Chapter 21 Pointed Bits
pointed bits
Lorien
The last twenty-four hours have been the weirdest of my life. It doesn’t bear rehashing, but I’m hoping the next twenty-four will be easier to digest.
We parked in his garage, and he held the gate open again for me, allowing me to walk ahead of him toward my back door.
I drop my purse on the counter and voice the question that’s been bouncing around in my head since we signed papers. “Are you moving in? Or… How’s this going to work? I can measure how long I’ve lived here in weeks, not months. I—”
His voice is quiet when it reaches me. “You decide. I’ll do whatever is best for you. We can take the night, but if we were married prior to your closing, there’ll be questions why we aren’t living together.”
I nod to the empty room ahead of me, still not turning to face him. My nose warms, and heat pricks the back of my eyes, but I refuse to cry. I made the decision. I can live with it.
“I’ll go, but if you need me, I’m right next door. Okay?”
“Okay.” I’m lost in my head. I want to run or to sleep, anything to dissociate from what is happening around me that’s spun me up into oblivion. There’s a quiet clunk before the snick of the door latches and the deadbolt is thrown home.
I wait until I’m sure it’s safe and turn around to find an empty house.
A house with a small jeweler’s box on the counter. On closer inspection, it’s black velvet and has initials on it that don’t compute.
My hands shake and, before I can think better of it, I lift the lid on the box and gasp.
Nestled inside is a brilliant round stone—a huge one at that, it’s at least two carats—set on a band of smaller round diamonds.
But that’s not what’s remarkable. The diamond sits inside a halo of smaller diamonds, but that sits inside a square of the same.
It’s not twelve sided, but it’s a circle in a square or a square in a circle.
A starburst, maybe? The whole thing is insanely bright and catches the light, reflecting it out this way and that.
That ring on his sister’s finger pales in comparison. And hers is huge.
It’s completely impractical, and the setting is not something I ever would’ve chosen, but mostly because it’s two or three times bigger than my wildest dreams would’ve ever considered. And ten times more blingy. Half of this would have been more than enough, too much even.
I slide it from the box and read what’s carved on the inside. It’s freaking platinum. And he engraved an H for husband and a W for wife on the inside.
He’s got expensive tastes, apparently a ton of extra money, and a biting sense of humor.
And I got him nothing. As in the whole number less than one. I should rectify that, but I don’t know what size he is. Or how to remotely come close, especially on my budget.
What’s the right jewelry sentiment for arranged fake marriage for a window of time, but to the man who ticks every box you have?
It’s too late anyway. No stores are open. And the magnitude of my oversight sits heavy on my chest.
Or maybe that’s just guilt.
I growl but throw my hand over my mouth, wondering if he can hear me through the walls. I earn a get-out-of-jail-free card on this one.
I don’t dare try this ring on. If I ever wear it, I’ll be toast. Maybe oil magnate’s wives have these kinds of rings. Or pharmaceutical company CEOs.
Holding it up to the light, I wonder how to even figure out what it is? Roundish and big are probably the incorrect terms. Tempted, I place it between my ring finger and pinky, just to see what the size is like. Is there such a thing as too big? Do I need an insurance policy for it?
I stare until I realize my mouth still hangs open and has gone dry from it.
Am I supposed to wear this to work tomorrow? Pound cake, I’m supposed to go to work tomorrow.
I need it. Frankly, I need the normal, someplace where my brain doesn’t spin in confusion, somewhere my feet are planted firmly in the land of reality. This make-believe land is hard on my linear mind.
Even so, I can’t not say something to the man who just spent a fortune on my ring.
Knocking on his front door feels weird. But not as weird as walking right in. We’re married and don’t know a thing about each other. Not true, he knows way too much about me while I know his middle name and like five or six of his family members—and I met them all within the last twenty-four hours.
I lift my hand, but the door opens before my knuckles can touch wood.
“Darling?”
I make a face halfway between a cringe and a what in the world.
“So that one’s out,” he says, standing aside. “Did you lock your door?”
Oops. I lift a finger to indicate one moment before I run back, hit the lock button, and return.
“I can set it to automatically lock within thirty seconds of the deadbolt being disengaged.” He’s so imposing naturally, but his wide chest fills the doorway, and when I’m two steps down, I feel tiny… and almost chided.
I duck my chin. “That’s not a bad idea. I’m not playing fast and loose. I just don’t think about it right next door.”
“I’ll program it.”
He hasn’t stepped aside, and I haven’t asked to enter. He’s waiting on something and it’s making me awkward.
Instead of going with what I came over to say, I change tactics. “Why is the front door code 1701?”
His lips quirk and his beard twitches. But it’s the piercing in that brow dipping as his eyes crinkle that makes me want to squint.
“Well?” My impatience is showing, but I need to know.
“It’s my best guess as to how many rules we’ll each break.”
“You think we’ll near two thousand?”
“No, Lorien. I think it’ll be seventeen to one.” His top teeth sink into that pillowy bottom lip, no doubt capturing a laugh that wants to erupt.
“It will not.” My voice is petulant, but still.
“Are you at three already? Or four?”
“Two. The first one didn’t count.” I lift my chin in defiance.
“So, three, but only two are punishable. Feels light, but I’ll go with it.”
“Aargh.”
“That was growl-like. Does it fold under the umbrella of our ‘house rules’?” He uses air quotes with his exposed hand.
