Guinevere exits the room, pulling the doors closed behind her, and Hudson and I take our places in two red velvet chairs opposite an expansive desk.
We’re still holding hands, and I don’t know if he realizes that, but I don’t move. Instead, I remind myself we’re supposed to be “in love.” This is what people who love each other do. They hold hands. They touch. They can’t get enough of each other.
My stomach turns.
I don’t know if it’s the morning sickness or the fact that this is all happening so fast.
“All right.” Guinevere returns, a case in her hand covered in a red velvet cloth. She takes the seat on the other side of the desk and begins lining up the diamonds in size order, and just when I think they can’t possibly get any bigger, she retrieves one last rock the size of my thumbnail and sits it on the end. “And I couldn’t resist this guy. Just for fun. Eight flawless, cushion-cut carats.”
She winks, flashing a smile in Hudson’s direction.
“The bigger the better,” I tease, squeezing his hand. “That’s what I always say. Right, babe?”
“Love, I don’t know.” Guinevere pulls her glasses off her nose, placing them aside as she sighs. “You don’t scream Park Avenue Princess to me. You seem very classic and understated. I wouldn’t go more than three carats for you. This one might be too much, but here.” She hands it over. “Go ahead and try it on.”
I was only kidding, but I take the bauble and slip it down my left ring finger.
Fits like a glove.
I tilt my hand under the light, mesmerized by the fire and sparkle this thing throws. Guinevere is right. I’m not a flashy Park Avenue Princess, and I would never so much as put a ring like this on my wish list, but I’m playing a part. And I’ve seen the girls Hudson spends his spare time entertaining in his luxe penthouse. Girls like those love rings like these, I’m certain.
I am an actress …
… and this is a prop.
It’s that simple.
“Oh, baby, I love it!” I splay my hand across my chest and bat my lashes.
Hudson’s eyes land on mine, like he’s trying to silently ask me if I’m joking, but I don’t let up.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” I wave my hand in his face. “And eight carats! We met on the eighth of January. It’s meant to be.”
“It’s a little … much … for your taste. Don’t you think?” he asks carefully.
“Not. At. All.” I pull the ring closer, inspecting it as if it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my entire life. And maybe it is. “This is the one. I’m certain.”
Guinevere sits up straight, her eyes dancing between the two of us as she keeps quiet, watching.
“Please?” I beg. The real Mari wouldn’t beg. It feels unnatural, like a dress that pulls at the shoulders or shoes that are too big in the toes.
“You really want this ring?” He lifts his left brow, rubbing his hand along his chiseled jaw.
I nod, clasping my hands together.
Hudson sighs, turning to Guinevere. “How much is this one going to set me back?”
She brings a finger to her lips, breathing in and exhaling. “Well. This one’s special. It once belonged to the Duchess of Guildford in the 19th century. It’s from our Legacy collection. I could show you a few pieces from our Estate collection if you’d like? Those are newer and less … historically significant.”
“Babe, this is a royal diamond.” I place my hand on top of his, pouting. “This is a piece we could have in our family for generations to come. We could pass this down to our children’s children someday. Could you even imagine?”
I hate the way I sound. Hate it.
Hudson sighs. “All right. You going to tell me how much it is?”
“Just a hair under two hundred,” Guinevere says. “Comparable rings from our Estate collection would be quite less. I’m not sure what your budget is, but—”
“It’s fine. We’ll take it.” Hudson reaches for my hand and squeezes—hard—before diving into his wallet and retrieving his black AmEx. “Anything for my future wife.”
“You’re a smart man, Hudson.” Guinevere stands, collecting his card and the remainder of the engagement pieces. “And you’re a very fortunate lady, Maribel. Hudson is one of New York’s most eligible bachelors, and the Rutherfords are a wonderful family to marry into. Your parents must be proud.”
“They’re thrilled,” I lie.
My parents have no idea, and ideally, I’d like to keep it that way.
They’re salt-of-the-earth, childhood sweethearts who’ve never left their hometown of Orchard Hill, Nebraska. They’re humble and kind. They go to St. Mary’s for mass every Sunday and spend the weekends holed up in their Cornhusker-themed living room watching re-runs on HGTV.
They raised me to walk a straight line, to work hard, and to live a respectable life.
They wouldn’t understand this.
And they sure as hell wouldn’t be proud.
“Guinevere,” Hudson says, “my parents don’t know about the engagement yet, so if you could not mention it next time you see them …”
“My lips are sealed. I promise. Be back in a moment.” She smiles, slipping her glasses back over her nose and disappearing behind the double doors.
“Can you not?” Hudson turns to me, his expression fading the second she’s gone.
“Not what?”
“Can you not act so vapid and materialistic? Eight carats? Are you fucking kidding me?” He rubs his temples and sinks back in his chair, staring straight ahead past one of the narrow windows. “And don’t call me ‘babe.’ Please.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted?”
“What about me makes you think that’s what I wanted?” His words are swift and frustrated.
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I’ve seen the kind of women you associate with. I was just trying to be like them.”
He huffs. “If I wanted a woman like that, I’d have settled down a long time ago, Mari. There’s a reason I chose you for this. You’re not like them.”
“What do you want me to do?” I lean forward, brows meeting in the middle. “Maybe you should’ve told me what you wanted from me before you brought me here. I’m not a mind reader. How do you want me to act?”
“Like yourself. Be authentic. Not a caricature.”
I wrinkle my nose, readying my rebuttal just as Guinevere returns, two little red boxes in her hand. She slides the small ring box toward us.
“The ring fits you perfectly,” she says to me. “Correct?”
I nod.
“Wonderful.” She smiles, passing Hudson’s card his way along with a receipt to sign. “And if you ever need it sized, please don’t hesitate to bring it back. Also, as a special thank you, I’m throwing in a little something extra.”
Guinevere slides the larger of the two boxes between us.
“It’s a love bracelet,” she says, cracking the box open with a gentle pop. A thick gold bangle rests on a velvet pillow alongside a matching gold screwdriver. “This is a signature piece. Very timeless and classic. Hudson, you’re supposed to place it on her wrist and hold onto the screwdriver. You’re the only one who can remove it.”