41. Alice

ALICE

M ichael gives me a reassuring nod before he grips my hand, then pulls the door open.

I try to brace myself, sure that at least a few people would have waited, probably listening outside the door to see if they could hear anything untoward. But when we step into the main hallway, I realize I wasn’t braced enough.

Over a dozen people are standing there, just a few feet away, and as before, they’re staring.

Only this time, they’re staring at me too.

Some of the women are grinning at me, and some look to be sizing me up, but all of them keep glancing at the man at my side.

We take another step together, allowing the door to shut behind us, then he lets go of my hand.

For one horrible half second, I think he’s going to step away from me.

But he doesn’t.

Of course he doesn’t.

Michael moves closer until my side is pressed into his and drapes his arm over my shoulders. “Sorry, I needed to have a quick word with my woman.”

My woman.

The murmurs are instant, but I can’t make out any individual words because my ears are too full of fluffy snow. Because, just like that, Michael has publicly claimed me.

He said he would.

I believed he would.

But still, to hear him say it, in front of a bunch of lookie-loos, half of whom have their phones raised—probably recording—feels like a pivotal moment in my life.

“Is that Alice?” someone nearly shouts, and I startle at the volume.

Then I startle at the question.

I was just recognized.

The hand draped over my shoulder grips me possessively. “Yes, this is my Alice. And if you’ll excuse us, we need to secure some breakfast before our flight.”

I almost expect the crowd to complain or for someone to try and stop us, but no one does. A few lift their phones higher, but most people step back.

I do my best to take subtle inhales, working to calm my nerves, then I let Michael lead me away from the bathroom.