Chapter 35
Julia
Just yesterday, I'd married Quentin with a borrowed ring in a courthouse that smelled like disinfectant. Now I was picking out diamonds. The whiplash made my head spin.
The jeweler—silver-haired, impeccably dressed, probably older than some of these diamonds—laid out a selection of rings on black velvet.
I stared at them like they might explode.
"Congratulations on your marriage," he said warmly. "Are we looking for wedding bands for both of you, or...?"
"Both," Quentin said. "And a diamond for my wife to wear as well."
My wife. The words hit differently this morning.
"Wonderful. Let me show you our bridal sets—the engagement-style ring pairs with a matching wedding band."
I must have made a face because Quentin squeezed my hand.
"What style draws your eye?" the jeweler asked gently.
The kind that doesn't make me feel like I'm playing dress-up in someone else's life.
"I don't know. What says 'we got married at the courthouse yesterday but now we need rings so people believe we actually planned this'?"
The jeweler's expression didn't flicker. Clearly not the weirdest thing he'd heard.
Quentin coughed to cover a laugh. "Maybe we just start with what you think is pretty?"
My gaze drifted to a ring in the center. Elegant, classic, not trying too hard. A round diamond that caught the light without screaming for attention, with a delicate matching band.
"That one," I said, then immediately panicked. "But maybe something bigger? What would Carlo expect? He knows me. He'd know if I picked something too small. Or too big. Or too—"
"Julia." Quentin's hand covered mine. "What do you like?"
"That one," I whispered. "But—"
"Then that one." He nodded to the jeweler. "We'd like to see it."
The jeweler handed it to Quentin with a knowing smile. "Many of our couples have courthouse ceremonies before their larger celebrations. You're in good company."
If only that were the whole story.
Quentin turned to me, taking my left hand—the one that was bare since I’d given Serenity’s ring back to her. His thumb traced circles on my palm.
"May I?"
My heart did something acrobatic and possibly medically concerning.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He slid the diamond ring onto my finger.
Perfect fit.
Of course it was. Because apparently the universe had a sick sense of humor.
"How does it feel?" Quentin asked, his voice doing that soft thing that made my knees unreliable.
Like yesterday was real. Like this is real. Like I'm in way over my head.
"Heavy," I managed. "I mean, not heavy-heavy. Just... weighted. Yesterday was so fast. This makes it feel..."
"Real?"
"Terrifyingly real."
Quentin's smile was crooked, amused, unbearably attractive. "We are legally married, Julia. It doesn't get more real than that."
"Our legally strategic marriage," I corrected automatically.
"Right. Legally strategic." But his eyes said something different.
The jeweler cleared his throat delicately. "It suits you beautifully. Now, shall we look at the matching wedding band? And something for the groom?"
While Quentin tried on platinum bands—watching his face as he slid them on and off, trying to read what he was thinking—I kept staring at my hand. At the diamond that kept catching the light, winking at me like it was in on some cosmic joke I hadn't been told yet.
I'm married. To Quentin Vanetti. The man I was sent to kill. Who I married yesterday in a courthouse because of legal loopholes and death threats. While possibly accidentally falling in love with him. This is fine. Everything is fine.
"This one," Quentin said, holding up a simple platinum band. Classic, understated, somehow very him.
"You're sure?" I asked.
"Are you questioning my taste in jewelry, Mrs. Vanetti?"
Mrs. Vanetti. There it was again. That flutter of something I wasn't ready to name.
"I'm questioning everything right now," I admitted.
"Fair enough." He looked at the jeweler. "We'll take all three. The set for her, and this band for me."
While he handled payment—and I tried real hard not to think about how much rings like this cost, or what they symbolized, or how yesterday's ceremony had lasted about ten minutes but had somehow changed everything—the jeweler motioned to the elegant boxes.
"Will you be wearing them out?" he asked.
Quentin looked at me. "Julia?"
I looked down at my left hand. Yesterday at the courthouse, we'd signed papers. Made it legal. Protected ourselves with spousal privilege. But this? This made it look real to everyone else.
"Yes," I said quietly. "I'll wear them."
Quentin took the wedding band from the jeweler. Right there in the store, in front of the security guards in their expensive suits and the jeweler with his knowing smile, he slid it next to the diamond ring on my finger.
"There," he said softly. "Now you look properly married."
"Is that what we're going for? Proper?"
"Among other things."
