Page 6 of Mangled Memory
“Love you, Ayla-girl. So glad you’re back. Never again. Understand?”
I nod as my brother walks out the door without a backward glance.
I stare around the room. That is, I stare everywhere but at the man who has a ring on his finger that I apparently put there more than a year ago.
“Princess?”
I hesitate, turning slowly as if committing to my death.
“Christian.”
“You haven’t looked at me all day.”
“And you haven’t stopped staring.”
He scrubs a hand down his face. This combative dance is doing neither of us any good. We can’t fight about every little thing.
But I don’t know him. And that somehow offends him. As if I chose to knock the sense out of myself—enough they had to open up my skull to drain the pressure building there—just to avoid the man. I’d snort again, but I don’t want any more looks I can avoid. Lesson learned.
He reaches into his trousers pocket and lifts something glittery. It takes only a second to recognize the brilliance of high-quality diamonds.
He presents it to me, extending it between his thumb and forefinger and watches me as I study it.
It’s a wide, delicate band. Diamonds are cut and clustered to make intricate patterns. Hidden in the design are Celtic crosses and the crown of a Claddagh. Even with that, it’s in no way an Irish-looking ring. It is, however, full of Irish symbolism, woven through with the shape of olive leaves. Platinum and diamonds scream money but whisper heritage—mine and what is evidently Christian’s.
I study it, twisting it around and around, turning it to see the light. I’m in awe.
It is bold but delicate. It’s nothing less than stunning.
“I— I don’t know what to say. It’s… stunning. I can’t imagine anything more beautiful in the world.”
“I can.” His voice comes out on a whisper, and my face whips to his. He holds my gaze a long time before I break the eye contact to look at the ring again. “You designed the basics. I embellished a bit.”
“I made this?”
“You sketched out some pieces that you loved. You told me what you couldn’t live without.” His voice drops. “I told you I couldn’t live without you and that I’d find a way to make all your dreams become reality.”
“You sound too good to be true.”
“We’ll find our way back to each other, baby. But that”—he nods at the ring I play with. “That needs to be back on your finger.”
“I can’t do that, Chris— Do I call you Chris or is it always Christian?”
His jaw clenches and that notch below his ear bulges as if taking the burden of his frustration. “If you can’t today, then how about here?” He taps the ring finger on my right hand. “And you’ve never called me Chris. Always Christian or Honey.”
I shrug. I’m overwhelmed. I don’t know what to say or how to feel right now. There’s been so much thrown at me and this situation is nothing I ever dreamed I’d have to figure out.
He reaches for the band, his eyes holding mine, and slides it onto my finger, kissing my knuckle as if it’s a practiced gesture.The metal is cold and the burden of what it means is heavy on my hand.
It’s even heavier on my mind.
“Honey sounds weird to me. You don’t seem soft like a Honey from what I see.”
“What do I seem like to you?”
I shake my head. I was a fool to walk into that trap. But not so much a fool as to stay there.
“To be fair, sometimes you call me God, but that’s usually when my cock or my tongue is inside you.”
