Page 54 of Ivory Ashes

I can’t even be mad. All I’ve ever wanted is to get Dante everything he wants. Now, I can… so long as I can swallow my pride long enough to do it.

Stella glances nervously up at the quickly darkening sky. “I think it’s going to rain.”

“Sounds like we’re done here, then. Let’s pack it in and go home—er, back to the mansion.”

Stella winks and I think maybe she caught my slip. “We can’t leave yet. You only bought five dresses.”

“And a new pair of jeans,” I add.

She frowns. “My job wasn’t to buy you more jeans. You’re supposed to have a whole wardrobe. We still need to get?—”

“I don’t need anything else.”

“But Mr. Novikov wanted me to get you everything you would need. He’ll be upset with me if I don’t?—”

“Order it,” I interrupt. “Whatever is left on the list, order it. I trust you. You have a good sense of style.”

“While I agree that Stella always looks marvelous,” Anatoly says, seemingly unaware of the way his attention sends Stella into a near-conniption, “there are some things you need to pick out for yourself, Viv.”

“Don’t call me that,” I mumble as Anatoly grabs my shoulders and turns me towards a limestone building on the closest corner.

Warm light shines out of the windows into the overcast day. “Cartier” is written in gold script on a red awning above the front doors.

“Jewelry?”

Anatoly grabs my left hand. When I stare up at him blankly, he grabs my bare ring finger and shakes it in front of my face.

“He wants me to pick out my own wedding ring?” I gasp. “Should I get down on one knee and pop the question to myself, too?”

“A little late for that, since you’re already hitched,” Anatoly points out.

I cross my arms over my chest. “If he wants me to wear a ring, he can pick it out himself.”

“You might not like what he chooses.”

“What do I care?” I snap.

“You’ll care when he decides to forego a wedding ring and get your finger—or other delicate parts of your body—tattooed with his name.”

Anatoly looks a little too pleased with that suggestion. I’m not convinced he wouldn’t offer up the idea to Mikhail himself. It would probably earn him a pat on the head and a treat from his master.

Stella swoops in, tossing a disapproving glare at Anatoly. “He won’t tattoo you! But it would make Mr. Novikov happy if you did this for him. He wants you to pick it out yourself to make sure you’ll like it, that’s all.”

“He doesn’t care if I like it.”

“Of course he does,” she insists. “You’re going to have to wear it every day for the rest of your life. He wants you to like it.”

The rest of my life. I look down at my left hand and try to imagine a ring there. A ring that symbolizes this sham of a marriage we’ve entered into. That I’ve been forced into, more or less.

If I have to wear a diamond shackle, it only seems fair that Mikhail should wear a ring, too.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” I relent. “But only if I can select a ring for him as well.”

“What are you doing?” Anatoly asks, eyes narrowed and no small amount of suspicion in his voice.

I shrug innocently. “I want Mikhail to have a daily reminder of our eternal love.”

Stella claps her hands, thrilled. “That’s so sweet.”

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