“You’re annoyingly optimistic.”
“And you’re annoyingly grumpy. I think we’re even.”
We pull into the parking lot of the jewelry store. I kill the engine and look at her.
“Pick whatever you want. Price doesn’t matter.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
She studies my face for a moment. Whatever she sees there makes her nod slowly. “Okay. But for the record, I’m not the kind of girl who needs a huge diamond to be happy.”
“Noted.”
The store is empty when we walk in. A salesman in a blue blazer spots us immediately, his smile brightening when he takes in Sierra’s finger, bare and waiting. Then his gaze shifts to me, and the smile flickers. People always react that way. I’m used to it.
“We’d like to see engagement rings,” Sierra says.
The guy’s smile snaps back into place. “Of course. Right this way.”
I follow her to the case and stand close enough to smell that vanilla scent again. Close enough to see the way her breath catches when she looks at the rings spread out on velvet.
“They’re beautiful,” she murmurs.
The salesman starts his pitch, pulling out the biggest diamonds first. Flashy and expensive. But Sierra’s not looking at those. Her eyes keep drifting to the smaller rings, the ones with character instead of just carats.
“Can I see that one?” She points to a pear-shaped diamond on a white gold band. Mid-range price. Nothing ostentatious.
The salesman hands it over, barely hiding his disappointment.
Sierra slides it onto her finger, and her whole face changes.
Softer. Vulnerable. Her lips part, and she turns her hand in the light, watching the diamond catch and throw sparks. For a second, she looks like a woman who’s actually getting engaged.Actually in love. Actually about to start a life with someone who matters.
Something twists in my gut.
I imagine her walking toward me in white. That same expression on her face. That same softness. Except it would be real. She’d be looking at me like I was the man she wanted, not the man she made a deal with.
I catch myself lingering on that image longer than I should.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I shove the thought down hard. This isn’t real. It’s a trap. A means to an end. Viktor’s face when he sees this ring on her finger is the only thing that matters.
“This is it,” Sierra says, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is the one.”
I hand over my card before the salesman can open his mouth about upgrades. Sierra’s not paying attention anyway. She’s holding her hand up to the light, watching the diamond catch and throw rainbows across her skin.
“Do you like it?” she asks.
I should say something. Anything.
“Yeah.”
Real smooth.
But there’s this tight and uncomfortable feeling behind my ribs. Satisfaction, maybe. Because she looks happy. Because I put that expression on her face, even if it’s built on a lie.
