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He offered an emerald-cut diamond the size of her thumbnail. A pair of trapezoid-cut diamonds flanked either side. The setting was simple yet different enough to be eye-catching. It was stunning and elegant.
Fliss instantly loved it but made herself scan for something that looked less expensive. All the rings were incredibly beautiful and tastefully extravagant and had to be worth millions of pounds. He wasn’t really going to give her a ring like this, was he? What happened to two months’ salary?
“Try it on.”
Her hand was still trembling. She let him push it onto her finger, but it wouldn’t go over her knuckle.
“My fingers are swollen.” It was still morning, and all of her was puffy these days.
“I’ll resize it.” Ms. Smythe appeared with a tray that held two filled flutes of sparkling amber liquid.
“But after the baby comes...”
“I’ll do it again.” Ms. Smythe handed her a glass, then offered the other to Saint. “It only takes a day or two. It’s no trouble.”
Fliss didn’t know a lot about fine metals, but she knew platinum couldn’t be melted down and used again.
“Unless you’d prefer something with color? This yellow diamond would suit your skin tone,” Ms. Smythe said.
“I actually like this one.” Fliss was still trying to force the ring over her knuckle. It was the one Saint had picked out, and looking into its facets was like staring into an infinity mirror.
That was what she wanted to believe, that he was promising her infinity.
“Excellent. Congratulations. Let me get my gauge.”
A few minutes later, they were on the sidewalk again, standing in the shade of the building while they kissed again.
“Say hello to Mrs. Bhamra for me,” Saint said. “Ask her if she’d like to fly back with us. We can drop her in Toronto.”
“It’s short notice. She might want to wait until next time, but I’ll mention it. Thank you. Um...” She was aware of the driver standing at the open the door of the car, waiting for her.
“We’ll have dinner tonight, just us. To celebrate.” Saint cupped her cheek and dropped a last, lingering kiss onto her lips.
She smiled shyly. Should she say it? She felt it. Meant it. Wanted him to know it.
“I—” Her throat started to close with nerves. “I love you,” she confided in a hushed voice.
The relaxed warmth in his expression vanished. The cool, remote man appeared, the one who only thought in binary logic and looked like his dad and said things like, “You don’t have to say that.”
Her heart was instantly pinched in a vise. “I mean it.”
“Well, you shouldn’t.” His hard brows came together. “We agreed that wasn’t something we should expect.”
She wasn’t asking for his love. That was what she wanted to say. But she was, she realized. She wanted her feelings to be returned.
And they weren’t.
“I just thought you should know,” she mumbled and turned away to dive into the car.
“Fliss.” Saint stopped the driver from closing the door.
“You can’t help how you feel, Saint. Or don’t feel,” she added stiffly. “Mrs. Bhamra will worry if I’m late.”
“Damn it.” He should have handled that better.
Saint went back to the office, but he couldn’t concentrate. He was snappish enough that people gave him a wide berth. A few hours later, he went back to an empty hotel room and texted Fliss.
Are you on your way back?
