Page 27 of The Fiance Dilemma

Everything inside me halted at the sight.

“You should have this,” Matthew said.

With a shaky breath, my eyes inspected what was held between his fingers. A moss-green pouch. My heart resumed, whipping about, thrashing against the walls of my chest. My words were a whisper, “Have what?”

“This,” Matthew said, sending the struggling organ to my feet. “Your hands weren’t cold,” he added. “Makes no sense in the seventy-degree weather. You were hiding them, weren’t you? You can’t wear the ring from the other night. From your ex. So have this one instead.”

Every word had sent me further into shock. I couldn’t find my thoughts, or words, or reason. I couldn’t find… anything.

So I asked again, “Have what instead?”

“My ring.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Bobbi Shark drummed her nails against her arm as she stood in front of us.

She was making my ass cheeks sweat, frankly.

The flush covering my body like frosting over a birthday cake had nothing to do with the strange heat wave hitting Green Oak in the middle of October. I’d been sweating since last night, when Bobbi had called for a meeting tostrategize.

The woman appraised us some more. Gaze bouncing from me to Matthew, then returning to me. We were sitting shoulder to shoulder on twin chairs, lined up right in the middle of Josie’s Joint—which I’d closed at noon just for this. On a weekday, by the way. So not only was Bobbi making me lose precious bodily fluids, but also, good rush-hour income.

“Fine,” she finally said.

“Fine,” I repeated. Carefully, and feeling like I was talking back to the principal after being called to her office. “But what do you mean exactly? Is it a finefineor a finenot fine?”

“Fine means fine,” she countered.

“I know what it means,” I said. “But what doyoumean?”

“I mean fine,” Bobbi said again.

“But a fi—” I started.

Matthew’s palm fell on my leg, the contact severing my speech. The warmth of his skin seeped through the thin fabric of my silk skirt. “Neither of us are mind readers,” he said. “Thankfully. So how about you explain to us what exactly is fine? Or why we’re here? Or the objective of this impromptu meeting you’ve called?”

“You two,” Bobbi deadpanned. “You look okay together. I’d make some changes, but not many. Would you consider Botox?”

Oh God.“I don’t think—” I started, but stopped myself. Why was I so freaking nervous? And were my wrinkles so bad? “That’s not really—”

“Neither of us needs Botox,” Matthew interjected. “Next topic.”

I all but slumped in my chair, relieved he’d taken the lead. Matthew tapped my leg with a thumb, in some kind of reflex or code I couldn’t crack, and then he retrieved his hand. The patch of skin where it had been felt strangely cold, but that was good. Great. For the best.

Bobbi resumed talking and I crossed my legs and arms in an attempt at giving her the impression I was chill and not a nervous wreck. But it was hard to pay her any attention when I felt so off, so fidgety, as if I couldn’t stop turning and twisting in my seat. I returned my two feet to the floor and clasped my hands in my lap.

Something sparkled under the light, and I immediately glanced down.

The ring.

Matthew’s ring.

Mine now, for all intents and purposes. The ring was on a strange loan whose length hadn’t been discussed yet. Or terms.Which reminded me we should, after this, and which didn’t change the fact there was a ring on my finger.

It wasn’t the first time I’d worn one, or the second, or even the third. It was my fifth. And yet it felt like all that experience counted for nothing. Matthew’s ring was, without a doubt, beautiful. Unique, and so different from any other engagement ring I’d ever been given. Distinct in that way only a piece of jewelry with personality and soul could be. I wasn’t a fool, I’d known the moment I’d pulled it out of the pouch—after recovering from the shock and saying a very loudthank you for picking it up from the cleaners, baby—that it was a Claddagh ring. It bore some modifications to the original design, but it had been obvious enough for me to recognize the crown and hands clasped around a heart whose space was replaced by a stone. And topped by a crown lined with much smaller ones. Even if the detailing was minimal, and the elegant band was thinner than the typical one.

The ring begged too many questions. Starting with: Why did Matthew have one around in the first place? Or, in what way was Matthew connected to Irish symbology and tradition? And ending with a long list of other unresolved mysteries that revolved around him giving me his ring instead of getting a new one. Which was what I’d been planning. Eventually.

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