59. Then
FIFTY-NINE
then
“What the fuck are we doing here?”
Graham did not stop bitching for one moment during our lunch. He hated the holidays, the cold weather, final exams, Christmas music, and his mother. He bought her an expensive brooch at Bendel’s anyway. Because, in his words, “I’ll get my money back when the old bitch kicks.”
We had a half-assed tradition of gift shopping together. It started back in our freshman year as a way to be sure we didn’t buy sorority sisters the same trinkets and piss them off. Now, he objected to my final stop on our outing .
Cartier .
“I’m meeting my mom. I need her opinion,” I grumbled. “You can go text one of those chicks who gave you their numbers at the restaurant.”
Graham’s face stretched into a shit-eating grin. “Your mom ? Oh, shit. How do I look? Is my tie straight?”
He had on the most absurd pink suit I’d ever seen, but he’d also got three phone numbers over lunch. Though, two of them tried to flirt with me before moving on to him. Now, he’d try to get his revenge by hitting on my mother.
At my murderous glare, his smile grew. “I can’t help that she’s the sexiest woman on the Upper East Side.”
I cocked my head to the side, considering. “I can’t decide if I should punch you or drop-kick you.”
Unbothered, he brushed at his sleeves. “This suit is silk, you animal. At least wait until we’re inside.”
“Oh, you’re not coming inside,” I informed him, then checked my watch. 1:57 p.m. “In fact, I think it’s time for you to go.”
After a few more MILF jokes, Graham hailed a cab and melted into the crush. Three minutes later, my mother’s Maybach arrived.
Barnes’ grim figure appeared to open the rear door. Mom slid from the backseat, dressed impeccably in a cream dress with a matching fur-trimmed coat and tall suede boots.
Her eyes smiled at me as she kissed both of my cheeks and slipped her arm through mine. “So, what’s with all the secrecy, mi amor ? Where are we going?”
I didn’t have the balls to tell her my plan over the phone. That seemed stupid now that we were standing in front of the jeweler.
Still, I hedged my reply. “I need help choosing something for Ella.”
The gleam in her eyes doubled. “Ooh! How exciting! A Christmas gift?”
God, am I really doing this? “Something like that. ”
I led her out of the Fifth Avenue throng, under Cartier’s signature crimson awnings. Holiday greenery and twinkling lights surrounded the doors and windows. A doorman nodded to us as we entered. “Mrs. Stryker. Lovely to see you again, ma’am.”
My mother offered him a cool smile as we passed. I caught him lifting his wrist to speak into a hidden mic there—likely heralding the arrival of one of their best customers.
Sure enough, not one minute later, a saleswoman dressed in festive green met us in the center of the polished marble foyer.
“Mrs. Stryker,” she purred. “So good to see you again. Doing a little holiday shopping today?”
Amused, my mom cast me a questioning look. I cleared my throat. “Actually, we have an appointment. Under Grayson Stryker.”
The saleslady quailed slightly. At the same moment, my mother’s brows snapped up. “We do?”
“We do.” I nodded, forcing confidence. My gaze dropped to my watch. A Rolex—lest anyone question my net worth. “Two p.m.”
“Of course, Mr. Stryker,” the woman replied, recovering her poise. “Right this way.”
She directed us up a grand staircase, under several more holiday garlands. The second floor opened into a large room full of creamy curtains and display cases. We walked right past all of them, to a semi-private vestibule. Sheer ivory fabric draped down from the ceiling, obstructing our table from view.
By the time we both took our seats, my mother was staring at me like she’d never seen me before. Even so, she waited for the greeter to excuse herself before she turned to me, gaping. “You called ahead?”
I half-smiled. “I’ve been here twice in the last two weeks. This is just the final decision.”
Concern pinched her pretty features. “ Mi amor , I’m sure whatever you choose will be very dear to Ella. And she’s not a fussy girl. I’m not ev en certain she would want you to go to such an expense.”
Ordinarily, she’d be right. But this was different.
Our concierge joined us before I could reply. The elegant older woman, Bridget, lacked the thinly veiled greed her younger counterparts couldn’t quite conceal. I found her on my second trip to the store and immediately determined that she would get my commission. The fact that she proceeded to spend nearly an hour weighing the merits of various pieces without once pushing one on me only sealed the deal.
Bridget smiled warmly at me. “Mr. Stryker.”
I stood, offering her my hand. “Grayson, please, Bridget. And this is my mother, Jacqueline. She’s here to help me make a final decision.”
“Lovely.” She set a portable leather case on the tabletop and took the chair across from ours. To my mother, she added, “Your son has excellent taste, madam. And he’s been very patient about finding the right thing. If he were my son, I’d be very proud.”
Mom grinned at me. “Oh, I am.”
I cleared my throat again, attempting to dispel the whirl of emotion rising in my chest. “Yes, well. This is an important decision.”