“Nope.” But the word loses its luster and drifts off into silence.
That hand, the one making air quotes, is wearing a ring. One I didn’t buy for him.
My face falls, and I feel two inches tall.
“What is it?” His brows pinch together and he looks over my head, peering left and right before fixing his gaze on me.
I can’t speak over the boulder in my throat. It’s dry and huge and impossible to swallow around. How many ways can this man best me? All without even trying…
Silently, I extend a hand to his left one.
He’s slow to offer it. I take it in both of mine and stare down at the wide black silicone band.
It’s fitting. Bold, solid, flexible but unbreakable.
Turning his hand this way and that, I study the ink on top, the swirl of a snake around his thumb, the tail making a wonky watchband with a clock stuck on noon.
I’m as startled as he is when a tear hits his hand. I’m so over crying. Two days of this, two weeks of this, two lifetimes of this if you consider the emotional wear I feel with my brother’s illness.
Over gravel, I push out the words, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
His voice is so gentle I wonder if it’s the same man. “I know. We’ll figure it out.”
My eyes spring to his and the kindness in his gaze is like pressure on a bruise. It’s the soft, brutal kind of pain that leaves me aching. “My ring is—” I shake my head. “There are no words.”
He nods and studies me. “It fit you.”
“Oh, I didn’t try it on,” I admit.
“I mean the setting. Soft, brilliant, and bold, with a few pointed bits. It fit. And it fits. If the nuts at The Home Depot were accurate.”
He smiles as I drop my shoulders. He did not. “No, you didn’t.”
With his other hand, he pulls the hexagonal nut from his pocket.
“Grrr.”
“Number four. I swear you’re trying to get me to punish you.”
“I—” I spin on a heel but catch myself. I rotate, put on my fakest smile. “Goodnight, William. Sleep well.”
“Sure thing, Wifey.”
Waving over my shoulder I get to my front door, growling when I tap in the code.
“I heard that.” His words form into a chuckle.
“No, you didn’t,” I throw right back and slam the door.
Liam
Ayla: You got married and didn’t tell me?
Me: You conceived the plan.
Ayla: Yeah, but rude.
Ayla: How I feel knowing I wasn’t there…
A message comes through with a picture of Sophia, huge crocodile tears on her face, her bottom lip jutted out to her delicate little chin.
Me: Don’t take this out on my goddaughter. She’s off limits.
Ayla: She missed it too. Deep wounding. Permanent kind of marks on her soul.
Me: Laying it on a bit thick?
Ayla: We were all there for each other’s weddings. Except for me with yours.
Me: Next time.
Me: And you can be my best woman.
Ayla: Too little too late.
Me: You know there was no wedding, right? We signed papers over tacos.
Ayla: So you…
Ayla: Oh, and Christian’s losing his mind, so there’s that.
I dial her. We’re not doing this over text.
“What’s going on?” I ask, popping a bud in my ear so I’m free to use both hands.
“Dad.” The one-word answer says it all.
“Enough said.”
“Christian’s…. different. He’s on guard. He’s spending more time in his office watching the cameras around the house. He’s on his phone watching the ones at his office. And the gallery? Don’t get me started on Aspen & Evergreen. He’s almost manic.” The last word comes out on a whisper.
“What’s he said?”
“Just that he’s cautious. More aware.”
“Leave it to me.”
“It’s just that he’s always worried.”
“Ayla-girl?”
She stops her pacing or nerves. Everything goes still on the other end of the line. “Yeah, Li?”
“Let me handle it, okay? I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“That isn’t why I told you. I don’t need you to fix all my problems.”
“Yeah, well, on this one, I’m asking you to stand down. Can you do that for me?”
“Fine, but you owe me coffee.”
“You have a machine worthy of the most prestigious coffee bar in Italy in your kitchen. And a man who prepares it and serves you in bed.” Seriously. She wants drive-through?
“Fine, then baked goods.” She’s being hard-headed. It’s literally her most predominant trait. Thank God for that, actually.
“That I can do.” She doesn’t hear the smirk in my voice. Or the threat. But I have brownies on my counter, and she deserves it. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning. Plan whatever self-care or whatever you need. I’ll take Soph.”
Her voice comes through warm and mushy. “I love how you love her. She’s so lucky to have you.”
“She’s my girl.” It’s a matter of fact.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you, Li.”
“Love you too.”
Disconnecting, I wriggle my ring finger, noting the odd feeling. It’s too thick, too new, too there. I need to get used to it so it’s second nature, but it’s still just a suffocating extra on my hand.
I watched Lorien open her ring box. I saw the emotions flit across her face. Surprise, wonder, joy, confusion. She hadn’t tried it on when she came over, presumably to thank me.
I watched her growl and slap a palm over her mouth. I know there’s a freebie there. She does too. But she doesn’t know I know, so I’ll keep that to myself.
If I’d been on one knee proposing marriage to a woman I wanted for a lifetime and into eternity, I would’ve wanted the look that graced her face.
All but the confusion.
Sliding the hex nut from my pocket again, I twist it onto my keyring.
There’s no reason to keep it. I’m not sentimental, but somehow, I can’t quite pitch it.
And setting it down, hoping to remember where I placed it for safe keeping, seems like a great way to lose something I’m not ready to let go of.