The jeweler looks up from whatever he’s doing at a desk behind the counter, and his face breaks into a broad smile, flashing bright-white teeth. He has brown skin and short, dark hair, with a well-trimmed beard, and he’s in a suit. “Dane Anderson! It’s about time you—ah, oh. Hello, there.”
Dane’s lips twitch. “Raoul. Meet Amanda. My fiancée.”
Raoul’s face saysThese words do not compute—I feel you, Raoul, I do—but he quickly recovers and flashes that brilliant smile again at me instead, extending a hand as he reaches us. “Amanda. So lovely to meet anyone who can capture this young man’s heart.”
Up close, I realize he has a few silver strands woven into his dark hair, and there are more crinkles at the edges of his eyes than I expected.
“She’s a granddaughter of the gingerbread family,” Dane says.
Raoul sucks in a breath. “No wonder I hadn’t heard. Or possibly I should be saying, How have I not heard?”
“We broke the news to our families yesterday.”
“How’d they take it?”
“About like you’d expect.” Dane turns to me. “Raoul’s family has been doing wedding jewelry for my family for about four generations now. He might know more family secrets than I do.”
And we’re lying to him too.
Fantastic.
But I smile brightly. “So you’re practically family.”
“Practically,” Raoul agrees. “Though I take no sides in disputes. You need a ring?”
“We do,” Dane says.
I pinch my thumb and index finger together. “Just something little.”
“Definitely something big,” Dane corrects.
Raoul nods. “Can’t goRomeo and Julietwithout something big.”
“We need a statement piece.”
“A bold statement piece.”
“At least two carats.”
“Hello?” I wave my hands at both of them. “Does the wearer get a say in this?”
They both study me for a minute.
Then they shake their heads in unison.
“No,” Dane says.
“You can pick the cut and the setting,” Raoul assures me, “but I can’t in good conscience let this young man walk out of here with a ring his family can argue with. Not for you, my dear. Not with the curse you’re breaking. Come, come.”
I trail after him, casting a sideways glance at the necklaces and earrings and watches in cases closer to the door as we move deeper into the store. “Curse? Is that why our families fight?”
“You don’t know the story?” Raoul asks me.
My pulse bumps. “No. Neither does Dane. Do you?”
Is it my imagination, or is Raoul looking at me like he’s still on Team Silver and isn’t sure if he can trust me?
“We think it’ll be easier for both families to come to peace with us if we can address why they don’t get along,” Dane says, making mewonder if he feels it too. “And we won’t breathe a word about how we heard anything, if you can help.”
