Page 35 of If the Ring Fits

“Dude with no clue who just went to the brand-name store to buy the biggest, most expensive rock he could find.” His nostrils flare, so I attempt to sound less of a know-it-all. “You want to impress your boss, right? Make him think we’re genuine?”

He drops his arms. “Yes.”

“Then the ring needs to have a soul, a story.” I point at my chest. “Look at me and think of a color.”

“Yellow,” he says without hesitation.

“Why yellow?”

“Like the Belle figurine on your pen.” My jaw drops slightly. That’s how he sees me? I almost want to laugh; I’m not exactly princess material. But before I can break into my usual self-deprecating routine, Adrian continues, his voice lowering, “You’re the color of sunshine and of the flakes of gold in your eyes.”

Okay.

I stare at him, even more stunned. My gaping must makehimself-conscious because he scratches behind his neck. “At least that’s how I’d describe you as a color.”

I’d describe him as black. Like the depth of the night when it wraps around you, warm and protective. Not the cold, distant black of space, but something rich and enveloping. A beautiful nocturnal sky—vast, mysterious, impossible to ignore. With sparks of stars scattered across.

Sunshine and nightfall. Where there’s one, the other can’t be. Just another reminder that we’re pretty much opposites.

But I don’t say any of this. Instead, I smile. “Yellow is a beautiful color, and I know where we need to go to find a ring.”

“Where?” Adrian asks puzzled.

“To shop vintage.”

I grab his hand and drag him down the curb.

Ten minutes later we reach the corner of 47th Street and 6th Avenue—the edge of the Diamond District.

The street is lined with discreet, high-end shops, each boasting thick glass windows that house elegantly displayed jewelry. The air is heavy with the aroma of street food and the sound of chatter mixed with the occasional honk of taxis.

We weave through the rush-hour crowd, a tangle of professionals and tourists, inspecting every window we pass until we both stop dead in our tracks.

Sitting slightly apart under a spotlight is the perfect ring: a stunning cushion-cut yellow diamond that catches the light just right. The vibrant colored stone is securely clasped by four sleek, elegantly arching prongs and nestled between two tapered baguette colorless diamonds. The gemstones are set in platinum or white gold, the metal’s gleam almost as captivating as the stones themselves.

I turn to Adrian. “It’s perfect.”

He smiles. “Sunshine in a stone.” He stares down at the price tag next and frowns.

I follow his gaze to the hefty label, sitting just shy of fifteen thousand dollars.

“If it’s too expensive, we can find a different one.”

“Too expensive? It should have an extra zero. My boss is going to think I’m cheap.”

I pat his chest. “Your boss will think you have a heart.”

15

ADRIAN

I glance at my watch—7.00p.m. sharp. The low hum of chatter filling our open-plan office fades as my traders shut down their computers and grab their bags, eager to escape for the evening. Someone taps my shoulder.

“Hey Adrian, a bunch of us are grabbing drinks at Sullivan’s.” Sarah flashes me an expectant grin. “You in?”

I hesitate for a split second before shaking my head. “Thanks, but I’ve got dinner plans with my girlfriend tonight.” The word still feels foreign on my tongue.

Sarah’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Girlfriend? I didn’t know you were seeing anyone!” Her tone is light, but I detect an undercurrent of shock.

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