Page 186 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
I wait.
“They came in last month, willing to pay twice what the stone is worth. I refused.”
“Why?”
“Because it belongs to Isla.”
I follow his train of thought and give a half smile. He’s a brilliant businessman. “And now my price has gone up.”
He lifts a shoulder. “I’m a humble artisan. And you are expecting me to work without rest.”
“It’s worth it.” I take the opal from his hand, let its weight settle into my palm, heat sinking into my skin. “She’s worth it.”
He considers me for a long time, then inclines his head.
Setting the stone back on its velvet bed, he draws a leather-bound sketchbook from beneath the counter. The binding is worn, edges softened from years of use, but the pages inside are crisp, precise.
“Shall we agree on a design? And then the price?”
Humble artisan, my ass. He’s a shark.
Opening to a blank page, he then moves his pencil with quick, deliberate strokes. “Recessed halo…micro-pavé diamonds. Tapered shoulders. The stone must be secure but still breathe.”
His assistant clears a space on the workbench, laying out a loupe, a fine-bristled brush, white cotton gloves. The air smells faintly of polish and linen.
Théo turns the page, sketches the side profile—slender, elegant, the kind of ring that would look as arresting in a ballroom as it would with her hand curled around a book. He tilts his head.
“Filigree in the gallery. French Quarter ironwork. Something hidden. For her alone.”
“Good.” My voice is low. “I want it tomorrow.”
He names his figure. And it has two commas in it.Shark?Fucking shark.
“The diamonds need to be the best to show off the stone,” he explains.
Without protest, I hand off my black card to his assistant.
Once the transaction is complete, he extends his hand. “I will begin immediately.”
I finish the last sip of coffee, the porcelain cooling in my hand. Setting it back on the saucer feels like a promise kept. “Call me when it’s ready.”
“You will have no call.” Théo closes the sketchbook with deliberate care. “You will come, and I will place it in your hand. That is how this will be.”
Fair enough.
He lifts the opal again, fire shifting in its depths as the light catches it. Then he carries it toward the workroom in the back, the stone balanced in his palm.
The bell above the door gives a single, clear chime as I step out into the heavy New Orleans air.
Customary impatience wars in me.
I want Isla.
And I want hernow.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Isla
