Page 60 of A Vow So Soulless

“Looks like something my Zizi would want to wear,” I say with a dismissive shake of my head. “Deirdre’s only twenty. No grandma shit.”

“Something more youthful or modern, then?”

He sets down the oval sapphire and holds up another ring, this one with a wide yellow-gold band and a rectangular diamond going lengthwise across the front instead of the usual up-and-down sort of setting I’d expected to see.

“This is a flawless emerald-cut diamond. This horizontal style is called an east-west setting. It’s very trendy right now.”

“Nothing trendy,” I tell him. “Deirdre isn’t trendy.”

“Something classic but fresh, then?”

“Yeah,” I say, peering down at the tray again. “That sounds good.”

“How about this one? This is an exquisitely-cut pear-shaped diamond in a platinum band.”

The stone on the ring he holds up for my perusal doesn’t look anything like a fucking pear. It looks like a tear drop. Pretty sure I’ve made Deirdre cry enough. She doesn’t need to be reminded every time she looks down at her fucking hand.

“No pear diamonds. Or anything else named after a fucking fruit,” I say irritably. Goddamn, my head is killing. Curse is still near the door, and I call over to him. “Tell Rosa to bring me a coffee.”

Curse nods and disappears. Bruno watches him go before turning his attention back to me.

He regards me with those black-blue eyes, his head cocked slightly.

“May I try something?”

“What now?”

“I’ve never met your fiancée. I have no sense of her spirit, her sensibilities, her taste. I’m working with what you’re telling me, and while the process of elimination can be helpful, we haven’t yet struck gold, so to speak.”

“So what? What do you want me to do about it? You’re the one who actually knows about this shit.”

“But you’re the one who knows her.”

The distinction is clear, as crisp as the sound of an icicle falling from a roof.

“What, then?” I grunt, sitting up a little straighter even though it fucking hurts. I never thought I’d be sweating about women’s jewellery like this before. Before Deirdre I probably would have just gotten Valentina to pick something.

But this time it has to be me. It’s the engagement ring I’m giving Deirdre for the wedding she doesn’t even want.

I have to get it fucking right.

“I want you to close your eyes-”

“Nope,” I say instantly. “Start over.”

Bruno purses his lips, his professional patience visibly wearing thin for the first time since he’s gotten here. We’ve been clients of Bruno’s since he first opened his shop, and even outside of that he knows better than to blow off a Titone. But I guess even he has his limits. Some of the smooth polish has worn away from his voice, replaced with the firm authority of a man who knows his craft and also knows his time isn’t to be wasted.

“It’s a simple exercise,” he says bluntly. “And it will help me make better suggestions for you going forward.”

I rub my forehead with my good hand.

“Fine. What the hell is it?”

He watches me for a moment, as if wary I’m going to change my mind and explode on him. I kind of want to. My head feels like it’s about to.

“I want you to close your eyes and picture your fiancée. The creature that’s captured your heart. The love of your life. I want you to hold the image of her in your mind firmly, like she’s physically in front of you now.”

I sigh, because if this isn’t the stupidest psychotherapy-sounding shit I’ve ever encountered then I don’t know what is. But ultimately, I shut the fuck up and I do it. I close my eyes and let the image of Deirdre form inside my head, soft and smudgy at first, getting clearer every second that my heart beats.

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