Page 72 of Reckless King

Now we’re idling outside a jeweler on Fifth Avenue, and the anxiety that has been plaguing me all morning is multiplying. By looking at the elegant, understated exterior alone, I can tell it’s just as exclusive as everything else in Tate’s life.

I turn to him, willing my voice to remain steady. “This seems like overkill.”

He smirks. “I told you. Only the best for my fiancée.”

“Fake fiancée,” I mumble. The reminder is more for me than him at this stage.

He quirks a brow. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to buy you a fake ring.”

“I told you last night—you don’t need to do this.” I gesture toward the jewelry store. I don’t know why I’m so uneasy about the whole ring situation. It has to be done.

“I know I don’t need to. I want to give you this.” He eases close enough that he can tuck my hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing that spot on my neck that seems to have a direct connection to my sex. “I don’t want you wearing a cheap hunk of metal on your finger.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I say, trying not to get distracted by the way his scent is invading my senses. “The last thing you need is some eagle-eyed jewelry expert figuring out that Tate King’s fiancée is wearing a cheap ring.”

“Hey.” He grabs my chin and turns my head. “Youdeserve the best, Violet. Not Tate King’s fiancée,you.”

My heart flutters. He needs to stop saying such sweet things. Because with every passing day, it’s getting harder to resist throwing caution to the wind and taking what he’s offering. But for all his sweet words, and his protectiveness, and his impossible to ignore sex appeal, when this is over, he’ll go back to his world, and I’ll go back to mine. And the only time I’ll see him is if Mark invites him along on one of his visits.

I hate that I hate that thought.

With a deep breath in, then back out, I push the worry out of my mind and smile. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

When Jeremy opens the door, I get out and wait for Tate to climb out behind me. I’ve grown accustomed to the weight of his hand on the small of my back. And temporary or not, I can’t resist indulging in at least some of his touches.

The moment we step inside the store, I’m struck by the dazzling array of diamonds and gemstones that sparkle under the bright lights. It’s like stepping into a fairy tale. As I make a slow turn, taking in the glass cases and luxurious décor, I’venever felt more out of place. While Tate is in a suit, I’m dressed in a pair of jeans and a simple cap-sleeved blouse.

A smartly dressed saleswoman with her hair pulled back approaches, her focus flicking between Tate and me with thinly veiled curiosity. “Mr. King, how wonderful to see you. What can I help you with?”

“We’re looking for an engagement ring,” Tate replies smoothly, wrapping an arm around my waist and drawing me toward him.

“Of course.” With a small, professional smile, she leads us over to a glass case filled with stunning rings. Just like at Trio’s, there are no prices. But based on the sheer size and glitteriness of the diamonds, I have no doubt each one costs more than True Brew makes in a year.

“What do you think of these?” the woman asks, hands clasped lightly in front of her.

The rings, set equal distances apart in the cream-colored cushions, are ridiculous, the stones so large they look like they could take someone’s eye out. And if they don’t blind a person in that respect, their sparkly brilliance will do the trick.

Guilt that I’m not more excited eats at me. The last thing I want is to seem ungrateful. “Um, these are amazing,” I say. Which is true, even if I’ve never pictured myself wearing a ring like one of these on my finger. Though that could be because I never pictured myself getting fake engaged to a billionaire.

She beams. “Just let me know which one you’d like to try on.”

“Okay.” I survey them again. There’s no sense in being picky. Big and flashy will only help sell this engagement. So I ignore the disenchantment that every one of these rings stirs in me and point randomly. “That one.”

She straightens, and I swear her smile gets brighter. “Wonderful choice. That’s a ten-carat princess cut diamond on a platinum band.”

Despite my best efforts, I cringe. Ten carats. When does a symbol of commitment become more about the show than the sentiment?

Never mind. In this case, that’s exactly what it’s about.

As she removes it from the case and wipes it with a cloth, I glance up at Tate, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet. His arms are crossed, and there’s a crease between his brows.

The woman grasps my hand, drawing my attention back to her, and slips the ring onto my finger. “It fits almost perfectly.”

I examine it, envisioning my hands as I work the espresso machine and wash dishes with this massive rock on my finger. “It’s beautiful.” Pressing my lips together, I turn to Tate. “I’ll just have to take it off while I’m working.”

“No,” he says.

My heart lurches at the flatness of his tone. “Oh.” I look down. “I’ll be worried about damaging it, that’s?—”

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