When Lucas told me that his family had a private box at the arena where the fencing competition was taking place, I’d anticipated something like an opera box. Or perhaps small, glass encased, utilitarian boxes that major sporting arenas have that have a few folding chairs and a mini-bar.

I should have known better. When am I going to learn?

This private box is nicer than most apartments. One-way mirrors make it possible for the family to see everything, while spectators and journalists can’t see a thing. Although a bit short on floor space, it's tastefully decorated. I even recognize the work of some up and coming painters hanging on the wall. Best of all, there's an elegant selection of over-stuffed leather chairs and couches that are as comfortable as they are beautiful.

The box’s position provides a perfect view of what’s happening on the floor and as if that’s not enough, cameras have been set up so that a live video is beamed directly to a huge flat screen television that dominates one entire wall. A camera pans across the crowd, and shows a mass of people larger than most college football games easily taking in the view.

Lucas won his first round. It only took him a few minutes. His opponent simply didn’t know how to handle Lucas’s all-out war approach to fencing.

“Well,” Queen Lynnette pursed her lips and watched both her son and the man he’d defeated return to the areas where their respective teams had gathered.

“That was a bit anti-climactic. Hopefully he’ll meet someone who’s more evenly matched in the next round and we’ll see a real performance.”

I get to my feet. “I think I’m going to go down and see Lucas.”

His father – who had been half asleep in one of the private boxes over-stuffed chairs cracks an eye. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Because – well he’s not always at his most polite during a competition. He can get … snippy, with loved ones.”

“I think I can handle his mood swings,” I grin. “And he said he wanted to talk to me about something.”

Plus, I just really want to be with him.

I know that the more time we spend together now, the more it’s going to hurt when he sends me away at the end of our agreed upon time frame. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been throwing myself into work, to put some distance between us, hoping it will make the break easier, but the entire time I’m away from Lucas, I can’t stop thinking about him and wondering what he’s doing.

Missing him.

The door to the box swings open and, as if conjured by my thoughts, Lucas appears in the doorway.

Heart hammering, I bounce to my feet. “Lucas!”

I’m half way across the room before I notice his expression. It’s not his usual stone face, but it’s not good.

His mouth is a tight, dark slash against pale skin. Fury smolders in his eyes. His rigid body radiates tension.

My steps falter. “What’s wrong?” A million possible scenarios, each one more horrifying than the last, flit through my mind.

Lucas’s gaze roams the private box, taking in his parents and sisters. “Come with me.” His voice is stilted and missing the warmth I’ve grown accustomed to. “We need to talk.”

For a split second, I’m tempted to dig in my heels and refuse to leave. I don’t know what’s upset him, but every instinct screams that it’s not good, that my fairy tale bubble is on the edge of implosion.

Lucas’s stare bores into me.

“Alexis,” he spits the word out from between clenched teeth. “This is not a conversation you want to have with me in public.”

Seeing no other solution, I follow him from the private box.

Lucas leads me down a large, empty hallway. Each time my shoes squeak against the linoleum tiles, my mind makes another U-turn, exploring one possibility after another as to why he’s so angry at me.

None make any sense.

He makes a sharp right into a room, holding the door open so I can proceed him into an empty conference room. Lucas’s equipment bag, the same one I watched earlier while he met with his fencing team, sits on the middle of the table, the contents are scattered around it.

I walk to the table and curl my fingers into the high back of a chair, using it for support as I turn to Lucas.

His expression hasn’t cleared.

“Why’d you do it?” he spits.

My blood pounds in my ears. My throat feels strangled, but I squeak out a response. Somehow. “I can’t say until you tell me what this is about.”

“The fencing figurine. The one my grandfather gave me. I use it as a talisman.”

It takes a second before I remember the lovely jade statue he keeps above his bed. I’ve admired it many times and on more than one occasion considered asking him to donate it to the museum.

“What about it?”

“Why would you take it?”

“Take it? What are you talking about?”

“When I changed after my first round, I realized it’s not in my bag.”

Realization dawns. For the first time, anger stirs deep in my stomach. I lift my chin and meet his furious gaze. “And your first thought was that I stole it? Nice.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Damn it Alexis – you’re the only one who could have taken it. I left you along with my bag.”

“So of course, I rifled through it and stole the silly little statue you keep with you for luck?”

“You told me it’s valuable.”

“Nearly everything in your life is!”

My voice climbs with each word. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. It’s all so surreal. “I haven’t stolen any of those things.”

“Really,” Lucas bellows, “what about those miniature paintings Tessa said turned up missing?”

“What?” He can’t possibly think I took them, can he? It has to be some sort of terrible joke. He can’t actually think I’m stealing from him.

“There weren’t many people there, Alexis, but you were.”

“As were you,” I remind him.

“And Martha Hembroke’s fancy perfume bottle.”

“It was a party. You were there. Lots of people were. Even if she didn’t simply misplace it, which is probably what happened, there were lots of people there who could have walked off with it.”

I can’t believe I’m standing here, trying to defend myself. I feel like I’m stuck in a bad mystery novel. I’m torn between wanting to scratch his eyes out, the need to throw up, and the desire to run away.

“I called her,” Lucas says, his voice so cold, so steady he could be a robot. “She said you were the only guest who entered the house that night.”

My hands curl into fists. My fingernails dig into my palms.

“I didn’t take anything. And I’m not a thief.” I speak slowly and carefully, thinking about each word before it falls from my mouth. If I focus on talking, then I won’t break down and cry. But it’s damn close.

“I have never been and I never will be. I’ve done nothing wrong. Lucas, you know me. Think about it, in all the time we’ve been together, have I done anything, one single thing, that makes you think I’m anything but completely honest?”

Some of the anger drains from Lucas, leaving fatigue in its wake. “Alexis, I can help you, I want to help you, but only if you tell me the truth.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t need your help because I haven’t done anything wrong – and you’re a bastard for thinking I have.”

“Alexis, the evidence-”

“No,” I snap.

I close the space between us, not stopping until we’re toe to toe, “don’t call it evidence. That’s not what you have. This is nothing but accusations created by something twisted inside your mind.”

Tears burn my eyes, but I blink them back. There’s no way in Hell I'm going to give him the pleasure of seeing me cry.

“Alexis…” Lucas repeats, his voice faltering now.

I shake my head and hold up the flat of my palm. “Shut up.”

It feels like the walls are closing in on me. I need to get out of here, now. But before I can, there’s something I have to do.

“Here!”

I wrench my diamond wedding band off my left ring finger. “You can take this and your stupid wedding contract and shove them for all I care. I’m done with you.”

I throw the ring at Lucas. It bounces off his chest.

The last thing I hear as I run out of the room is the tinny rattle of it rolling across the floor.