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I nod, listening, liking the sound of all that. And I can’t help but think the brilliant shine of the cool-coloured metal will suit Deirdre best. But I’m not sure about the overall design. It looks a little too simple.
“The centre stone is a special one,” Bruno continues, angling the ring this way and that until it sprays rainbows in every direction. “While it is smaller than some of the others, at exactly one and a half carats, it is one of the finest currently in my collection. This is a brilliant-cut diamond, which I cut myself, and it has been independently appraised as super ideal, which is the highest possible quality of cut available. It is a flawless diamond, which means it has no inclusions visible at a magnification of ten times, and its colour is of the utmost quality – level D.”
“That all sounds good,” I say, “But I don’t think it’s big enough. Or flashy enough.”
“Wherever possible,” Bruno replies, “I advise my clients to go with cut and quality of a stone over size.”
“Yeah, well, I want both.”
His mouth tightens, like he’s trying to hold back an expression of amusement.
“Mr. Titone,” he says rather delicately, “When I asked you to list off words that came to you when you thought of your fiancée, never once did you use a word like ‘big’ or ‘flashy.’ And, if I may be so bold as to say so, I couldn’t help but notice in the engagement announcement it was mentioned that Miss O’Malley is a musician. I think if something is too big, heavy, or obtrusive, it will get in the way of her playing. Although, I suppose she could always take her ring off whenever she wants to play…”
“Absolutely not,” I snap, reaching forward and plucking the ring out of his hand. “She will not be taking it off. Ever.”
At that moment, Curse returns carrying a small espresso cup which he passes to me. I balance it precariously on the stiff palm of my right hand’s splint, the ring still pinched in my left. I lean down, steady the cup against my bottom teeth, then tip it back, swallowing the shot in one go. Curse takes the empty cup from me as I squint at the ring.
It’s just so unassuming at first glance, and I think that’s what’s bugging me. Deirdre deserves the best of the best. The most luxurious jewellery imaginable. No doubt this one is flawlessly crafted, and I believe Bruno that the stone is a special one, but is it enough for my bride?
I’m looking at the round diamond from the top down, and I angle it so I can see it from the side. A jolt goes through me then. Because the diamond isn’t held up by simple prongs like the other rings. Instead, exquisite lines of metal taper up and towards each other, touching at the points, the diamond balanced inside the ethereal metal shapes.
They’re fucking wings.
The diamond is held in place by four flaring, platinum wings.
I can’t think of anything better for my Songbird.
“This is the one,” I hear myself say, unable to tear my gaze from the side-view of the ring.
I can hear the satisfaction in Bruno’s voice as he replies, “Very good, Mr. Titone. I think she will be thrilled. Are there any modifications you’d like me to make? I see you’re very focused on the setting of the ring.”
“No. No changes. I like these wings.” I run my thumb gingerly along one of them.
“Ah. It’s actually called a petal basket setting. They’re meant to resemble petals, and-”
My gaze rises to his, and the look I give him is enough to have him backpedalling.
“But, really, wings and petals are so alike in shape, aren’t they? Anyway, I’m glad you’re happy with the ring.”
I shift the ring back and forth, shaking my head at the way something so small can send such a cacophony of colour ricocheting out into the atmosphere.
“What’s that called?” I ask. “When it makes all those rainbows shoot out?”
“That is what is known as the diamond’s fire. Coincidentally, that was also the first word you used to describe your fiancée when I asked you.”
“No shit,” I murmur. The more I look at the ring, the more I think it’s perfect for Deirdre. Maybe it’s not ostentatious, but then again neither is she. And I don’t want her to have to take off some big, gaudy thing every time she plays for me.
“Now,” Bruno says, “there is the question of the wedding bands.”
Thankfully, unlike choosing the engagement ring, I don’t have to engage in something one step below a goddamn séance to get it done. Now that we have an engagement ring to set the tone for the look, it’s a lot easier to settle on a design for the band. We decide that Bruno will make something custom, perfectly matched to the engagement ring, a platinum band inlaid with diamonds of the same colour and quality as the solitaire ring. He tells me that he’ll make it the same size as the engagement ring, unless Deirdre tries that one and it doesn’t fit, in which case he can adjust them both to the proper size.
“And I want her wedding band engraved,” I say suddenly.
“Oh? Alright.” Bruno produces two different, small papers from his case. One is blank.
“Please write the words you want, exactly as you’d like to see them on the ring.”
I know the spelling like I know my own name, but I whip out my phone to double check, just in case. I pick up the pen with my uninjured left hand, then hiss in frustration, worried I’m going to fuck something up.
