19. Elio #2
Bruno nods and begins pulling rings from their perches on the tray, putting several of them together in the empty rectangle the garnets had been rattling around in a moment ago.
After that, he removes two more pouches with little bags in them, spilling blue and brilliantly white stones among the rings.
“Sapphires and diamonds are both excellent choices for engagement rings,” he says. He holds up one ring for my viewing. “They also go very well together, as is the case for this ring, which has both.”
It’s a big, fat, blue oval surrounded by a sunburst of dazzling diamonds, all perched on a white band. It’s alright, I guess, but it’s not right for Deirdre.
“Looks like something my Zizi would want to wear,” I say with a dismissive shake of my head. “Deirdre’s only twenty. No grandma shit.”
“Something more youthful or modern, then?”
He sets down the oval sapphire and holds up another ring, this one with a wide yellow-gold band and a rectangular diamond going lengthwise across the front instead of the usual up-and-down sort of setting I’d expected to see.
“This is a flawless emerald-cut diamond. This horizontal style is called an east-west setting. It’s very trendy right now.”
“Nothing trendy,” I tell him. “Deirdre isn’t trendy.”
“Something classic but fresh, then?”
“Yeah,” I say, peering down at the tray again. “That sounds good.”
“How about this one? This is an exquisitely-cut pear-shaped diamond in a platinum band.”
The stone on the ring he holds up for my perusal doesn’t look anything like a fucking pear. It looks like a tear drop. Pretty sure I’ve made Deirdre cry enough. She doesn’t need to be reminded every time she looks down at her fucking hand.
“No pear diamonds. Or anything else named after a fucking fruit,” I say irritably. Goddamn, my head is killing. Curse is still near the door, and I call over to him. “Tell Rosa to bring me a coffee.”
Curse nods and disappears. Bruno watches him go before turning his attention back to me.
He regards me with those black-blue eyes, his head cocked slightly.
“May I try something?”
“What now?”
“I’ve never met your fiancée. I have no sense of her spirit, her sensibilities, her taste. I’m working with what you’re telling me, and while the process of elimination can be helpful, we haven’t yet struck gold, so to speak.”
“So what? What do you want me to do about it? You’re the one who actually knows about this shit.”
“But you’re the one who knows her. ”
The distinction is clear, as crisp as the sound of an icicle falling from a roof.
“What, then?” I grunt, sitting up a little straighter even though it fucking hurts. I never thought I’d be sweating about women’s jewellery like this before. Before Deirdre I probably would have just gotten Valentina to pick something.
But this time it has to be me. It’s the engagement ring I’m giving Deirdre for the wedding she doesn’t even want.
I have to get it fucking right.
“I want you to close your eyes-”
“Nope,” I say instantly. “Start over.”
Bruno purses his lips, his professional patience visibly wearing thin for the first time since he’s gotten here.
We’ve been clients of Bruno’s since he first opened his shop, and even outside of that he knows better than to blow off a Titone.
But I guess even he has his limits. Some of the smooth polish has worn away from his voice, replaced with the firm authority of a man who knows his craft and also knows his time isn’t to be wasted.
“It’s a simple exercise,” he says bluntly. “And it will help me make better suggestions for you going forward.”
I rub my forehead with my good hand.
“Fine. What the hell is it?”
He watches me for a moment, as if wary I’m going to change my mind and explode on him. I kind of want to. My head feels like it’s about to.
“I want you to close your eyes and picture your fiancée. The creature that’s captured your heart. The love of your life. I want you to hold the image of her in your mind firmly, like she’s physically in front of you now.”
I sigh, because if this isn’t the stupidest psychotherapy-sounding shit I’ve ever encountered then I don’t know what is.
But ultimately, I shut the fuck up and I do it.
I close my eyes and let the image of Deirdre form inside my head, soft and smudgy at first, getting clearer every second that my heart beats.
“Do you see her?” Bruno asks from somewhere outside the vision of Deirdre I’ve created.
“Yes.”
“OK. Now say the first three words that come into your head. No hesitation. No thinking. Go.”
“Fire. Freckles. Music”
“Good. Now three more. No thinking. Go.”
“Angry. Songbird. Soul.”
I’m aware of rustling, like he’s rearranging his tray every time I speak. But I don’t see it because all I see is her.
