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“Good morning.”
“Morning.” I glance around the glass cases, filled with gold and silver jewelry, sparkling diamonds and gemstones, necklaces and rings, and watches. “I’m looking for an engagement ring.”
“Center cases.” He gestures in their direction. “Let me know if you’d like to see anything up close.”
I have no idea what to get for her. I don’t know what she would want—it’s never been something that there’s ever been any reason to discuss. My first instinct is a diamond, but I wonder if she would actually want that. If she might prefer something different—more unique.
There are dozens of diamond engagement rings in the case, in every shape imaginable, small and large. I glance over them, looking at the different settings, trying to think of what Bella’s style is like. She’s always worn pretty things, when she’s dressed up. Pretty and classic. The gaudier rings, crusted in diamonds, don’t look like they’d suit her. And the huge stones, even though I could afford any of them, don’t look like what I think she’d pick out.
“Can I see this one?” I gesture towards a dark emerald ring. It’s on a thin gold band, and when the man takes it out of the case, I see that it’s engraved with flower petals and small leaves, cascading over the sides of the band. The emerald is light enough to sparkle, but a deep green that reminds me of lush leaves, the setting simple enough that the decorative band stands out.
It’s gorgeous. I can picture it on Bella’s hand. The rich gold against her tanned skin, the emerald a beautiful contrast to her chestnut hair. I take the ring out of the man’s hand, holding it up to the light, and I know it’s the right choice.
“I need a matching wedding band,” I tell him. “And one for myself as well. Both gold.”
In a matter of minutes, he produces a pair of gold wedding bands, both with the same floral and leaf engraving as the sides of the engagement ring. One is thin and delicate, the other thicker. “I can find a plain gold band for you,” he says. “But if you’d like the whole set to match?—”
I hesitate. I can’t help but wonder how it will make her feel—if she’ll like the idea of that, considering the circumstances of our marriage. I wonder if it will make her feel better, or worse, to have a set of rings that match—more like I’ve done something romantic to make it feel more real, or more like we’re pretending that this is something it isn’t.
It is to me.
I want Bella. I want her in my life, forever. I feel things for her that I’m terrified to put a name to. And I have a feeling that with time to untangle all of that, there’s a possibility that this marriage could be real.
But it will always have started off this way. I can’t undo that. I can’t change the circumstances, and even if our marriage lasts forever, it will always have begun in a way she didn’t want. It will always have been coerced. Arranged. Necessary.
And I still don’t know if I’m capable of giving her what she needs. I don’t know if I can let myself love her completely, in time, when right now, I can’t even allow myself to put a name to the emotion. I don’t know if I can let myself love someone like that, knowing that loss is an option. I don’t know if I can bear the chance of that kind of grief a second time, even for her.
I look at the matching wedding rings again, and nod. “I’ll take the set.”
For the rest of the day, I keep my distance from Bella. I want to give her time to get used to the idea of what’s going to happen, to work through her feelings without me crowding her. I’ve already pushed her into this; I don’t want her to feel even more smothered, more controlled.
More than anything, I don’t want her to feel about me the way she’s felt about all of the other men in her life. I don’t want her to look at me that way.
It feels like it might kill me if she ever did.
After dinner, I clear my throat as everyone else starts to get up, reaching over to touch her hand. Bella looks over at me abruptly, her face carefully blank. I see Agnes get up in a hurry, telling Cecelia to help her clear the table.
“Have a drink with me outside,” I say quietly, and Bella nods, pushing herself up from the table to help Agnes. She pulls her hand away from mine quickly, and I can’t help but think that it feels pointed. That she’s keeping an intentional distance from me.
When the house is silent, the children are in bed, and Agnes and Aldo retire to one of the other rooms, I hear the back door open, and Bella’s soft footsteps walking out onto the deck. I have a bottle of port opened, and I pour two glasses, handing her one.
“You’ve been avoiding me all day,” she says quietly, taking the glass. She doesn’t take a sip from it, just sinks down on one of the wooden benches next to the table.
“I went to town this morning. And I thought you might want some space.”
“I don’t know what I want.” Her thumb rubs against the edge of the glass, and she looks down at the rich red wine swirling around in it, her expression sad. “I don’t know if I want you close, because you’re being pushed into this too, and we can commiserate together about how difficult it is, or if I want to push you away, because I’m terrified of what happens next.” Her voice is soft, quiet, and I want to reach for her, but every instinct in me tells me that’s not what she needs right now.
Touch has always been a delicate thing between Bella and me. And just as I knew in the library that I could touch her with abandon and not frighten her, I know right now that I shouldn’t touch her at all.
“I went into town to buy something for you.” I reach into my pocket, as she looks up, and slip the small velvet box out. The box with the two wedding rings is in my bedroom, tucked into the nightstand.
Her eyes widen slightly as her gaze lands on the box, and I know she knows what it is before I even show her. She draws in a slow, unsteady breath, but she doesn’t move as I come to sit down next to her.
“I know nothing about this is traditional, or normal, or even very romantic,” I tell her quietly. “I don’t even know if you want a ring, or what you would choose if you did. But I thought you deserved one. So I went out and bought one for you this morning.”
I reach out, placing the box in her hand. Her fingers curl around it, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s going to open it or not. She stares down at it as if she has no idea what to do.
And then, slowly, she cracks it open.
