Page 97 of Diamond In The Rough

“I had someone look at it. To tell me what it is, and when it was from.” But then he shakes his head. “I didn’t ask for an amount. I didn’t want to know.”

“Why not? It’s easily worth t?—”

But he pinches my lips between his thumb and finger, chuckling when I try to speak anyway.

“I don’t want to know. It’s not being sold, so I have no need for a dollar figure.”

Ten thousand, easily! Probably fifteen. Fifty, if the buyer knew a boy born into the Malone mafia held on to it for twenty years first.

I want to scream my words, to get them off my chest and out into the world. I want to share with him what absolute treasure he found, and then I want to deep dive into its history. Who owned it three hundred years ago? How many parties was it worn throughout? Was it donned by a bride on her wedding day, only to be tossed aside just as quickly as her dress when the groom wanted nothing more than her body?

Was it a gift from a man to a woman? Probably.

A wealthy man attempting to impress a well-bred woman? No doubt.

But how did it come to be in New York City? Who walked those trees before Micah, and were they devastated to learn they had dropped their jewel?

“It’s killing you,” he sniggers, kissing my temple when I’m sure veins grow and throb there. “You want to research it.”

“So badly!” I explode. “I can already see the dresses, Micah. And the balls. I can see some douchey duke, bending a knee and presenting it to his beloved. Perhaps she birthed a son, who gave it to a woman, and that woman birthed a son, and tradition rolled down for a few hundred years.”

“You’re not allowed to get it valued.”

Too late! I’ve already valued it in my mind.

“But you can research its history, if you want.”

Sucker! I’ve already written its story.

“Hey.” He grabs my chin and drags my face up, forcing my eyes away from the Colombian emeralds and instead, into a different pair. Same green. Almost the same shape. “Stop nutting out in your mind and pay attention to what I’m saying.”

“You’re so needy.” My palms sweat. The stress from my skin’s natural oils leeching into the silver, enough to make me sweat more. “This is really special, Micah. It’s just…” I give it one last, longing glance, knowing I have to give it back. Appreciating the gift he’s given me, purely by showing me. “Do you often walk around with it in your pocket? Aren’t you afraid of losing all that history?”

“I prefer to think about the future.” He leans in and presses a kiss to my lips. “Rarely the past. So while you’re thinking about the women of the seventeen hundreds, putting on pretty dresses and wearing emeralds to a party, I’m thinking about where it’ll go instead.”

“Ugh.” Unladylike, I make the sound in the back of my throat that sends his brow shooting high on his forehead. “The women of today just weren’t built the same. We’re not as classy. Not nearly as elegant. Society is about throwaway fashion these days. Buy a watch this year, buy another next year. And another the year after. We buy furniture and replace it with the new look in twelve months. You won’t see anyone shopping antique stores for the desks being built today. It’s all just so…” I make another sound, part grunt, part gag. “It’s not the same. Whoever commissioned this pendant knew what they were asking for. They appreciated fine jewelry and rightfully expected it to remain in fashion and for a very, very long time.”

“So you like it?” He smiles while I lose my mind over literal world history. “You don’t think it’s gaudy and old?”

“If I was still a virgin, I would trade my first time to a seedy king for this pendant.” I snort, which turns to a giggle, proving I was not the end consumer in mind when making this thing. “It’s so beautiful, Micah.” But I say my silent goodbyes, knowing my day must start, and thus, my time with the gems must end—or risk a grand larceny charge.

I open his hand and place it in his palm. “You are a very fortunate man for finding this. And a very lucky little boy some twenty years ago. I might have considered it a good omen for wonderful things to come.”

“And I didn’t pay a cent for it.”

I scoff. “It’s criminal.”

“Here.” He opens my hand again and reverses our moves, placing the jewel in my palm and closing my fingers around the silver frame. “My gift to you.”

“No!” I jump in my seat, completely and terrifyingly horrified at the prospect of being responsible for something so precious. “Micah! No way. It’s too valuable.”

“We, the owner, get to decide its value. And I merely consider it a rock I found on the ground one time.” He balls my fist and kisses my knuckles. “You can bitch and whine all you want, but something is worth only as much as a person is willing to pay for it.”

“Exactly! And there would be countless people in this world willing to pay?—”

“But it’s not for sale. Therefore,” he grabs my chin between his thumb and finger, “it has no dollar value.”

“But it does!”

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