“Our turn?” My brother asks from the other side of the island. In silence, I pass the documents and pen his way, and he signs before offering for Sariah to do the same.
“Is there a significance to May fifteenth?” she asks, looking between me and Lorien. It’s within the sixty-three-day window, after the offer, before she moved in and?—
“That’s the day I successfully defended my dissertation,” my now-wife states, surprise and awe in her voice.
21
pointed bits
Lorien
The last twenty-four hours have been the weirdest of my life. It doesn’t bear rehashing, but I’m hoping the next twenty-four will be easier to digest.
We parked in his garage, and he held the gate open again for me, allowing me to walk ahead of him toward my back door.
I drop my purse on the counter and voice the question that’s been bouncing around in my head since we signed papers. “Are you moving in? Or… How’s this going to work? I can measure how long I’ve lived here in weeks, not months. I?—”
His voice is quiet when it reaches me. “You decide. I’ll do whatever is best for you. We can take the night, but if we were married prior to your closing, there’ll be questions why we aren’t living together.”
I nod to the empty room ahead of me, still not turning to face him. My nose warms, and heat pricks the back of my eyes, but I refuse to cry. I made the decision. I can live with it.
“I’ll go, but if you need me, I’m right next door. Okay?”
“Okay.” I’m lost in my head. I want to run or to sleep, anything to dissociate from what is happening around me that’s spun me up into oblivion. There’s a quiet clunk before the snick of the door latches and the deadbolt is thrown home.
I wait until I’m sure it’s safe and turn around to find an empty house.
A house with a small jeweler’s box on the counter. On closer inspection, it’s black velvet and has initials on it that don’t compute.
My hands shake and, before I can think better of it, I lift the lid on the box and gasp. Nestled inside is a brilliant round stone—a huge one at that, it’s at least two carats—set on a band of smaller round diamonds. But that’s not what’s remarkable. The diamond sits inside a halo of smaller diamonds, but that sits inside a square of the same. It’s not twelve sided, but it’s a circle in a square or a square in a circle. A starburst, maybe? The whole thing is insanely bright and catches the light, reflecting it out this way and that.
That ring on his sister’s finger pales in comparison. And hers is huge.
It’s completely impractical, and the setting is not something I ever would’ve chosen, but mostly because it’s two or three times bigger than my wildest dreams would’ve ever considered. And ten times more blingy. Half of this would have been more than enough, too much even.
I slide it from the box and read what’s carved on the inside. It’s freaking platinum. And he engraved an H for husband and a W for wife on the inside.
He’s got expensive tastes, apparently a ton of extra money, and a biting sense of humor.
And I got him nothing. As in the whole number less than one. I should rectify that, but I don’t know what size he is. Or how to remotely come close, especially on my budget.
What’s the right jewelry sentiment for arranged fake marriage for a window of time, but to the man who ticks every box you have?
It’s too late anyway. No stores are open. And the magnitude of my oversight sits heavy on my chest.
Or maybe that’s just guilt.
I growl but throw my hand over my mouth, wondering if he can hear me through the walls. I earn a get-out-of-jail-free card on this one.
I don’t dare try this ring on. If I ever wear it, I’ll be toast.Maybe oil magnate’s wives have these kinds of rings. Or pharmaceutical company CEOs.
Holding it up to the light, I wonder how to even figure out what it is? Roundish and big are probably the incorrect terms. Tempted, I place it between my ring finger and pinky, just to see what the size is like. Is there such a thing as too big? Do I need an insurance policy for it?
I stare until I realize my mouth still hangs open and has gone dry from it.
Am I supposed to wear this to work tomorrow? Pound cake, I’m supposed to go to work tomorrow.
I need it. Frankly, I need the normal, someplace where my brain doesn’t spin in confusion, somewhere my feet are planted firmly in the land of reality. This make-believe land is hard on my linear mind.
