“Yeah.”I will be, too, as soon as I manifest the right husband material and get married and have a family. “Thanks. Me, too.”
“We have an incredible bridal selection.” She leads me to a display. “These are some of our best pieces.”
The rows of solitaire diamond rings under the glass take my breath away. I never thought diamonds were particularly pretty. Maybe that’s why I haven’t attracted a suitable husband candidate. I didn’t appreciate this aspect of the whole engagement and marriage thing.
There is a gorgeous blue stone among the clear diamonds that catches my eye. It isn’t traditional, but maybe sapphires are a thing? I mean, my ideal ring doesn’thaveto be a diamond. Tony proposed to Ivy with a stunning pearl ring.
Jessica notices. “That’s our blue diamond. It’s not overly large—”
“Wait, that’s adiamond?”
“Yes, actually. It’s not overly large at one carat, but it’s exceptional in saturation and cut.” She reaches inside with gloved hands, plucks it off the velvet and holds it out so I can see it more closely. “Look how it sparkles under the light. This is the best Asscher cut I’ve seen.”
“It’sperfect,” I whisper, unable to look away. “Wow.” Then, remembering my true purpose here, I close my eyes for a moment. Imagine a romantic scene with top-tier champagne bubbling in clear flutes edged with gold…something pretty and delicious on the table—maybe my favorite cherry pie, topped with a generous mound of whipped cream—and soft classical piano music floating in the air like fragments of a dream finally coming together. A man drops to one knee, holding out a beautiful blue diamond ring. Then he says, “Will you marry me?” in a sweet baritone voice, quavering slightly with love and devotion.
Giddiness rises like the champagne bubbles in my fantasy. I can’t clearly see the man I’m going to marry, but I already know the qualities he has. Honest. Hard-working. Supportive. Puts me first. Ready to take a bullet for me—although that won’t happen in real life because I don’t want that kind of high drama. I left my bodyguarding career for a reason.
My mind still isn’t revealing the man—it’s just a fuzzy man-shaped haze where he should be. But the rest of my vision will take shape as I continue to work on my manifestation.
“It’s so pretty,” I say, opening my eyes.
Jessica nods in approval. “Just the piece for a romantic proposal.”
I look down at it again, then at my finger. My smile widens. “Yup. Super romantic.” I picture the life I could have with a loving husband, our wonderful children and Señor Mittens in a beautiful house—ourhouse, not necessarily the one my dad left me—and building a fulfilling and loving—
Noah’s voice shatters the reverie. “You’re going to propose?”
What the fuck?!I whip my head around and there he stands, wearing a slightly stunned expression.
He looks unfairly handsome in a loose T-shirt and shorts, his hair tousled and stubble covering his square jaw. I used to love running my fingers over his chin, feeling the roughness there against my fingertips and marveling at how different we were, yet how compatible.
The incredulity on Noah’s face is replaced by narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow, like he’s upset.Good. Why should I be the only one suffering over his whim to butt back into my life?
“Since when did you start playing for the other team?” he asks, apparently taking my silence as a yes.
I mime checking a watch. “Since about, ah, half-past never. If you must know, I’m looking for a suitable ring for me and my future husband.”
“Your future husband?” Noah repeats like he can’t compute. “Lorcan?”
“Oh, God no.” I shudder.
“Then who?”
“The specificwhoisn’t the point right at the moment. I’m not waiting for somebody to give me my dream. I’mmanifestinghim.”
He pauses, unblinking, for a full three beats. “You’re manifesting a husband.”
It’s like I just told him I plan to hike barefoot to Mars. His reaction only makes me more annoyed, hurt and determined. “Yes. A good,reliableman. Someone I candepend on. Do you think I’m incapable of attracting a man like that?”
He looks like he just got punched in the solar plexus. “I—”
“Actually, don’t answer. I don’t need your bad mojo ruining this moment.” I don’t need a reply to know. His shitty treatment of me is response enough. I was somebody he fucked, nothing more. All I got out of our “relationship” were lies and disappointment.
“Bobbi, a husband is a serious matter. You—”
“Yes. Even more serious than a committed boyfriend-girlfriend relationship.”
“You can’t just go and propose to some random guy,” Noah continues doggedly, sounding betrayed and…with a hint of worry? Maybe even anxiety?
