“No.”
He sighed, a long suffering sound that only made me more determined. Behind the glass sat a ring, blackened gold, storm-cut onyx. It looked like it had been made for a man who could crush someone with one hand.
I pointed. “That one. That’s yours.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t take gifts.”
“Well,” I chirped sweetly, “lucky for you, I’mgivingone, not asking you to take it.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s not how that works.”
“Sure it is. Watch.”
The associate retrieved the ring.
Vince stepped back. “Madeline—no.”
“Yes,” I took it from her. “Hold out your hand.”
“I’m not wearing it.”
“You will.”
“No.”
“Fine.” I grabbed his wrist gently and slid the ring over his finger. He went very still. The black metal gleamed against his tattooed hand like it belonged there.
“See? Perfect fit. Excellent taste. Exceptional judgment on my part. The ring gods approve.”
His jaw clenched. “I don’t accept?—”
“You’ve said this.” I patted his chest, not letting myself over think it. “And you failed. Accept your defeat gracefully.”
He stared at me.
Then at the ring.
Then back at me.
“You have to promise. Promise not to give it away. Or toss it. Or lose it while you’re… correcting things.”
He suddenly looked nervous. “So you remember that?”
My heartbeat stuttered. I nodded. “I remember all of it. You did a lot of correcting.”
Silence stretched between us. He just looked at me, as if he’d been waiting to hear that without knowing he was waiting. Slowly, I lifted his hand between mine.
The ring was heavy, masculine, dark as midnight. It sat flush against his finger like it had been meant for him all along.
“It suits you,” I ran my thumb over it.
“Madeline—”
He looked down at the ring on his finger, then shook his head hard, like he was trying to shake the acceptance off of him.
