Relief visibly washed over him.
“Good.” He gently took my left hand, his fingers warm against mine. He slowly slid the engagement ring onto my finger, the cool metal warming me to my core. Then he added the wedding band. I stared down at my hand in wonder, unable to look away.
“What would you have done if I didn't like it?” I asked lightly, not actually expecting an answer from him.
“Then…” He hesitated.
Slowly, he reached back into the briefcase and opened all the other boxes. Each ring had a different style, setting, and cut, completely different from the one on my finger.
“You brought backups?” I asked, incredulous.
“I didn’t want to assume,” he muttered, looking away slightly. “I had options prepared. In case your taste differed from mine.”
My smile widened before I could even think to stop it, not that I wanted to. "You're so sweet."
He shut the briefcase quickly, clearly embarrassed. “It’s the least I could do.”
“I love the one you chose,” I murmured, hoping he could feel my sincerity. “You didn’t need backups.”
His eyes flicked to mine, searching.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
His eyes softened on me, the question in his eyes disappearing as soon as I expressed how much I liked it. He looked away, that adorable pink rising on his ear yet again. I dare let myself believe my approval mattered more than it should have.
“You ready?” he asked quietly.
“No,” I admitted. “But let’s do this anyway.”
He huffed out a small laugh. “That’s the spirit.”
We walked up the grand staircase together. His hand rested lightly at the small of my back, steady and protective. The large front doors opened before we could knock, revealing a uniformed member of the house staff who greeted him respectfully.
“Mr. Sterling. They’re expecting you.”
“Of course they are,” he muttered under his breath.
The interior was just as impressive as the exterior—marble floors, a crystal chandelier, with walls lined with artwork that probably cost more than my entire apartment building.
I tried not to gape. Callahan’s posture changed subtly beside me. His hand stiffened around me. I followed his gaze to find him staring daggers at the woman opposite us. She was tall. Elegant. Impeccably dressed. Blonde hair cascading over her shoulders in perfect waves. She looked like she belonged in this house.
Like she’d always belonged here.
“Callahan,” she said smoothly.
His entire body went rigid.
“Vanessa,” he replied, his tone clipped.
14- callahan
I knew my mother could be unbearable at times. That was not new information. I’d grown up learning how to navigate her sharp expectations and sharp tongue like a man memorizing the exits of a burning building. But as I stood there, watching Victoria linger just a little too close, her manicured fingers grazing the stem of her wineglass. As though she belonged here, I couldn’t help but think this time my mother had crossed a line.
Cruel was the word that settled in my chest.
She was being incredibly cruel.
