I pop open the box and lower it for her to see inside. Without a word, she presses a small hand to her chest and just stares at it.
“My wife has a decent ring,” I say, by way of explanation.
She swallows a few times, clears her throat, then looks up. “Is it— is it real?”
I would be offended by that if it were not for the fact it’s a reasonable question. What we’re doing here is fake so why shouldn’t the ring also be fake?
“Yes, it’s real. I wouldn’t put a cheap knock-off on your finger, Erin.”
She sucks in a breath and lowers her hand. “I can’t wear that, August. What if I lose it?”
“You won’t.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You won’t be the one wearing it.”
I glance at the gold band of nothingness on her finger. “You ever lost that?”
She shakes her head.
“And this one is much nicer, I’m sure you’ll agree. Have some faith in yourself. Now put it on, or I will.”
The mild threat works as she lifts the ring out of the box and slides it onto her finger.
It fits perfectly, as it should. I measured her finger while she slept and had it custom made overnight.
We finish our coffees in silence. Erin’s mind is elsewhere and she keeps glancing at the ring as if she’s worried it will disappear into thin air.
“Don’t keep looking at it like it’s new,” I say, tightly. “If anyone asks, you’d been having it professionally cleaned.”
She nods and doesn’t say another word until we part ways. Then, I can’t help but take her hand to feel the weightiness of it now it possesses something of me.
I run my thumb lightly over the purple-tinted diamond, but watch the reaction of her skin as goosebumps erupt over her forearm.
I lift my gaze only to see her staring back at me with wide blue eyes.
“I’ll see you at dinner.” Then I turn and walk back to the meeting.
The meeting goes on into the evening, so there’s no time to change for dinner. I’m no clearer on who the key players are. The briefings have all been polite and professional so far, no cracks showing in anyone’s armor—yet.
Tomorrow, we get to see product. I expect greed and ego will win out then, and we’ll start to see some true colors.
The men are the first to enter the dining room, but slowly the wives appear, each one looking as though they’ve spent the last two hours readying themselves.
I can’t help but wonder how Erin has spent her afternoon.
I’m joined at the corner bar by the couple from Florida.
“How long have you and Erin been together?” the wife asks.
“Six years. How about you?”
The wife turns to her husband and cuddles into his arm. “Oh, twenty-three years. But it feels like only yesterday we got married.”
“That’s nice,” I say, unsure of how else to respond. Couples chat isn’t something I’ve had to engage with in a long time.
“You look like you make good partners,” she adds.
I try not to frown. “What do you mean by that?”