The jeweler handed Quentin his band, but Quentin gave it to me. "Your turn."
My hands were shaking slightly as I took his left hand. This felt more significant than the courthouse somehow. More real. More us.
I slid the platinum band onto his finger.
"How does it feel?" I asked, echoing his earlier question.
"Like I'm in trouble," he said, but he was smiling. "The best kind of trouble."
We walked out of that store wearing our rings, our hands clasped together, legally married as of yesterday and now looking married too.
"That was surreal," I said once we were on the sidewalk.
"Which part? The marriage or the rings?"
"All of it. Yesterday was paperwork and a judge who looked bored. This felt..."
"More like a wedding?"
"More like a commitment." I looked down at my hand again. At the way the sunlight caught the diamond. "We really did this."
"Having second thoughts?"
Only about a thousand. But when I looked at him—at the way he was watching me, patient and careful and somehow convinced this was all going to work out—I surprised myself by saying:
"No. No second thoughts."
His smile was worth every moment of uncertainty.
"Good. Because these rings were expensive, and I'm pretty sure that store has a strict no-returns policy."
I laughed—real, genuine, the kind of laugh that made me believe we might actually survive this.
"Well, when you put it that way..."
He pulled me closer, right there on the street, and kissed me. Not performatively, not for show. Just because.
When we broke apart, I was breathless.
"What was that for?" I asked.
"Practicing being married."
"You're such a romantic."
"You married me yesterday. Clearly you like it."
Yeah, I thought, looking at the rings on our hands, I really do.
∞∞∞
We made it back to the office by eight-thirty. No sign of Silvio, but Serenity was there. Along with Stone. "I've got tight security for Silvio's visit. We're ready."
"Good," Quentin said. "Let's head into my office."
"Can I see it?" Serenity asked. I held up my hand—both rings now, the engagement-style diamond and the wedding band nested together—and Serenity gasped. "It's beautiful. They're beautiful."
She didn't touch my fingers, and I was grateful, since she'd probably pick up how terrified I was. The worry that Carlo would kill Quentin on sight seemed to settle in my chest. He wouldn't do that, right? Not in a restaurant in front of witnesses?
Last night over dinner, we'd decided to make sure Serenity got a chance to shake Silvio's hand. I hoped she picked up enough to let us know if he'd orchestrated my father's hit. It would also come in handy to know if he was planning anything at our meeting. Like killing me or Quentin.
Twenty-three minutes later—Silvio was always precise—there was a knock.
My stomach attempted to leave my body through my throat.
Stone opened the door. "Silvio. Come in."
My cousin stepped inside, and I watched him do the thing he always did: scan the room, catalog exits, assess threats. Professional paranoia wrapped in an expensive suit.
His eyes landed on me first. Then Quentin. Then Serenity.
The suspicion was immediate and obvious.
"Jules." He crossed to me, kissed both cheeks. Traditional. Familiar. Making me feel disloyal.
Quentin stepped forward, extending his hand. "Silvio."
They shook. Brief. Professional. Two men who didn't trust each other pretending civility.
"This is Serenity Wells," I gestured to her. "She's one of Quentin's business partners. Helping with some project coordination."
Silvio's eyes narrowed immediately. "The psychic."
It wasn't a question.
Serenity stood, offering her hand with a warm smile. "Pleasure to meet you."
Silvio stared at her outstretched hand like it might bite him. "Yeah. I don't think so." He kept his hands at his sides. "No offense, but I don't need anyone poking around in my head."
"I only see what an object or person wants me to see," Serenity said gently, not lowering her hand. "And only when there's something important."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?" A cold smile. "Pass."
The tension in the room ratcheted up several notches.
I stepped in. "Silvio—"
"Jules, I'm here as a professional courtesy. To you and to Carlo." His gaze never left Serenity. "But I'm not playing parlor games with fortune tellers. We clear?"
"Please, sit." Quentin gestured to the chairs arranged in front of his desk. Casual. Non-threatening. Like we weren't about to potentially give my cousin a heart attack.
Silvio sat. But his posture stayed alert.
I took the seat next to him. Quentin stayed behind his desk—smart, keeping physical distance to seem less threatening.
"So." Silvio looked between us. "It’s true? You’re married?"
"Yes. Yesterday. At the courthouse."
"You and Vanetti."
"That would be the 'us' I mentioned on the phone."
His jaw tightened. "Jules, what the hell did you do?"