Free THIEF: Part 3 by Kimberly Malone

Chapter One
     
                  “Oh, I just love weddings!Don’t you, Erin?Aren’t you excited?”
                  I reign in my cringe-reflex as Aunt Jane passes me another clipping of a flowing white gown.The woman in the photo has her hair teased around a gilded crown of daisies, staring wistfully out floor-to-ceiling French doors.She doesn’t look like a bride.She looks like a bored model.
                  “You bet,” I manage, but she barely hears me, already digging another bridal magazine from the enormous stack she brought to my home after brunch.
                  “What do you think of rose gold and cerulean?” she asks.
                  “For what?”
                  Aunt Jane laughs at my stupidity, head thrown back.I can practically see her tonsils.“For what,” she repeats.“For the colors, silly girl.Every wedding needs signature colors.”
                  I glance half-heartedly at the swatches she slides my way, then sigh.“Look, Aunt Jane…weddings just really aren’t my thing.”This is an understatement of ridiculous proportions—in elementary school, when classmates would play Wedding at sleepovers, I was the girl sitting awkwardly in the corner, watching their display like Dr. Goodall studying the chimps.Marriage in general isn’t something I’ve thought about much, let alone actual weddings.
                  For Aunt Jane, however, weddings are worth living for.Glamour, pomp, and parties are her thing, after all.And with Mom six feet under, Jane and I are left to do this alone.The least I can do is sit here and pretend partial interest.
                  “You’ve got a good eye for design and style,” Jane tells me.“Give yourself more credit.I think you know more about this stuff than you think.”She holds up a clipping of a towering cake, as detailed as the Sistine Chapel.“Yea?Nay?”
                  “A big fat nay.’”
                  “Honestly, Erin Caitlin,” Jane scolds, but there’s a smile at the corners of her mouth.“You know, you’ll have to do this eventually.”She holds up her left hand.The ring glitters like it’s in blazing sunlight, even though it’s been raining all morning.“Someday—probably a hell of a lot sooner than your old aunt here—you’ll find a guy who treats you like Killian treats me.”
                  I think of fat-faced Killian Rogerson, my aunt’s whirlwind romance.He’s ten years her senior at sixty-five, with pockets as deep as his pores, and for some reason Aunt Jane’s crazy about him.Even if she didn’t have her own nest egg built up, it’d be easy to see it’s not about the money.
                  “Wouldn’t hold your breath on that one, Aunt Jane,” I smirk.I pray she can’t hear how sad my joke actually sounds, but no such luck: she sets down her scissors and magazines, reaching for my arm.I don’t think she means to, but she uses her left hand, and I have to fight not to stare at her ring.
                  “I’m sorry about that Silas boy,” she says seriously.“I know you really cared about him.”
                  “Yeah…well.”I pull away, pick up a magazine, and pretend to read an article on choosing caterers.“Not like there’s anything I can do.He’s gone now.That’s that.”
                  “Erin,” Jane says.She waits until I look at her.“You’re clearly miserable without him.Why not give him a call?”
                  “It’s not that simple.”
                  “Look,” she says, “take it from me, who’s had so many breakups I can’t even keep track anymore—it’s not important who did this, or who said that…all that matters is, do you love him?”
                  I try to read the article again, but my eyes drift to the window.All I can see is rain