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Before I can even say, I told you so, Salvatore says, “We’ll take it.”
I’m stunned and speechless.
“Salvatore, that’s insane,” I whisper. “You know the diamond industry is a total sham, right? They can print these things in labs now, and they have warehouses of them stacked up to avoid putting them on the market. It’s all artificial scarcity and advertising campaigns—”
“Is your enjoyment of it artificial?”
My words dry up on my tongue, Salvatore’s simple question knocking me off my soapbox.
“Well. No, but…”
He takes the credit card from me and hands it over without another word.
I feel an immense amount of guilt that I walked into this store trying to punish him.
Salvatore watches the purchase go through with indifference. The card reader beeps its approval.
“No box,” Salvatore says, when the attendant reaches for one. Instead, he takes the necklace and places it around my neck. Rows and rows of diamonds glitter against my collarbones. I stare up at him, reaching for words that I don’t have. Thank you doesn’t feel like a $275,000 dollar phrase.
“What do you think?” I ask instead, on the verge of laughing or crying—some tenuous emotion.
“It’s a little cheap,” he admits.
Laughter it is.
“Seems like you feel better…” he observes.
“Don’t,” I warn him, through my laughter.
He leans in, that little smirk insufferably attractive, his possessive touch tangling in the back of my hair.
“All I’m saying is—being right? Priceless.”
My cheeks burn softly, flattery and humiliation inextricable from each other.
“Come on, Salvatore. We should vacate the jewelry section before I make you eat those words.”
“By all means, you can keep trying. It’s amusing watching you fail. Did you buy Kay anything yet?” he reminds me.
“Well—no.”
I’m getting frantically overwhelmed. This is a losing game. Maybe there is no number. Maybe I could demand the entire store, and Salvatore would somehow buy it for me. I don’t dare speak that into reality. I go quietly to search for a pair of earrings that I think will suit Kay’s dramatic, colorful style, all the while pressing my fingers to my neck as though the necklace is a mirage, and I must feel it physically under my hands to believe that it’s real.
Salvatore’s phone buzzes in his pocket.
“Your credit card company?” I ask.
“You wish.”
As the speaker activates, I hear the automatic tones of a message asking him if he wants to accept the call—the kind of messages you get from prisoners. He leaves me to jewelry hunt as he takes the call.
I’m grateful for the few minutes alone to get a grip on my thoughts. Salvatore is a breed of his own. His bad is very bad, but his good…God, it almost makes up for it.
Am I crazy for thinking a bad man can be a good husband?
Within a few minutes, I have my eye on a gorgeous pair of multi-stone drop earrings. They’re a little under 10 grand, so I guess in Salvatore’s world, they may as well be free.
I’m surprised to find a new attendant seems to be watching me, eager to sweep in and help.
