Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
He smiled at me. “Felicity, come on. It’s just for fun.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I thought you’d enjoy it, but if you want, we don’t even have to go in. I’ll cancel the appointment.”
“No, no. It’s fine.” I took his hand and let him help me down from the car. “I trust you.”
And I did trust Hutton, but as we entered the store and a security guard escorted us to a VIP room on a private floor, my legs felt wobbly and my stomach was tying itself into knots. I remained on edge as we were introduced to James, our diamond expert, and tried on rings with price tags I could not even imagine and didn’t ask to see. The secret smile on Hutton’s face did nothing to ease my mind.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly when James left us alone for a moment. “You seem nervous.”
“Of course I’m nervous!” I whispered frantically. “These rings probably cost more than my college education.”
“Stop worrying about that. This is supposed to be fun.”
“It is, but I—”
James was back with another ring. “Here we go. Try this one.”
I’d already made up my mind that the next ring was going to be the last so I could get out of here and breathe again, but when I slipped the classic solitaire on my finger, I involuntarily sucked in my breath. It was exactly the one I’d described—a round brilliant diamond on a simple platinum band. Elegant. Modern. Stunning.
“Oh,” I breathed. “It’s so beautiful.”
“I think that’s the one,” said James confidently.
“Is it?” Hutton asked me.
I bit my lip and nodded, admiring it on my hand. “Yes. This is it.”
James sized my finger, and then asked if I might like to enjoy a glass of champagne or sparkling water while he and Hutton finished up. “Champagne sounds great, thank you.”
While James’s back was turned, I tugged Hutton over to the side. “You’re not going to buy it, right? That isn’t the plan.”
“I know the plan,” he said easily.
“Then why are you smiling like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you know something I don’t know.”
He laughed. “I thought you trusted me.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Felicity.” He took my hand. “You can relax. We’ll leave here without a ring.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.” He met my eyes, and my knees went weak again. “I promise.”
“Ms. MacAllister?” James was at my elbow, offering me a slender flute of pale champagne, bubbles rising like the butterflies in my stomach.
Out on the 5th Avenue sidewalk, I inhaled the downtown Manhattan air—bus fumes, car exhaust, a hot pretzel stand on the corner—thankful to be brought down to earth. The smell was real. The traffic was real. The car horns and conversations in different languages and Latin music coming from a passing cab were real.
Hutton and I were just friends.
“What do you think?” I asked him. “Should we look around for a replica ring?”
“Not in this neighborhood. I thought maybe tomorrow we could go down to Chinatown. There are lots of jewelry stores there.”
I smiled. We were still on the same page. “That sounds like fun.”
“The car should be here any minute. While we were inside, my assistant texted that we have a dinner reservation at 5:30, and our tickets will be waiting for us at the Met box office for a 7:30 ballet.”
“Ooooh! What are we seeing?”
“Romeo and Juliet performed by the American Ballet Theater.”
“Really? That’s perfect!” I checked my phone. “But that doesn’t leave much time for us to get ready.”
“We’re having dinner downstairs at The Pierre, so we’ll be fine. And if you need more time, I’ll have dinner sent up.” He glanced over my shoulder. “Here’s the car.”
The sleek black SUV pulled up to the curb, and Hutton opened the door for me. I slid across the back seat and he joined me, instructing the driver to take us back to the hotel. “Of course, Mr. French,” replied the driver.
“Is that the same guy?” I whispered as we pulled into traffic.
“Yes. I hired him for three days.”
“So he just waits around for us?”
Hutton shrugged. “That’s his job. I pay for his time.”
“Sheesh.” I laughed a little, rubbing my hand along the leather seat. “How do you get used to this? To being able to afford luxuries like not ever having to hail a cab, and fireplaces in your hotel rooms, and—oh yeah—chartering private jets to take you where you want to go?”
“At first, it was really strange,” he admitted. “For a long time, I was still riding my bike everywhere, staying at inexpensive places, flying coach. Wade always thought I was crazy. But he’d grown up with a ton of money, so he was used to luxury. My mother doesn’t even throw away those plastic containers cream cheese comes in.”
I laughed. “How’d you finally get more comfortable with being rich?”
“Little by little, I guess. I’m still not completely used to it, and I do feel guilty about it sometimes.”