My eyes go wide.
“Oh my God, if you’re proposing I’m going to have to decline. I refuse to be a child bride. Though I guess my mother would be thrilled?—”
“You’re twenty-one.” He rolls his eyes, but I catch that smile he tries to hide. “And no, I’m not proposing. Just open the box, Tink.”
“I don’t know, this feels very proposal-y. Are you sure? Because I should warn you, I haveveryexpensive taste in rings?—”
“Tara.” The way he says my name, exasperated but fond, makes my stomach flip. He presses the box into my hands.
“Open it before I change my mind.”
I do, and my breath catches. Nestled against black velvet is a delicate pink gemstone surrounded by tiny, beautiful…diamonds?
Oh my.It’s the prettiest necklace I’ve ever seen.
“Is this kunzite?”
“The color actually comes from manganese impurities in the crystal structure,” he quotes, eyes dancing, “which technically makes it a flaw, but I think that’s what makes it special.” His impression of my excited rambling is surprisingly accurate.
“Oh God.” I cover my face. “I can’t believe you remember my exact words.”
“Without those impurities, it would just be another green stone,” he continues, enjoying himself. “You were very passionate about it.”
I smack his arm, finally tearing my eyes away from the necklace.
“Alfie, no. You have to take this back. This must have cost?—”
“Don’t.”
“But—”
“Please,” he says quietly. “Let me give you this. As a thank you for dealing with my family’s chaos. For putting up with all of”—he waves his hand vaguely—“this.”
“I’m not ‘putting up’ with anything. I mean, I haven’t even done anything yet,” I protest, but my fingers keep tracing the stone like they have a mind of their own. It’s just sopretty.
“You say that now. Wait until Mother starts interrogating you.” He winces.
I bite my lip.
“Ok. Are you sure you can afford this?” I ask, looking him in the eyes.
“Tara, I promise you I can afford this.”
“Here,” he says coming around behind me. “Turn around.”
I do, holding my hair aside. The night air is cool against my neck, but his fingers are warm as they fasten the clasp.
His thumb brushes my pulse point and my breath catches. “Thank you,” I whisper, touching the stone that now rests perfectly against my collarbone. “It’s so beautiful.”
“It suits you.” His voice is rougher now. “You can wear it to L’etoile. It can be your good luck necklace.”
“For surviving dinner with your mother?” I try to joke, but my voice comes out softer than intended.
He just nods and gets in the driver’s seat.
Later, as streetlights flicker past his BMW’s windows, I notice how his eyes keep finding the necklace in the rearview mirror.
Maybe it’s just the late hour making me imagine things, but I swear his expression softens every time the stone catches the light.
