Page 11 of Unconditionally With Me
“You were past time a few years ago, but what can I say. You are younger than me. It takes you a while to get with the program.”
I raise my eyes heavenward, wondering again why my head couldn’t be the one to pop out first. “We’re thirty-eight, Jonas, not six. Is this ever going to get old?”
“We could be seventy-eight and it wouldn’t. Where do you want to go shopping?”
I shudder when he says the word “shopping.” It’s an instinctive male reaction. “Where did you buy Trina’s ring?”
“Harry Winston.” He whips out his phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask curiously.
“Seeing if they have an appointment for you. Hi. Yes. This is Jonas Rice. I was wondering if you have an appointment available today for my brother, Julian? An hour? Perfect. We’ll be right there.” He hits End. “Let’s go.”
I start to hyperventilate. “Oh, God. This is really happening.”
“Breathe. You still have to pick out the ring,” he reminds me.
I grin. “Oh, yeah.”
“Besides, you can’t pass out until you see the price.”
“You are such a dick.”
“But you love me anyway,” he reminds me as we head toward the door where our coats are hanging.
“Very, very true. Hey, after we’re done, want to go get pizza?”
Jonas snorts. “I was going to demand it as payment. I’ve been through this hell once, and I didn’t have you to lean on.”
“That’s because you know I can’t keep a secret,” I tell him cheerfully.
“Exactly.” It might be my imagination, but I think I hear him add on, “But I can.”
* * *
Eight hours later,I’m knocking on Elle’s apartment door before I use my key. Her apartment in Parkchester is funky and matches her personality. If the trains didn’t stop running so early, leaving me with no way to get back and forth except for Uber, I’d have moved out here years ago. The neighborhood is filled with amazing people, hidden gems to eat at, and a family vibe I haven’t experienced since I was a kid.
The condo I live in on the Upper East Side is nothing more than a cold investment I can’t wait to dump once we combine households.
I wonder where Elle and I will live when we’re married. The thought gives me a moment’s pause before I push the door open to the smell of Chinese. I hear the shower running, so I call out, “Babe, did you happen to get orange shrimp?” It’s my favorite, but I don’t hold out much hope since Elle wasn’t expecting me. After I had an episode at Harry Winston—thank God Jonas was there to pour a glass of champagne down my throat to calm me down as I handed over my credit card—Karlson agreed my trying to work tonight was a ludicrous idea. But I wasn’t able to get Elle on the phone to make plans.
No response. I shrug and decide to check for myself.
Heading into the kitchen, I see a bag on the kitchen table, filled to the brim. I grin. I wonder how I should do this. Should I slip the ring on her chopsticks? I quickly dismiss the idea. Elle more often than not uses the things to twist up her hair. She might break them apart, and the ring could go flying. My eyes stray to the grate on the floor where the costly diamond could easily fall.
No. Absolutely not.
I begin to pace. We should eat first, I decide. Because after I drop to one knee and beg her to spend the rest of her life with me, I plan on not leaving her bed for some time. Yes, that works.
I reach over and grab the sack of Chinese. When I do, a few pieces of paper flutter to the floor at the same time the box with the ring falls out of my pocket. Cursing, I drop the bag on the counter before bending down to pick them all up. Quickly shoving the ring into my pocket, I stand up with the papers in my hand. It’s a letter from an attorney.
I quickly scan it. Words like “deeply sorry for your loss” and “beneficiary” jump out at me before I hear Elle demand, “What are you doing, Julian?”
I whirl around like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I was going to plate up dinner, but these fell to the floor.”
The flash of temper that accompanies her glorious red hair recedes. “Thank you. That’s very sweet.” Elle moves to the table to stack the papers together.
As she slides them into a folder, I wrap my arms around her and bury my face into her still-damp hair. “Babe, why didn’t you tell me you lost someone you were close with? I’m so sorry.”