Again, Mom looked bemused. “It’s only a Christmas gift, darling. I know Ella will adore whatever you select…”
Bridget and I shared a conspiratorial glance. A tiny smile played on her lips. “Shall we show her?”
I breathed through an exhilarating rush of nerves, waving my hand at the case. “By all means.”
With care, she opened her special briefcase and extracted four ring boxes, opening each before lining all four up to face us.
I watched my mother’s mouth fall open. “ Dios mío ,” she breathed, swiveling to clutch my arm. Excitement gradually filled her face. “Grayson!?”
I had to chuckle at her obvious delight. “Don’t get too excited,” I muttered. “She hasn’t said yes yet. ”
The sick stab of fear that sliced into my center had almost become commonplace. In the weeks since Thanksgiving, I had spent every free moment plotting my proposal… and worrying that the whole thing might scare Ella off for good.
On the other hand, if she agreed, I’d have everything I could ever want.
For one single question, the stakes were alarmingly high.
Mom bounced in place, abandoning all pretense of sophistication. A stream of Spitalian and English hurled out of her. Something about finally having a daughter… and grandchildren…
I gulped again, swallowing my apprehension and turning back to the jewelry. One thing at a time .
“Well,” Bridget started, sensing my resolve. “As I said, your son’s taste is beyond reproach. He’s narrowed it down to four beautiful pieces.”
Her French manicure brushed over each case in turn as she described the rings. “The canary yellow diamond. A four-carat stone, set in twenty-four karat gold. As you can see, aside from the bold color choice, it’s relatively plain.”
Mom pursed her lips at the yellow diamond. “Ella does like color.”
I pictured her that morning before school, dressed in hot pink tights, an orange corduroy jumper, and a sky-blue turtleneck. All with her crazy flower coat and infamous clogs, of course.
A wide grin pulled at my lips. “Yes, she does.”
“Color can clash, though,” Mom added, in her element. “Especially with formalwear.”
Bridget nodded at me. “We had the same thought. As you can see, the other rings are more traditional.” She gestured to the flashiest in the bunch—a huge cushion-cut stone surrounded by two rows of tinier rocks, all set in a shimmering diamond band.
Mom picked up the case, moving it under the lights. The ring glittered from every angle. “This one is a showstopper,” she murmured, transfixed .
Secretly, it was my least favorite. I couldn’t picture my girl wearing something so ostentatious. But I also wanted her to have the very best. And the concept of a ring that would stop other men in their tracks—marking her as mine the second they saw her—held some appeal.
Bridget swapped the case for another. “And this is an ultra-classic brilliant cut. Platinum band. Modern setting. We have the option to add a halo…”
I could see that it didn’t thrill my mom. “Too plain for me,” she admitted. “Though I believe Ella prefers simple pieces.”
I held my breath while both women turned to the final ring. A flat, soft gold band with an intricate antique claw held one wide, flawless oval diamond. Before I realized what I was doing, I plucked up the case and held it between my palms.
“I picked this one,” I confessed. “I’m not quite sure why …”
Bridget frowned ponderously. “Well, the four-carat center stone has the highest ratings possible for color, cut, and clarity. It is an unusual piece, though. Vintage. We recovered that stone from a Victorian heirloom. The setting is from the 1920s.”
Old. Not at all my style. And, probably, not what most girls dreamed of when they pictured their engagement ring.
I only knew that it somehow reminded me of the chilly mornings I spent huddled with Ellie in Central Park, listening to her transform pointless words into poetry. And the nights we sat on the floor in front of my furnace, spoiling our dinner with liqueur-spiked hot chocolates. And the spun gold of her hair when sunlight slanted across our bed.
With a resigned sigh, I set the box back in our line-up. “So, Mom, what do you think?”
A sheen of mischief glossed her gaze. “I have an idea. We will both close our eyes and point to our favorite ring. That way, we can eliminate the other two.”
I smirked at her silliness. “Mother. We’re in Cartier.”
She squeezed my arm. “Oh, no one can see us! And it’ll be fun! Come on! ”
In the end, I agreed because it had been far too long since I saw her so happy. “Fine. On the count of three?”
“Perfect.”
I played along, closing my eyes. As she counted down, I found I didn’t have time to overthink. I pointed to the vintage ring and opened my eyes, only to find my mother and Bridget grinning at me… and both of Mom’s hands firmly folded in her lap.
“See? You knew which one all along.” Humor and pride swirled in her eyes. “Ella loves you . Your opinion is the only one that matters, Grayson.”
Bridget swept the other three away. “We have a winner,” she agreed.
Fresh emotion clogged my throat as I picked up the ring again, staring down at it. Certainty settled inside of me.
“I’ll need it insured,” I whispered, trying my best to remain practical. “And gift-wrapped.”