“Good. Now what about when she’s all dressed up, maybe going to an event with you. What does she look like? What’s she wearing? Three more words. Now.”
I don’t need to imagine her that way. I can remember her. When I took her to the gala the day after her birthday, draped in dark silk, diamonds at her throat.
“Regal. Blue silk. Diamonds.”
“What about when she’s wearing nothing?”
A growl forms in my throat, but Bruno speaks quickly, placatingly, before I open my eyes and strangle him.
“I’m not asking you to tell me specifically what she looks like.
I’m just trying to get at all the variations, to understand the different shades of her.
To find something that will suit her whether she’s at an exclusive event or doing nothing but sleeping in her own bed.
Or, your bed, I suppose. So, what of it?
She’s naked. She’s with you. Three words. Go.”
Her blue silk is gone. Her hair is in a wild disarray around her freckled shoulders. Her breasts are full and firm beneath my hands, nipples greedy and needing to be sucked, her cunt wet like a flower blooming under the shivering weight of dew.
“Perfect,” I rasp. “Flawless. Mine .”
More rustling, more rearranging.
“Alright, Mr. Titone. If you would open your eyes, I have three new options for your consideration.”
Only problem is I don’t want to open them now. Bruno’s not a bad-looking guy or anything, but I’d rather keep staring at the naked Deirdre in my head.
But ultimately, I do want to see what he’s come up with. That exercise left me feeling oddly exposed, and I sure as shit didn’t go through all that Freudian weirdness not to get a goddamn ring out of it at the end.
When I crack open my eyes, there are only three rings left in the rectangle compartment and no more loose stones at all. All three rings are made with diamonds.
“This,” he says, holding up the first one between his finger and thumb, “is another oval-cut stone, like the sapphire ring from before, but as you can see there is no diamond halo around the centre stone, just these two triangle-cut diamonds at the sides.”
The big, sparkly oval sits low on a yellow-gold band, accented by two smaller diamonds pointing out sideways, like leaves jutting out from beneath a bloom.
“Much better,” I say with a crisp nod. Maybe all that psycho-babble nonsense was actually worthwhile. We’re a hell of a lot closer now.
He puts it down and grabs the second ring.
“As you can see, this ring has a yellow-gold band, though I can recreate it with another metal if you so desire. The band is inlaid with pavé-set diamonds, and is crowned with an extraordinary two carat marquis-cut diamond at the centre.”
I nod again, reaching out to take a closer look at this one. I hold it between my finger and thumb and bring it close to my face. I like the shape of the centre stone, pointed at both ends. It feels old-fashioned but not in a granny way. Classic but unique.
“Very good,” I say, suitably impressed with how much Bruno’s refined his suggestions. I pass the ring back and he places it back down. He grasps the third ring and holds it up.
At first glance, it’s the most unassuming of the three choices left.
The other two have that warm, eye-catching yellow gold, and both the others are adorned with multiple diamonds.
This one’s band is a bright silver-white in colour, and doesn’t have any extra diamonds except a large, round, centre stone.
“Is that one white gold?” I ask.
“Platinum,” he replies. “It’s more durable than white gold, and more pure as well. Unlike white gold that has other metals present, platinum is a single-element metal. It ages beautifully, whereas white-gold requires rhodium plating to restore its lustre the longer it is worn.”
I nod, listening, liking the sound of all that. And I can’t help but think the brilliant shine of the cool-coloured metal will suit Deirdre best. But I’m not sure about the overall design. It looks a little too simple.
“The centre stone is a special one,” Bruno continues, angling the ring this way and that until it sprays rainbows in every direction.
“While it is smaller than some of the others, at exactly one and a half carats, it is one of the finest currently in my collection. This is a brilliant-cut diamond, which I cut myself, and it has been independently appraised as super ideal, which is the highest possible quality of cut available. It is a flawless diamond, which means it has no inclusions visible at a magnification of ten times, and its colour is of the utmost quality – level D.”
“That all sounds good,” I say, “But I don’t think it’s big enough. Or flashy enough.”
“Wherever possible,” Bruno replies, “I advise my clients to go with cut and quality of a stone over size.”
“Yeah, well, I want both.”
His mouth tightens, like he’s trying to hold back an expression of amusement.