, Hayden and Gabriel position themselves on either side of me like a pair of protective guard dogs. I suppose after what happened at the last party, none of them are taking any chances that some oblivious man who refuses to acknowledge my engagement ring might try to corner me.

Several minutes pass in polite small talk, and then I realize Ford still hasn’t returned. I frown and peer around Hayden’s broad shoulder toward the bar area. The line for drinks hadn’t seemed particularly long when he left.

But he’s not waiting in line anymore. Ford has drinks in hand, but there’s another woman there engaging him in conversation, placing her hand on his arm, laughing too loudly, invading his personal space in a way that makes my blood pressure spike.

I suddenly understand exactly how furious Hayden felt when he saw me talking to that man at the party. Ford can’t be seen flirting with another woman or it would make him look like a terrible fiancé, but honestly, I don’t care about logical reasoning right now.

Before I can stop myself, my stomach tight with unexpected jealousy, I find myself marching over there.

“Darling, there you are,” I say sweetly, threading my arm through his possessively. “Is this my drink?”

I make sure to display my engagement ring prominently as I pluck the glass from his hand.

“It certainly is.” Ford sounds thoroughly amused by my territorial display.