Page 38 of Forbidden Heart

“Actually, no,” I say. If my life is never going back to the way it was before, I don’t want my onyx heart to, either. “Can you smooth the sharp parts down so they’re wearable, but keep them as they are? And make holes in them so they can fit on a chain?”

I hope he understands what I’m getting at. I don’t know jewelry terms. I don’t even know if what I want is possible.

“So, to recap.” The jeweler carefully picks up the largest piece of my onyx heart. “You want each of these four stones rounded down, polished, and put on a separate chain to make four different necklaces?”

His words instantly summon a vision, and a song. One necklace for Tate, my Prince Charming. One for Charles, my Beast. One for JJ, my Knight in Shining Armor. And one for me, their princess, the one who makes them whole.

“Miss?” the jeweler presses.

I forget about my song and focus on his question. It takes me a second, but then I shake my head. “No, just one necklace.” Because this is real life, and not a fairy tale.

“Of course, miss.” He reaches under the counter and shows me a few different styles of chains.

I pick the simplest one.

He smiles. “Consider it done.”

I sigh with relief. The pieces of my onyx heart were broken apart, but that doesn’t mean I can’t love them, just the way they are.

“Fifty dollars,” the jeweler says.

“What?” I stare stupidly at him.

“Fifty dollars, miss,” he says politely.

“Um...” Self consciously, I pat my pockets. I reach inside, knowing full well that all I have to my name are a few crumpled bills. I slowly unfold the twenty and the three ones and show them to him. “This is all I have.”

The jeweler stares at me blankly. “We can do credit or debit if you like.”

My face flushes with embarrassment. “Um, no, I meant... This is all I have.”

The silence that follows is so deep I could drown in it. It’s as though I started speaking in a language that he doesn’t understand. And why would he? He’s probably used to customers like Charles, who buy diamonds to embed in their private planes. Not that Charles actually does that, I’m sure, or that my being poor is in any way Charles’s fault. After everything he’s done for me, I’m grateful—I really am—I just wish I didn’t feel quite so useless.

“I really need this,” I tell the jeweler softly.

His mouth opens, but no words come out. He clearly has no idea how to respond.

I admit, this must be weird. I’m sure no one else here has ever run out of money and decided to spend their last twenty-three bucks on custom jewelry. I’m sure, working here, all he ever sees are rich people who know exactly what they want and have the money to pay for it. He probably has no idea what this means to me. No one does. No one but me. Which is when an idea hits.

“Can I ask, what do you make per hour?” I ask.

The jeweler looks taken aback. “Pardon me, miss?”

“How much do you get paid?”

He stares blankly at me. It must be an unusual question. But this is an unusual situation, and I’m not giving up on my fractured heart.

“I own the place,” he says, smoothing down his blazer.

“Oh.” Fighting through the embarrassment, I smile at him, “Well, how much do you pay employees?”

“Minimum wage.” He tilts his head as he examines me, like he’s trying to figure out what’s happening and is at a complete loss.

“Then let me work here for a few hours,” I reply, gesturing at the twenty-three dollars on the counter. “Just until I pay the rest of this off?”

He hesitates, and then he starts to laugh. It’s not a mean laugh, or an unpleasant one. It’s a hearty one—a pleased one, of a man who knows how to find joy in the moment, and has apparently found it. “Just wait one moment, miss.”

He disappears into the back room and I wait in tense silence, staring at the pieces of my fractured heart as they lay exposed on the display counter. He has to agree. If he doesn’t, then I don’t know what I’ll do.