Page 138 of Mr. Wicked

“I like the shape of this one.” I held it in the air, viewing the oval stone, the way it shone under the light. On either side of the diamond were two small triangular diamonds. “Get rid of the side diamonds—she’s not a triangle type of woman.” Jovana’s hands weren’t big. They were actually really small, her fingers thin and dainty. This diamond would probably take up the whole width of her finger. “I want the band to look like this.” I placed my beer down and lifted another ring out of the case that had diamonds built all the way around it.

“Oval stone, our signature eternity band. That’s easy,” Abraham said.

I set both rings in his palm, my mind made up. “Except I don’t want just any diamonds around the band. I want them to be black.”

“Interesting choice,” Yaakov said.

“And I want two small round diamonds on both sides of the stone, and I want those in black also.”

“Making it nontraditional—that’s one of my favorites to create,” Abraham said, setting the rings back into the case.

I took a long drink, draining the rest of my beer. “If she’s going to wear something I gave her, then it needs to be equal parts of the both of us. The diamond is all her—full of color no matter what angle you look at it. Gorgeous. Something you stare at in awe.”

That was Jovana.

Without question.

“And the black diamonds?” Easton asked.

I walked over to the bar, grabbed a bottle of vodka and four shot glasses. When I returned to the table, I filled each glass and handed them out. “Come on, man,” I said to my best friend. “You know the color of this soul.”

Easton held his glass high in the air. “That’s why you two are perfect for each other. Every relationship needs that balance. And yours ... shit, it’s going to last forever.”

I was sure my best friend believed that, and he was attempting to make me believe it.

But it also sounded like a good toast to make in front of the jewelers, who knew nothing about the contract between Jovana and me.

“To forever,” the brothers echoed.

And then we all drank.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Jovana

“That was”—I paused to rub my stomach over my dress—“literally incredible. One of the best dinners I’ve ever had in my life.” I glanced around the dining room of the restaurant, taking in the stunning decor, which was something I’d done multiple times since we’d sat down for dinner. “It’s just amazing here. The food. Atmosphere.” I smiled as I looked at Grayson. “You.”

“I’m glad you had a good time.” He held the base of his vodka, turning it just enough that the ice rattled. “I’ve only been here once before, and I’ve been waiting for the right time to come back.”

“And you chose to do that with me.” I rested my arms on the table. “You’re sweet.”

He laughed, a sound that was quick and almost spicy. “I’m not sweet, Jovana. Not a single ounce of me is.”

“I disagree.”

“Yeah?”

When I nodded, a piece of hair fell into my face, and I tucked it behind my ear. “You offered Red Sox tickets to my dad, and you had lunch delivered to the condo twice this week because you knew I was so busy filming, I’d probably forget to eat. And you posted a picture on Instagram last night of me asleep in your arms that was completely melt-worthy. So, I’m sorry, but you’re wicked sweet.”

“Shit, then you’re really going to love this.” He pointed with his eyes to a spot over my shoulder, causing me to turn around to where a chef was coming toward our table with a giant, oversize plate in her hand.

“Grayson, it’s nice to officially meet you,” she said as she set the plate between Grayson and me. “I took all of your suggestions into consideration, and I made my own spin.” She grinned. “I hope you enjoy the dessert sampler.”

“I appreciate it, chef.”

“My pleasure.”

Once she was gone, my hand went to my chest, holding my heart as I said, “Wait a sec. You called the restaurant and had the pastry chef make us this?” There had to be at least fifteen desserts on the plate. All were small, enough for two to three bites, but the amount of effort was extraordinary.

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