Page 60 of Wished

He looks at me then, and I see the glint in his eye, similar to the winking of the stones against the rich black velvet.

“Fascinating,” Edith says. “You will share this document?”

Max nods but doesn’t break eye contact with me. “I’ll send you a copy.”

“It’s an interesting story,” she continues. “It reminds me people will believe anything. Jewelry isn’t magical. Not in the literal sense.” She sounds amused.

Max isn’t amused, though, and neither am I.

“Perhaps,” Max finally says, looking back at Edith. “However, during the terror, the entire family was executed by the revolutionaries. The parure was stolen during the looting of Marie Thérèse’s home. The only piece that wasn’t taken was the necklace. Marie Thérèse placed that over her seventeen-year-old daughter’s neck mere hours before Marie Thérèse lost her life. She gave her daughter, Thérèse, the necklace and a single wish.Live.Thérèse escaped France, made her way to Switzerland, and married Philippe Barone. Perhaps Marie Thérèse’s wish for her daughter came true.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Somehow the stolen parure remained intact, save for the necklace. It was passed down through the centuries, through collectors and families, until it came to you. Us Barones have kept the necklace and the letter.”

“And you aren’t likely to donate that to complete the museum’s set,” Edith says, reading his tone.

“No,” Max says. “We won’t part with it. However, I have recently acquired an acrostic ring you may be interested in.”

Edith sits straighter, nearly vibrating with interest.

“What’s an acrostic ring?” I ask.

“They’re symbolic rings. The language of gemstones,” Max says. “The gems form a line and the first letter of each stone spells a word. The ring I acquired, for instance, spells ‘dearest.’”

“Victorian era,” Edith says, and Max nods in confirmation.

“Diamond, emerald, amethyst, ruby, emerald, sapphire, topaz. Dearest.” Max smiles at me.

I laugh, delighted. “That’s lovely.”

Max represses a quick smile. “I’ll show it to you when we’re back home. You can—” He cuts himself off, and the sudden awareness it’s notourhome and we aren’t likely to be going backtogethersits like another person between us.

Edith doesn’t notice. “Yes. I would like to see that,” she says. Then, glancing between the parure and us, she stands and checks the clock on the wall. “I’ll leave you for five minutes. I’ll be right outside.”

She leaves, closing the door behind her. As I don’t hear theclick, clickof her heels I assume she must be waiting outside the room.

“Did you request alone time with the parure?” I whisper. “How?”

Max leans close and says quietly. “I’ve donated millions of francs’ worth of jewelry to this museum. It’s a small thing for them to do.”

We both turn toward the parure. It doesn’t feel the same as the necklace did. There isn’t any of that spinning-in-starlight feel.

But then, with his free hand, Max reaches into his leather jacket and pulls a thin jewelry box from his interior pocket.

“You brought it with you?” I ask. “I can’t believe you’ve been walking around Paris all day with a priceless necklace in your jacket pocket! Are you insane?”

Max opens the case and the sapphire and diamonds catch the light. “Myinteriorpocket,” he says.

I shake my head, my heart thumping. “Anyone could’ve stolen it.”

Max snorts.

I pull my hand from his. Then, at the cold that seeps back over me, I lean against him, pressing my arm and leg against him.

Max fits the white gloves on and then lays the pieces together, completing the set.

I lose my breath. “It really does look like a river of light falling from the stars.”

“It’s the rose cut and the foil backing,” Max says.

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