Page 13 of Adonis: The Cost of a Billionaire's Heart
“Nice to meet you. Please, call me Sim,” I insisted from afar.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am, and congratulations on your engagement! I’ve known Adonis for several years now, and somehow, he managed to keep a beauty like you under wraps.”
A half smile raised a corner of my lips. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”
“Come and see what he brought for you to try on,” Adonis insisted.
I cautiously inched closer, my eyes blazing with interest as my curiosity begged me to take a peek. Each ring was stunning in its own way. I didn’t know where to begin. I tried on the first one—a cushion-cut diamond bordered by sparkling sapphires. It was beautiful, yes, but I wasn’t quite feeling the blue. Another—an emerald-cut solitaire with a platinum band—was striking, but something was still missing. I moved slowly through the collection, slipping on each ring and admiring how the diamonds danced under the lights. I’d never seen so much bling in my life. Whoever said money couldn’t solve problems didn’t have enough.
Finally, I hesitated over one—a rare, princess-cut pink diamond bordered by smaller diamonds that were so clear they could’ve been see-through. The moment I wrapped it around my finger, I knew it was the one. It was different, plus pink was my favorite color, so it felt more personal to me. It didn’t hurt that the ring was so iced out it looked like I had a snowflake wrapped around my finger.
Adonis eyed me with a knowing smile. “That’s the one, isn’t it?” he asked, already knowing the answer to his question.
I slowly raised my hand, admiring how the ring looked on my finger from every angle possible before nodding. “It is. It’s perfect,” I mumbled in awe.
Chauncey, the jeweler, clasped his large hands together in a satisfactory clap. “Remarkable choice,” he complimented. “It’s such a beautiful ring.”
Adonis belted out a smooth chuckle before grabbing my hand and pulling it closer to him to eye the ring up close. “You sure this is the one?”
“I’m sure.”
“And to think, I was prepared to buy you all twelve if you couldn’t decide.”
“Why not make it seven? One for each day of the week?” I joked with a hint of sarcasm. Because in his world, happiness cost the same price as a pair of Louboutins.
“Done.”
I laughed nervously while wagging my head. “I was joking. One is more than enough.”
“Nah. I want them all. Let’s give the blogs something to talk about. It’ll be fun.”
I wasn’t sure what would happen after the week was over, but at that moment, retail therapy had become my new addiction.
Everything around Adonis seemed to run like clockwork. As soon as the jeweler rotated out, the female photographer rotated in. I stood by Adonis’s side, occasionally glancing down at the sparkling pink diamond that felt foreign wrapped around my finger.
She smiled at me warmly. “Hi, I’m Greta. Lovely to meet you. Mr. Holland has already told me you’re a bit camera-shy, but don’t worry—we’ll keep this shoot very relaxed and natural.”
Camera-shy? I glanced at Adonis, who gave me a barely visible nod. I understood immediately—it was his explanation for why there weren’t already hundreds of photos of us together.
“Yes, I prefer to stay out of the spotlight,” I agreed, quickly slipping into the role we’d created. “But I guess that’s all about to change.”
“Let’s start here,” Greta suggested, gesturing toward the living room. “Just sit together on the sofa as you would normally.”
Adonis and I relocated to the sofa, sitting with an awkward few inches between us. Greta frowned.
“You’re engaged,” she reminded us. “Get closer. Pretend like I’m not even here and love up on each other.”
Adonis shifted toward me, his arm extending along the back of the sofa behind my shoulders. I felt the heat of him beside me, smelled the subtle notes of his designer cologne, and my heart started to beat a little faster in his company.
“Better,” Greta approved. “Now, Simora, why don’t you lean into him a bit? Adonis, place your arm around her shoulders a little tighter.”
I forced myself to relax against Adonis’s side as his arm settled around me. It felt odd—intimate yet artificial. Greta began snapping photos, directing us to look at each other, to smile, to pretend we were having a conversation or sharing a mutual laugh to show off our natural smiles.
“Yes. You’re both doing perfectly,” she encouraged as time went on. “Now, Adonis, maybe touch her hair or her face—something tender like she’s a delicate flower.”
I stiffened slightly as Adonis’s free hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as his gaze swallowed me whole. His fingertips lightly grazed my cheek, sending an unexpected shiver down my spine. Our gazes maintained a flawless connection, and for a moment, I forgot the photographer was there. There was something intense in his stare—not warmth, exactly, but a hyperfocus that made me feel like I was the only woman in the world.
“Absolutely beautiful,” Greta murmured, her camera clicking rapidly. “That’s exactly what I’m looking for.”
