The salesman reaches for the ring. “I’ll clean this for you before you go.”
Sierra hands it over reluctantly. I glance at the wedding bands while we wait. Never worn jewelry in my life. Never planned to. But married men wear rings, so I choose a black tungsten band for myself, something simple that won’t get in the way when I need to use my hands for less civilized purposes.
When the salesman returns with the ring in its box, Sierra turns to me with her hand out, palm down, fingers spread.
Waiting for me to put it on her?
I pull the ring from the box and move to slide it on her at the same time she flips her hand over to take the ring from me.
Our fingers tangle. The ring nearly drops. I catch it at the last second, my hand closing around hers in the process.
Her skin is warm. Soft. Her pulse jumps against my palm.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
Then she laughs. That real laugh, the one I heard a hint of before. It spills out of her like light, bright and unexpected, and something cracks loose behind my ribs. I ignore it.
“Well, that was smooth,” she’s still laughing. “Very romantic. Viktor will definitely believe we’re in love after that display.”
“Shut up.”
But I’m fighting back a smile.
I take her hand properly this time. Slide the ring onto her finger slowly. It fits perfectly, settling into place like it belongs there.
Her laughter fades, but the smile stays. It softens her whole face, makes her eyes warm and golden.
Christ, she’s pretty.
“I guess we’re really doing this,” she says softly. “Huh.”
I hold up the boxes with our wedding bands. “Seems like it.”
She pulls out her phone, all business now. “Okay. If we want to piss Viktor off, we need to announce this properly. Social media. He watches my accounts like a creep.”
“Good. Let him see.”
“Come here.” She positions herself in front of me, holding her phone out with her right hand. Her left goes up, the ring prominently displayed. “You need to be in the shot. Bend down.”
I lean in close. Her hair brushes my jaw. That vanilla scent wraps around me again, mixed with something warmer underneath. Something that’s just her.
“Smile,” she instructs.
“I don’t smile.”
“Matteo.”
“Fine.”
I think about Viktor’s face when he sees this photo. The rage. The jealousy. The realization that he lost. That he’s going to keep losing.
The smile comes easily.
She takes a few shots, checking each one with a critical eye. “These are good. One more, though. For the really convincing sell.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“A cheek kiss. Makes it look more intimate.”
