Chapter Forty-One
GIO
Buying an engagement ring for my brother’s wife is more complicated than I expected.
The first jeweler assumes I’m having an affair. He keeps glancing at my bare left hand and lowering his voice as though we’re negotiating the purchase of stolen diamonds.
The second recognizes my name and decides not to ask questions.
I prefer him.
He brings out tray after tray while I sit beneath lights bright enough for surgery. Diamonds scatter cold pinpricks across the glass. Most of the rings are wrong.
Too large.
Too polished.
Designed for women who want everyone in the room to notice the stone before they notice anything else.
Lucy would hate that.
She would accuse me of trying to put a down payment on her finger. Then she would make me return it.
The jeweler sets another ring on the black velvet between us.
It’s an antique, the diamond set low in a narrow band. Fine details have been worked into the metal, visible only when I turn it toward the light. Small leaves, perhaps, or curling vines worn soft by time.
It doesn’t demand attention.
It rewards it.
I picture it beside the wedding ring Marco gave her.
“That one.”
The jeweler looks relieved. “Would you like to know the price?”
“No.”
He tells me anyway.
I buy it.
Marco finds the box that evening.
I leave my jacket over the back of a chair in his office after a meeting. When he picks it up, the box slips from the inside pocket and lands on his desk with a muted thump.
He stares at it.
Then at me.
“Tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”
“That depends on what you think it is.”
He opens the box.
His expression doesn’t change.
That is rarely a good sign.
“Gio.”
“Yes?”
“She’s already married.”
“I’m aware.”
“To me.”
“I was at the church.”
“You can’t give my wife an engagement ring.”
“Why not?”
His eyes narrow. “I shouldn’t have to explain that.”
“Lucy is already wearing your ring.”
“That’s different.”
“Only because it belongs to you.”
His mouth tightens.
There it is.
Not jealousy. Marco doesn’t care that I love Lucy. He doesn’t care that I kiss her, sleep beside her, or touch her while he holds her.
But a ring is visible.
A ring announces something to the rest of the world. It gives a name to a promise no one outside this house is supposed to understand.
“She can wear them together,” I say.
“On the same finger?”
“Yes.”
“And when people ask?”
“Why would they? They’ll assume both rings came from her husband.”
Marco looks at me.
“No one has to know which one came from me,” I continue. “Unless Lucy wants to tell them.”
“You’ve thought about this.”
“I’ve thought about little else.”
He closes the box.
“She may see it as another obligation.”
“Then she can refuse it.”
“That won’t make it harmless.”
“No. It will make it a choice.”
His gaze lifts to mine.
We fall quiet.
That word has become more important in this house than almost any other.
Choice.
The thing Mikhailov stole. The thing Moretti refused to respect. The thing Marco has spent weeks learning to give back.
“I’m not asking her to sign a contract,” I say. “I want her to have something of mine beside something of yours.”
“You don’t need a ring to prove you belong with her.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
The question lands closer to the truth than I’d like.
I take the box from him.
“I want her to know I don’t consider this temporary.”
“She knows.”
“I want to say it anyway.”
Marco leans back against the desk and studies me. Behind him, the last of the evening light lies in long amber bars across the rug.
“Are you doing this because you’re afraid she’ll leave?”
“I’m always afraid she’ll leave.”
It’s easier to admit than it used to be.
“That isn’t why I bought it.”
“Then why?”
“Because she can leave.”
He waits.
“And I want to promise I’ll still be here if she chooses to stay.”
Marco looks down at the ring. When he speaks again, the objection has left his voice.
“Don’t turn it into a performance.”
“I wasn’t planning fireworks.”
“You considered fireworks.”
“Briefly.”
“No musicians.”
“I hadn’t considered musicians.”
“You are now.”
I slip the box into my pocket.
“You take the joy out of everything.”
“I’m trying to protect you from yourself.”
“That remains the most dangerous sentence anyone says in this house.”
He gives me a look.
I grin.
“Will you be there?”
“For what?”
“When I give it to her.”
Surprise crosses his face. “You want me there?”
“I don’t want her to think the ring is a challenge to you.”
“It isn’t.”
“You know that. She may not.”
Marco considers it.
Then he nods.
#
By the time Angela clears the dessert plates that evening, I've adjusted my cuffs enough times for Lucy to notice.
She sits at the other end of the sofa with her legs tucked beneath her, a book open across her lap. The windows are cracked to the warm summer night, letting in the faint rustle of leaves and the sweeter scent of Angela’s roses.
“Why are you fidgeting?” she asks.
“I don’t fidget.”
“You’ve adjusted your cuff six times.”
“I’m particular about my sleeves.”
“You’re wearing a sweater.”
From the armchair opposite us, Marco turns a page of the report he’s pretending to read.
I glare at him.
