Maia hugged me tightly. “Aye. I will be. Thanks for trusting me with your aunt’s ring.”
I want to trust you with it for the rest of my damn life.
Clearing my throat again, I released her before I did something like kiss her until neither of us could breathe. “Now for the fun part. We go tell the gaffer we’re engaged.”
She nibbled on her lush lower lip. “I feel bad telling your manager before I tell my parents.”
Shit. “We … we can wait. If you want.”
“No. Let’s do it. I’ll tell my parents tonight.”
At her disturbed expression, I was almost afraid to ask. “You don’t think it’ll go well?”
She grimaced. “Not because it’s you. But because I’m ‘engaged’ again after only a month of breaking off my last engagement.”
“One, don’t air-quoteengaged, or you’ll give this whole thing away.”
Maia snort-laughed but nodded.
“And second, you’re telling them the truth. That this is … fake.” I hated that word. “So, I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
“Hmm. I’m glad one of us thinks so.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
MAIA
Icouldn’t stop staring at Baird’s ring.
Not just because it was a family heirloom he’d entrusted me with but because it was the most perfect engagement ring in the world. I’d never seen a sapphire that matched the color of my eyes before. My eyes were a gift from my dad. A gift I treasured because they were such an unusual color. Aunt Shannon, dad’s wee sister, had the same violet eyes too.
I didn’t even know this color of sapphire existed. The sapphire looked around two carat and was a rectangular cushion cut, set in platinum, and flanked by three round-cut diamonds, two hugging the sapphire and one at the base in a triangular cascade into the band. Six round-cut diamonds in total. It was beautiful but understated. Baird told me his aunt’s husband had bought it from a jeweler in Austria in the 1960s. I loved it had history, but I was also taken aback that Baird had bestowed a piece of jewelry uponmethat was clearly important to his family instead of keeping the engagement ring for the woman he would eventually marry after we divorced.
One day, I was going to be a divorcée. I wasn’t sure either of us had processed how big that was and how it might impact us down the road.
There were lots of things we hadn’t considered when we impulsively decided to do this. For instance, I certainly hadn’t predicted how attached I’d get to this freaking engagement ring after only a day of wearing it.
Forcing my gaze from my ring finger as the lift taking me up to the Pennington office floor drew to a stop, I strolled across the marble floor, making a beeline for my office so I didn’t have to speak to anyone yet. Well, anyone other than Eli.
I had hoped to come into the office after a good sleep, feeling well-rested and ready to face my entire team with the news, but it had taken me forever to drown out the voices of my family last night.
Having decided it was best I face my dad and Grace alone, I’d left Baird after he’d introduced me to his manager, who was shocked to say the least. Brian seemed resigned to the news, though I got the feeling he wearily accepted this as another crazy thing Baird was doing this year. He ended our conversation saying he hoped this meant Baird was finally going to settle down and get on with the game and that his performance today gave him hope that might be true.
Brian’s behavior toward Baird irritated me because my friend had been through so much, and his actions of late were clearly him acting out against the fear he’d experienced after his injury. He wouldn’t talk to me about it, but I thought for sure the men around him at the club would have a better handle on it. Apparently not. It seemed it might be down to me to push Baird and get him to open up and talk about the lasting effects from the head injury.
Callan and John were lovely, though Callan did remind me I needed to call my cousin Beth to tell her the news.
However, I had my parents to deal with first.
After evading the truth with Callan, John, and Baird’s gaffer, and feeling icky after it, I was so glad I didn’t have to lie to my parents about the engagement.
At least I was at first.
Until my dad shot up from his couch and demanded, “Are you insane?”
My stepmum, Grace, an elegant Englishwoman, spoke with a softness that belied the steel in her spine. “Logan, I don’t think that language is helpful.”
“Insane?” He glowered at Grace. “You don’t think this scheme is insane?”
