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The necklace nestled in velvet in front of me is either more than two hundred years old or a stellar reproduction. This type of necklace is called a rivière necklace. They were often made from diamonds, and back in the late 1700s they were all the rage. They glimmered in evening candlelight and dazzled the world with their allure.
The Georgian lover’s knot is tied in the shape of the infinity symbol. A man gives it to his wife, a promise to love in this life and the next.
I wonder what kind of man commissioned this necklace. I wonder what kind of woman he loved.
I pull the aged, yellowed paper out from under the box. It’s crinkly dry, like a leaf in autumn, and the ink is faded to a barely perceptible blue. The handwriting is spidery thin and barely legible. It’s in French, an old style—so much so that I have a hard time deciphering the language.
But as I scan the page, my feet aching, my cheeks burning, sweaty and tired, I see one phrase I recognize.
This necklace will grant your dearest wish.
A chill rides over me, raising the goose bumps on my arms. The library stays silent, the afternoon quiet, the cool air soft and still. I’m bathed in the golden light from the window, and the light from the necklace dances across the room and reflects white ripples and rainbows in my vision.
The necklace lies still, winking, waiting.
For what?
For me to make a wish?
I look back at the spidery handwriting on the page, not certain I read the words right. But yes. I did. It says it right there. This necklace grants wishes.
Make a wish. It will come true.
I stare at the necklace. Then my mouth twitches. The sensation of being watched grows.
I smile and a small laugh rushes out of me, like the whoosh of a door flying open in a gust of wind. I look around the library, my eyes crinkled, expecting to see someone there laughing at me. Or with me.
Max, maybe. Although that isn’t likely.
It’s more likely to be Dorene. She probably planted this reproduction necklace here with this note. I bet she dipped the paper in tea. All in an effort to get me to live a little.
The tension that was holding me releases with the sound of my laughter. It’s ridiculous. I was standing here believing a necklace could grant wishes. Like a genie.
Riiiight.
“Dorene?”
My voice echoes then fades as it hits the stacks of books lining the walls.
“Dorene? I found your necklace. Ha-ha. Funny.”
I tap my foot against the plush rug, waiting for her to pop her head around the door.
She doesn’t.
“Dorene?” My lips are dry. I lick them and swallow. The sensation of being watched is still there.
I spin slowly in a circle, my footsteps rustling in the quiet. No one is here. I’m completely alone in the expansive library. It’s just me, a few hundred books, a slew of expensive furniture, and half a dozen freshly shampooed rugs.
“Max?”
Not that Max would be here. Now that I think about it, he isn’t the type to play a joke on someone he barely knows, and he would never pull a prank.
So that means ...
I turn back to the necklace. It glimmers in the softly spilling sunlight, the gradient of blues as varied and vivid as Lake Geneva on a midsummer day.
It means ...
