Page 19 of Stained Protector

“We don’t have to go this far,” I whisper under intense staring from the poised woman. “A fake one works fine too.”

Levi chastises me, citing scientific facts on the chemical reactions of cheap rings. He misses the woman's curt smile as if she's trying to deflect her attention away from the height disparity between us.

In her eyes, she sees a man twice my size and older than me buying a ring for a special occasion. My discomfort and hesitation are red flags on my face. Explaining our relationship dynamic will make the situation awkward.

“This one?” Levi broaches as he picks a luminous ring from the row and blinds me with its luster.

No! Put it back,please. Oh, my god. What is he doing? Someone stop this man.

I spaced out and stared for too long, which he took as a sign. The woman secures the other rings, polishes the chosen one in front of us, and presents a velvet box.

“No need.” He grips my hand with stern power, an implicit warning to not move, and slides the ring on my finger.

The black card between his fingers shuts her up as she is about to protest. Her attitude changes with VIP shining in one eye and the other beaming with commissions.

The ringed hand stays in the camera frame, and the other tugs on his sleeve to shake some sense into him.

It was quite tough to persuade him to let me pay rent for the studio. He was adamant about not charging me, which made little sense from a business aspect. After I threatened to slide envelopes of cash under his apartment door, he relented with the condition that he buys groceries.

Our relationship was on a balanced scale until he pulled this stunt. How am I supposed to pay him back? What do I do with the ring after the perpetrator is caught?

Can this turn real?

I breeze over that question. It’s bloated with gullible fantasies, and once it pops, the only gift is pain.

He intertwines our fingers, a sneaky act when the woman returns with the receipt and his card. We’re deep inside the store, with only cameras and a few employees, but our act continues flawlessly.

He asks her to trash the receipt while nonchalantly pocketing the card as if it was a gym membership card. A spasm locks my fingers, forcing the tips to endure the faint pulses on the back of his hand.

“I’m going to wait outside,” I mumble, and my wobbly knees straighten with their last strength.

He nods as I walk away. I don’t stay to eavesdrop on why he isn’t leaving with me. Probably insurance and maintenance details.

The total price on the receipt pounds on my temple, laughing eagerly as it coos a happy ending story in my ears. That type of ending only happens in Hallmark movies. I do want to let go of the apprehension and trust myself this once.

Levi doesn’t seem like someone who can be controlled or coerced to do something, which he has admitted, and I want to take his word for it.

Nobody does these things with someone they don’t like.

Do I like him? I think so.

I often imagine waking up at the first ray of sunlight, casting a halo on him as he leans down to kiss me. I’d taste the diluted coffee, and he’d chuckle against my lips when I complain about the children at the playground disrupting my Sunday sleep.

Does he celebrate Valentine's Day?

The window stickers taunt me from across the street. Candy teddy bears, colorful chocolates, and pink paper hearts selling for thirty dollars. I haven’t forgotten about the holiday, just put it in the back of my mind to stop shameless ideas from growing legs.

Should I make something and give it to him? I’ll play it off as a friendly gesture, like the first time I baked for him as thanks for his hospitality. I’m afraid he’ll see through the lie and inherently ruin the peace.

If not for my job security, then at least for my sanity. Rejection is uncomfortable, and working so close to him could have my toes dig and craft a prison of awkwardness.

“Ready?” his voice grumbles from behind.

“Yeah,” I say as I turn, and the ending tone embodies a banshee.

What is that on his finger? That smooth, silver piece of jewelry screaming with lavish luminosity.

It betternotbe a ring. It can’t be. It looks odd, out of place on his long fingers. His hands have impressive bone structure, and the ring adds to their silent strength.

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