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“Fine,” she grumbles. “You can have two.” A narrow-eyed look. “And only two.”

“Three.”

She sighs, shakes her head. “Fine. Three.”

A flash of a grin before he turns to the last Ambrose in our circle. “Beck, want to ride with me?”

Ace’s final brother, a spitting image of Ace himself, except with a body not quite as cut, a jaw not quite as dominant, a nose with a few more bumps in it—having clearly been broken more than once—nods. “Yeah, I’ll drive.” He glances at me. “Violet. I’m Beck. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I say to his back.

The quiet one.

My recon told me that, so I don’t take offense to the minimal greeting or the fact that my returned one was given to him as he walks away.

And frankly, this is far warmer of a welcome than my family has ever given me, so I can’t complain, even if Steve and Lex are both glaring at me.

Yup.

Glaring.

Now that’s a greeting I’m familiar with.

“We should head home too, Mom,” Ace says into the silence that falls between our group.

Steve’s glare intensifies and I don’t realize until after he speaks that it’s because he’s fixated on my left hand. “Where’s your ring?”

I freeze.

Much research was conducted. Names memorized, facts filed away, family lineage studied, and not once had I thought about a ring.

“I have to get it resized,” Ace says, swooping in to save me. “It’s in my suitcase,” he says when his father’s scowl intensifies. “I’ll show it to you later.”

Joan tsks. “Honey, how many times have I told you to let your fiancée pick out her own ring? That way the size is right and the style is exactly what she wants.” A flick of her gaze to Steve that gives me the impression that she didn’t have that same treatment.

“He did really good,” I interject before the conversation can deteriorate further. “It’s just too big and I didn’t want to lose it.”

“Oh,” she says softly, seeming both oddly pleased and extremely disappointed.

Steve crosses his arms, glare not easing.

I glance at Ace, see that the muscle in his jaw is throbbing again.

“Should we head out?” I say into the silence. “I’d really like to try those rolls Noble is planning to get into.”

Ace’s arm tightens around my middle, but when I look up at him, I can’t tease out the emotions in his expression.

“You’re hungry?” Joan asks, disappointment fading, glee creeping into her eyes.

I cling to the conversational gamut. “Starving.”

“Great!” She reaches out and drags me away from Ace, tucking her arm into mine, drawing me forward. “Boys,” she calls carelessly behind her. “Get the bags.”

TWELVE

Ace

“Seriously, son?” my dad mutters as we play Jenga with the suitcases in the back of the family SUV.