Page 80 of Legacy of Deception

That was a definite bonus. “Recycled or certified responsibly mined?”

“It’s not recycled,” he answered, pulling out another ring while I was studying the first one. I noticed it was a polished finish. It was lovely, but it felt very bland. All of the options did.

Didn’t he understand this was for Marco? Marco Deluca?

It was going to sit on his finger with the vein of love. It needed to come from the heart and speak to it too.

It needed to be as complex as he was. A layer of charm. A layer of strength. A layer of emotional regulation for those challenging moments where he could succumb to intense feelings but chose to cope rather than react.

His wedding band was going to symbolize the lifelong commitment he had to his family as much as the one he was making to me. It didn’t matter how this started, what mattered was how it was going to end, and in any scenario, I think we both knew that was a trip down the aisle.

I wanted his band to be the first thing he ever received in his life that didn’t come with obligation or expectation. There would be no hidden meaning that he was a Deluca, son of Santo and Cecilia. There would just be a promise, a promise that I’d always come together with him, a promise that together we could weather any storm.

In many ways, my father’s methods and his motivations were wrong, but he still managed to give me one of the greatest gifts he could’ve ever given me. And I didn’t think he had a clue. He finally freed me by trying to entangle me with a man.

“It needs to be custom,” I finally declared, causing the man to pause in whatever he was doing to busy himself while I thought. “Get a notepad because I know exactly what I want.” And, who knew, maybe what I designed for Marco would be the first piece in my capsule collaboration with them in the future. I had already been brought on as an influencer, so it was possible.

As he bent down and retrieved a bucket that had a calculator, pad, and pencil, I pushed aside the presentation pad and ring foam he’d taken out for me.

I closed my eyes and let the words flow freely from me. “I want it to have contrasting finishes, brushed texture meets polish. In the center, I want the band to feature diamond melees of all the same size. I’m thinking half a carat. Two-thirds at most. Orange diamonds—”

His eyes grew wide. “Pure orange?”

I shook my head. Those were scarce, I knew that. “With yellow modifiers,” I explained what I had been about to say had he not interrupted me. The orange and yellow was intended to represent the paradox that Marco was. The way he was beguiling, just as flames were both beautiful and dangerous, so was he. He had embers within him, waiting to burn bright when the time called for it, embers that captivated me and would continue to captivate me.

“Lab-grown?”

“A mix of lab-grown and ethically-sourced natural would be fine.” I liked that lab-grown allowed for innovation, and it bypassed the need for ethical sourcing as it was free from the concerns related to labor and environmental conflict. But natural needed to be in the mix because I liked the idea that his ring contained geological treasures.

At one time, I had only truly treasured my gems, my jewelry, even if I’d convinced myself I also treasured my family. But that was wrong. I didn’t think I had. I think I thought that being dutiful, doing what my parents wanted just so we’d always be together, was treasuring them. When in reality, it made me resent them and, as a result, myself.

It wasn’t until Marco came into my life, I learned what it really meant to treasure someone.

His ring needed a piece of that message, an eternal reminder of everything he had given me. Everything he gave me.

Chapter 33

fighting against the toxicity

MARCO

At a time when I hadn’t believed it, I’d been told that the brownstones in the West Village were where Brooklyn and I wanted to start our life together. Knowing we had to keep up the facade, we had immediately put a bid in on one that had been listed on the market and got it.

Neither of us had cared. We hadn’t taken a tour. We hadn’t talked about how we envisioned the space. We hadn’t given it a second thought. We hadn’t looked at materials or paint colors. We had given the contractor complete autonomy. He was to update everything behind the walls—electrical, plumbing, security—and all the features throughout. From windows to floors and fireplaces to air conditioning. We had even hired an interior designer to work alongside the contractor and oversee cabinetry and fixtures. She was then to take the bare walls and turn them into a home when construction was done. We stayed completely removed from the whole thing. It was just another thing we had to do, our opinions on the subject completely irrelevant.

Until they weren’t.

Until I had gotten to know Brooklyn.

Until we had decided to give us a real chance.

Even then, Brooklyn hadn’t gotten involved. I was only just barely involved. I had only called the contractor and made one request.

Brooklyn was to get a custom-built walk-in jewelry vault.

A little over a hundred square feet engineered to fit into Brooklyn’s private two hundred and fifty square foot sanctuary—the second half of the third floor just off our bedroom with a deck.

Since it required more specific needs, I’d hired a bespoke Italian designer who was going to see to it that the space was everything Brooklyn could imagine it’d be and then some. The finished result should look like her own goddamn jewelry store, something I knew she’d not only appreciate but treasure.