Page 142 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

“You can wear this.”

I gulped, the sound loud in my own ears. My eyes flicked from the ring to her face, terrified and hopeful.

She didn’t look at me. Her eyes locked on the ring. A full, silent moment stretched, long enough for a dozen doubts to bloom in my mind. Then her lower lip trembled. She blinked quickly, and a sheen of tears glossed her eyes before she finally dragged her gaze up to meet mine.

“I don’t have a ring for you,” she whispered, her voice thick. She gave a small, helpless shrug, a gesture of such pure, sad honesty it cracked something open in my chest.

A soft, disbelieving laugh escaped me, more relief than sound. My hand rose, my fingers gently cupping the side of her face, my thumb stroking her cheek. I leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.

“That’s okay,” I murmured against her skin, my voice rough with emotion. “You have you. That’s all I want.”

I leaned back, my own vision suspiciously blurry. I took the ring from its nest, tucked the empty box into my pocket, and reached for her left hand. Her fingers were trembling slightly. With a reverence I didn’t know I possessed, I slid the ring onto her finger.

It fit as if it had been waiting for her.

I lifted her hand and pressed my lips to the cool metal of the new ring, then to her skin just below it.

“Besides,” I murmured against her knuckles, “you can always just get me one of those candy rings and be done with it.”

She let out a watery, incredulous laugh, her gaze locked on the diamond sparkling against her skin. Then her eyes, bright and liquid, found mine. She slid her hand around the back of my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair, and pulled me close until her forehead rested against mine.

“Stealing my line, Sterling?”

My hands found the familiar curve of her waist, pulling her closer against me.

“We’re going to get married, Alessia,” I said, the words a low, thrilling truth. “We’ll have to share everything. Fifty-fifty.”

Her eyebrows arched, that familiar, mischievous spark returning.

“Speak for yourself. I’m not sharing anything. My snacks are mine. My thoughts are mine. This ring,” she wiggled her finger between us, the diamond catching the light, “definitely mine.”

“Fine,” I conceded, my thumb tracing the curve of her hip. “Then I’ll share everything. My half is yours.”

She scowled, the effect ruined by the smile still dancing on her lips.

“But Cassian, how will you survive with just half a brain cell if you give me the other half?”

My head fell forward, my laughter a soft puff of air against her neck. I nuzzled the sensitive spot just below her ear.

“Is this how our marriage is going to be?” I mumbled into her skin. “You just roasting me at every possible turn?”

She turned her head, her lips brushing my cheek in a soft, fleeting kiss that sent a current straight through me.

“Probably.”

My arms tightened around her.

“Can’t wait,” I whispered into the shell of her ear.

Then I closed the last inch between us, and my lips found hers.

My eyes tracked Alessia. They hadn’t left her for the last hour. I didn’t have to think about it. Wherever she moved, my attention moved with her.

Months had passed since the project began. The frantic energy of the launch had settled into the steady, unglamorous rhythm of execution. This was the work—the endless meetings, the meticulous timelines, the nitpicky revisions, the long, dusty site visits.

I stood off to the side of the space, close enough to hear but far enough to stay out of the way.

Alessia stood with a tablet in one hand, a stylus in the other, tapping and swiping with sharp, efficient motions. Printed schedules and floor plans were spread across the counter. She’d point, Naija would nod, her fingers flying across her own tablet. A low, rapid-fire exchange of industry shorthand passed between them.