“Yes?” he calls.
The door opens and one of the staff steps in, eyes carefully lowered. “The jeweller has arrived, sir. For the wedding bands.”
Of course he has.
Finn’s jaw tightens—not in irritation, but in calculation. “Send him through.”
The staff retreats immediately. I don’t look at Finn. I look down instead, fingers curling against the skirt of my dress, breath steadying as something cold settles in my chest.
Wedding bands. Plural.
The jeweller enters carrying a slim black case, expression professional and reverent in the way men get when they know exactly whose money they’re touching. He nods to Finn first. To me second.
“Lady Malloy,” he says.
He opens the case on the low table between us. Gold, platinum, sets arranged in neat rows, each one more ornate than the last. Old money designs, heavy, permanent. I stare at them like they might bite. Then I look at my hand.Bare.
No engagement ring. No promise. No lie dressed up as romance. Just the band Finn forced onto my throat like a substitute. I lift my eyes to him slowly.
“So,” I say coolly. “Straight to wedding bands, then?”
The jeweller freezes. Finn doesn’t flinch.
“You don’t need an engagement ring,” he replies.
I laugh once. Sharp, humourless. “Funny. Most men at least pretend.”
His gaze darkens. “You don’t want pretending.”
“No,” I agree. “I want honesty.”
I gesture lightly at my empty hand. “Seems a bit backwards, doesn’t it? Collar first. Ring later. Or not at all.”
The jeweller clears his throat, suddenly very interested in the inside of the case.
Finn steps closer, voice low. “Careful.”
“With what?” I ask sweetly. “Pointing out that I’m marrying you without so much as a question being asked?”
“You were never going to say yes.”
“And yet,” I reply, eyes flicking to the bands, “here we are.”
Silence stretches, heavy and loaded.
Finn finally exhales, slow and controlled. “Pick a set.”
I look at the rings again, then back at my bare hand.
“No,” I say quietly.
The jeweller swallows.
Finn’s gaze sharpens. “Róisín.”
I lift my chin. “If you’re going to own me,” I say evenly, “do it properly.”
The words hang there—dangerous, daring, irrevocable. Finn smooths his cuffs like this is any other morning.