He doesn’t look up.
Coward.
Lucy closes her book around one finger. “What did you do?”
“Why do you assume I did something?”
“Experience.”
“That’s fair.”
I take the box from my pocket.
Lucy stares at it.
Then she looks at Marco.
He closes his report.
“What is that?” she asks.
“A gift.”
Her eyes narrow. “What kind of gift comes in that kind of box?”
“The expensive kind.”
“Gio.”
I hold it out.
She doesn’t take it.
“You should open it.”
“You open it.”
I do.
The diamond catches the lamplight, throwing a pale spark across the dark velvet.
Lucy goes very still.
“Oh.”
“That sounds promising.”
“Is that an engagement ring?”
“Technically.”
She looks at Marco again. He remains calm.
Annoyingly so.
“You know I’m married,” she says.
“I’ve been reminded.”
“Repeatedly,” Marco adds.
I ignore him.
“I’m not asking you to marry me legally.”
“What are you asking?”
The question strips the humor from the room.
I look at her.
“I’m asking whether you want something of mine beside his.”
Her attention drops to the ring.
“I don’t know what we’re doing,” she says.
“Neither do I.”
“You bought a ring anyway.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“And what is that?”
“Staying.”
She looks at me then.
The uncertainty in her face hurts, but I don’t rush to fill the silence. I let her study the ring. Let her look at Marco. Let her decide what the gesture means before I tell her what I hope it means.
“This isn’t an obligation,” I say. “It isn’t a claim. If you don’t want it, I’ll return it.”
“You didn’t ask the price before you bought it, did you?”
“That seems irrelevant.”
“Gio.”
“No.”
A soft sound escapes her, almost a laugh.
Then she looks at Marco.
“What do you think?”
“That it’s your decision.”
“You don’t mind?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
Marco glances at me. “I objected to the musicians.”
“There were no musicians,” I say.
“There would have been.”
Lucy looks between us. “You discussed this.”
“He interrogated me.”
“I asked reasonable questions.”
“He found the ring in my jacket.”
“You left the box in my office.”
The corner of Lucy’s mouth lifts.
Then her attention returns to the ring.
“What does it mean?” she asks.
“Whatever you want it to mean.”
“That is suspiciously vague.”
“It means I love you. It means I’m not temporary. It means I intend to be here for as long as you want me.”
“And if I take it off?”
“Then you take it off.”
“If I leave?”
“I’ll hate it.”
The words scrape on the way out, but I force myself to continue.
“But I’ll open the gate.”
Marco’s gaze moves to me.
Lucy’s eyes fill.
I take the ring from the box.
“May I?”
She holds out her left hand.
Marco’s ring is already there.
I pause. Not because I’ve changed my mind, but because seeing the empty space beside his ring makes the promise suddenly real.
Lucy notices.
“You said beside his.”
“I did.”
“Then put it there.”
I slide the ring onto her finger.
It rests against her wedding band as though it was made to belong there, its fine old metal touching the smoother, newer curve of Marco’s ring.
For a moment, none of us speaks.
To anyone outside this house, both rings will appear to have come from Marco.
We will know differently.
That is enough.
Lucy touches my face and kisses me.
I close my eyes. Her palm is warm against my cheek, the edges of the two rings cool against my skin.
Her other hand reaches for Marco.
He takes it.
When Lucy releases me, she turns to him.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not saying that because you think you deserve to be uncomfortable?”
Marco’s expression changes, some guarded thing passing behind his eyes.
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because he loves you.”
Her fingers tighten around mine.
Marco looks at the rings.
“And because he was right. You already wear mine.”
Lucy leans across the space between us and kisses him.
I watch without jealousy. The sight makes something inside me settle.
One ring belongs to her marriage.
The other belongs to a promise we haven’t named.
Neither cancels the other.
Lucy sits back between us and lifts her hand to examine the rings together.
“You know this doesn’t mean you get to make decisions for me.”
“I assumed that was included.”
“And you can’t call yourself my fiancé.”
“Can I do it privately?”
“No.”
“What about beloved intended?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Betrothed?”
She hits me with her book.
Marco rescues his report before she can knock it onto the floor.
This feels less like a proposal than I imagined.
It feels better.
#
That night, Lucy comes to my room.
Alone.
I’m removing my watch when she enters. The bedside lamp throws warm light across the dark wood and rumpled sheets. Both rings remain on her finger, and I can’t stop looking at them.
She notices.
“You’re staring.”
“I bought one of them. I’m allowed.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to that term.”
“We can amend the contract.”
“There is no contract.”
“Even better.”
She closes the door behind her.
The humor leaves me.
Marco isn’t with her.
“He’s working,” she says.
“I didn’t ask.”
“You were going to.”
“He knows you’re here?”
“Yes.”
The answer is simple.