33 - Modern Day Shakespeare #2
“Alright, enough of the sappy shit. Next stop.” He beams excitedly, dragging me down until I land in his lap.
Then he hits the buzzer, signalling the driver to move on.
Logan’s arms wrap around my baby bump belly, tapping out a tune I don’t recognise and humming along.
My insides turn to mush. Because I don't think I’ve felt this happy in such a long time.
Sitting in my boyfriend's lap, with our precious baby in my belly, watching the world go by. Alive and free.
You know people say time flies when you’re having fun?
There’s never a truer word spoken. Our trip takes us far from the hustle and bustle of the city to the serenity of the meadows and woodlands at Hampstead Heath.
Walking the grounds, hand in hand like two lovestruck teenagers.
That is until I ditch him in favour of the small herd of fallow deer foraging and basking in the early rays of sunlight.
In true Logan Cox style, he cracks a joke about being second best.
We return to the city to discover the roads swimming with cars.
A vast change to when we set out this morning.
Now, people blare their horns impatiently, and scurry from street to street like the worlds on the brink of collapse.
Exhaust fumes permeate the air mixed with a combination of foods from across the globe.
Restaurants and cafes are full to bursting with patrons settling down for lunch or their afternoon mochaccino’s–artistic chaos at its best.
After a flyby visit to a few more photo stops and a delicious fish and chip dinner, the bus stops outside of Mayfair’s iconic jewellery store. Decorated with tiffany blue banners and waving flags the building alone is a sight to behold.
“Up you get,” Logan says, patting my thighs with his palms.
I practically dive off his lap and spin around, a huge grin already donning my lips. The unspoken question must be written all over my face because he stands up, all smooth and suave and says “Yes, we’re going inside.”
An excited squeal escapes my throat, and I dash down the curved stairs without waiting for him to catch up, giggling at him cursing me to be more careful.
With my feet back on the pavement, I bounce eagerly on the tips of my toes.
Logan delivers some quick instructions to the driver and then steps out too, zipping up his jacket to ward off the chill.
His arm catches me around the waist, tugging me to his side in a suitably possessive gesture.
I don’t mind though because his irresistible aroma once again beckons to me and captivates every one of my senses.
As I spin around, the flurry of excitement quickly morphs into something vastly unpleasant. The pale pink tutu dress that hangs in the shop window adjacent to the jewellers, cuts me to the core. Designed with love for the perfect little princess. It could have been our little princess.
The tears spill before I’m able to stop them. When I turn to Logan, his gaze is fixated on the dress, eyes full to the brim. He sees me, and without a word he swoops in to swipe away my tears in a flash. Then with a reassuring arm around my shoulders, he steers us towards the jewellers.
No words need to be said. We both share the exact same heartbreak
Tiffany’s is overflowing with gleaming display cabinets, housing everything from diamonds to sapphires and necklaces to wedding bands.
Bright lights descending from the ceiling provide the perfect glow to give everything extra sparkle–that extra little twinkle that sways one's judgement to the ultimate decision of making a purchase.
My fingers clasp the white gold buttercup hanging around my neck–a birthday present from papa that brings cheer to each day.
Whenever I wear it, I feel close to him, despite the miles of land and sea separating us from each other
Logan deals with the keen, well-dressed sales associate, drenched in enough perfume to grant a stage five migraine to someone with anosmia.
Whilst I’m free to mooch at my leisure. When he’d told me to pick anything I wanted, my face lit up like a damn Christmas tree.
The brand is well-known for its exclusivity and its high price tag.
My eyes scan the rainbow of coloured gemstones, before falling upon a flawless emerald cut diamond ring. A stunning piece of artisan that’s clear as it is pure.
“You’ve got excellent taste, miss,” the associate says, interrupting my staring competition with the inanimate object.
She swans over to the counter, curls jostling around her padded shoulder blades.
“The Mount has an 8.8 carat 11a diamond at its centre. The absolute highest purity that can be sourced. It's arranged on a platinum band with channel set diamonds of equal quality,” she explains as if she’s reading from a curated script.
She spins momentarily to throw Logan a bone, complete with an over enthusiastic grin. “The perfect engagement ring.”
At this point she slips on a pair of sleek black gloves, preparing to remove the thing from the case.
“No, no,” I protest, waving a hand in the air. “You don’t need to get it out.”
“Try it on.”
Logan sidles up beside me, close enough that our arms brush. The suspicion in my gaze is evident. “But we’re not engaged, darling,” I say, each word delivered at a deliberately slow pace.
He shrugs, cocking an eyebrow. “No,” he confirms, then leans a little closer, his signature scent sending me giddy. “But I will make you my wife soon, Cordelia.”
My arms hang uselessly at my side; my feet rooted to the spot.
Blood rushes up my neck to my cheeks, my lips fall open a fraction, but nothing comes out.
It’s like I’ve forgotten how to produce words, let alone sentences.
Was that a proposal? No. More like a bloody declaration.
That’s not something we’d discussed in any form.
Licking my lips, I swallow the non-existent words caught on my tongue.
Before I can form any kind of rational response, the woman behind the counter is sliding the ring onto my finger, squealing because it fits like it was made for me.
I hold my hand in front of my face, twisting and turning, and admiring the glamorous and very daunting reality of having a 700k piece of jewellery sitting on my ring finger.
I blink. The lady’s gushing compliments go straight over my head, because the longer I let the weight settle, the more I don’t want to let it go.
With a sigh I slip it off, handing it back to the frowning sales associate.
“It’s beautiful,” I mutter, forcing a smile.
“But he hasn’t asked me yet.” I make sure to put plenty of emphasis on the ‘asked’ bit.
Then I turn and stroll to one of the further counters to pick out a cute diamond bracelet not in the six figures.