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It displayed some of the most expensive engagement rings in the world.
Better get it over with.
I tugged out the wrinkled paper and smoothed it over my arm, trying hard to stare at the list without setting it ablaze.
Pear cut.
20 carats.
$1.8 million+.
White diamond.
Thin band.
Please, also be aware that I do not wish to have anything that is not custom-made.
For further instructions, you are welcome to reach my cell.
— Eileen
Bile rose up my throat, but I ignored it. Thepromise to Dad. Mom’s pleas.
It could only ever come to this.
A suited, middle-aged woman approached Ollie, her hands folded together at her stomach. “Are you searching for something for that someone special, sir?”
Rom answered for him, “If Oliver had to buy jewelry for every person he saw, you’d be out of stock. The man has distributed more protein than a butcher shop.”
The woman’s nose scrunched up.
Beside her, Oliver cackled, swinging an arm around Rom’s shoulder.
I ignored them both, marching to the jeweler behind the glass counter, my Oxford shoes slapping the porcelain tiles. “I need one of these.”
I discarded the paper on the counter between us, hoping it would fall to the floor and spontaneously combust.
No such luck.
