Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I’m about to turn and walk out, newspaper in hand, when she frowns.
“No ring?”
I don’t immediately know what she’s referring to. I glance down at the receipt as if she could be referring to that.
“What?”
“No wedding ring?” she clarifies.
“Oh.” I laugh awkwardly before throwing out the first fib that comes to mind. “It’s getting resized.”
She rolls her eyes playfully in understanding. “Why don’t they ever just ask us the size? I guess they don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
I laugh along with her, hold up the receipt in thanks, and then slip out the door.
I start to head for home, careful to keep the wind from wrinkling the newspaper. I wonder if Walt’s seen it, then I laugh at myself. Of course he’s seen it. I bet he even approved a rough draft of the article before it went to print.
I’m about to turn a corner and head back to the apartment when an antique shop catches my attention up ahead. Without a second thought, I head inside and walk straight to the attendant behind the counter.
“Could you point me in the direction of your antique rings?”
Nine
“What’s that?”
I look up from the cutting board to find Walt standing on the other side of the kitchen island, staring at my left hand.
“It’s a wedding band.”
“From who?”
The question actually makes me laugh. “Well technically, I suppose it was from me to me, but if someone asks, I’ll say it’s from you.”
“It’s hardly a ring.”
I take no offense to his critique. The ring is a thin band of tarnished gold. Inside, the name Ellen is engraved. When I asked the attendant at the antique shop about it, she shrugged and said, “I don’t know the story on it, but Ellen is as good a name as any. If you buy it in cash, I’ll give you half off.”
It was a deal I couldn’t pass up.
Apparently, Walt doesn’t love the ring I’ve picked out for myself, because the next morning, there’s a black box sitting on the kitchen island and a note sitting beside it.
For Elizabeth
I laugh under my breath as I tip open the lid. With a shocked yelp, I drop the thing and back away like it’s going to jump out and bite me.
Holy cow.
That’s some ring.
He must have raided the Smithsonian and snatched the Hope Diamond.
Just to be sure my eyes haven’t deceived me, I tiptoe close again and peer into the black case. Sure enough, it’s still there, maybe even bigger than the last time I looked at it: a large pale blue diamond with an antique cut, weighing some ungodly number of carats.
Too scared to actually move it, I leave the ring sitting in its black box and go back to the library, where I work all day on my series. Later, as I sit alone at the island, eating pasta for dinner and staring at the black box, I come to one conclusion: I can’t accept the ring from him.
Once I’m done with my food, I take the note and the ring and drop them both on Walt’s desk in his office. With his pen, I write a new message underneath his original one.
Thank you, the ring is very beautiful, but I can’t accept it.
Feeling good about my decision, I head into my room and rinse off before changing into my pajamas. I’m sitting up in bed reading, half under my covers, when there’s a knock on my door.
“Elizabeth?”
Ugh. Walt and I have barely seen each other in a week and a half, and now suddenly he wants to have a word with me when I look like this? I glance down at my current state and decide I don’t have time to put on a bra, but chances are he won’t be able to tell I’m not wearing one. He’s part robot, after all. Just in case, I cross my arms over my chest before telling him to come in.
The door opens and Walt steps across the threshold, backlit by the warm light of the hallway. In contrast to me, he looks as sharp as ever. He’s still wearing his suit from work, every hair still in place, no hint of fatigue on his chiseled features. I’ve tried to guess at the amount of sleep he gets in a night. It can’t be much, but it doesn’t seem to affect him.
“You misinterpreted this,” he says, stepping into my room and walking with purpose toward my bed.
He drops the black ring box on my nightstand.
“It wasn’t a gift.”
I frown as he stands back to his full height. Even in normal circumstances, it doesn’t feel like we’re on an even playing field, but with me sitting in bed and him towering over me like a menace, that fact is further emphasized. “Then what was it?”
“Part of the arrangement and not up for debate.”