Page 15

CHAPTER 15

SOME SPECIAL LIGHT

KAYDEN

Emory has been squirming in her seat since I picked her up at the arena—where she insisted on meeting because she wouldn't just let me pick her up at her house. Every few seconds, she shifts in her seat. Her hands slide up and down the seatbelt as she stares out the window, at the dash, at the floor. Anywhere but me. "You seem more uncomfortable today than you were in the Lotus yesterday. Maybe you have a taste for expensive sports cars?"

She finally looks at me, but it barely lasts long enough to even count as a glance. "Expensive sports cars are fine. But I don't have a taste for the men who drive them, so don't get any ideas."

"Then next time I'll let you drive."

She turns, lifting her knee onto the seat to stare at me. It's almost worse than having her not look at me at all. "I don't understand why we're doing this."

"Carpooling? It's more fuel efficient. Besides, your pickup truck is terrible for the environment. Do you know how much those pollute? You really should switch to electric." She levels a glare at me, and I'd take facing down twenty goalies over this.

I reach out for her hand, but she doesn't move. "We should practice holding hands. You're my fiancée."

" Fake fiancée. We both need to remember that. And do you really think holding hands takes practice? Pretty sure it comes naturally when it's someone you actually want to touch."

"You didn't mind my touch after Chloe's birthday party." I don't have to look at her to feel her eye roll. "Fine. You at least pretended to tolerate my touch. You're going to have to do the same thing here."

I thought something changed between us yesterday. Today, though, she's colder than ever. It should be fine. This should be what I want. As long as she doesn't like me, I can't hurt her. But I didn't count on this distance between us hurting me.

"They're jewelers, Kayden. Not the owners of the Sting, not the media. They care almost as little as I do."

"They're jewelers who are going to sell us an engagement ring. They might not care, but they're expecting a couple who is devoted to each other. If they don't see that, they might talk."

"Yes, I'm sure they're part of a vast network of jewelers whose real currency is the latest gossip about celebrities. The thousands of dollars that you're going to pay for a useless ring are meaningless to them. Speaking of that, have I told you what a colossal waste of money this is? This ends by Lily and Brant's wedding, remember? I'll wear this ring for four months at most."

I shrug. "Maybe you'll like it and want to wear it longer than that." I'm looking straight ahead as I pull into the parking spot, but I can feel her glare burning the side of my face. "It's jewelry. You like jewelry. Think of this as a gift."

When I turn off the car, I twist to face her. "Will you please help me out in here?"

She flicks her wrist at me. "You already know the answer to that."

She's at the jewelry store's door before I'm even out of the car, so I hurry to catch up to her. Just as she pulls the door open, she slips her hand into mine.

The man standing behind the counter looks exactly like I imagine a jeweler should look. His hair is more white than grey, and he has the thin, pale body of a person who spends most of their time indoors. As we walk closer to him, he pulls the lapels on his grey suit tighter and pushes his glasses further up his nose. All while looking down at us. "May I help you?"

"I called earlier and?—"

"My sugar muffin here finally popped the question!" Emory marches up to the counter, and if my hand weren't in hers, I would be left behind. What the hell is happening here? "But the silly man got ahead of himself and forgot to get the ring before asking me. Obviously, I said yes anyway. I mean, how could any woman not say yes to this?" She faces me and lets her eyes drift down my body. Behind me, I'm pretty sure I hear someone mutter their agreement. I really hope it's the other jeweler and not the couple she's working with. "So he has an appointment to fix that little oopsie of his."

I nudge Emory to get her attention. What are you doing? I mouth to her.

She leans in so her mouth is next to my ear. "Faking it. Just like I did in the hotel with you."

"You did not!"

The man is unfazed by the scene unfolding in front of him. "Name?"

"Bouchard-Hopkins." I answer.

"That again?" Emory shoots me a flame-wielding glare, but I just shrug. It's not my fault our names go so well together. And because of the way she's looking at me now, I decide I'm going to keep using it every chance I get.

"I see. And we're looking for…" The man draws his word out so far it becomes more gravel than voice. He could use some work on his customer service skills.

"Something big. Bold," I tell him, and Emory's hand tightens in mine. "The ring with the largest diamond you have."

Her face is so red it's actually cute. "Kayden!" she hisses at me under her breath before turning back to the jeweler. "My doodlebug has a problem exaggerating sizes. What he means is that we want something reasonably priced. Maybe like one of the rings in this case?"

The salesperson follows her gaze and unlocks the case. "These are all excellent choices for those who feel that love actually does have a price, after all. But I would never imply that selecting one of our more… basic rings says anything at all about the strength of your relationship."

Emory turns her glare to him. "Are you sure? Because it certainly does seem like you're implying just that."

"Miss, I assure you, the price of the engagement ring is only one indicator of a gentleman's commitment to his lady. I'm sure you two are soulmates who are destined to be together for all eternity." Is one of the other indicators a gentleman who punches arrogant salespeople? Because I'm ready to indicate all over this jerk. "Some might even find value in the sheer unpretentiousness of these rings. I suppose."

Emory leans over the display and jerks her head back immediately. "Could I have a second with my little love noodle, please?" She grins at the man and then drags me to the other side of the room. "Do you know how expensive these are? The cheapest one is fifteen thousand dollars! And that's one of the few that has a price tag. There's a reason the others don't have a price, and that reason isn't because they're cheaper. This is ridiculous, Kayden!"

"I agree! ' Little love noodle?' More like the rigatoni of romance."

"Seriously? That's the part you think is ridiculous? You aren't even batting an eye at these prices. You can't be serious."

"What are those pasta tubes that are so big you can stuff things in them? Cannelloni. I'm your cannelloni of coc—um, cuddles."

Emory tosses her hands up, and I turn back to the man behind the counter, who looks even more unimpressed with us than he did five seconds ago. And he was so unimpressed then that I wondered if he was a talking statue.

"My schmoopins has finally come to her senses," I tell him. "Show us your real rings, please."

For just a flash, the man seems to brighten, but then he pulls the same disinterested mask down. "Certainly. These are our next step up." He motions to the case beside the one we started at.

"What about the rings in there?" I point behind him to a case so far away it's as if it's quarantined from the plague of lower-cost displays.

"I'm afraid those rings might be a little too prestigious for you. But don't worry. Not all couples can afford the best materials to construct the very foundation on which their relationship will be built. Even some shacks get lucky and survive."

I lower my head and glare at the man, wishing I could infect him with something. "My fiancée will look at those rings, thank you very much."

"Kayden, what are you doing?"

I squeeze her hand and give her my best forced smile. "We want our relationship to be forever, right cuddlepuff? Well, like the man implied, we need to build it on the very best foundation for that to happen."

She tries to yank her hand away from mine. "Is this a dick measuring contest? Because I know I've teased you about yours," someone behind me snickers, "but it really is nice. Way better than nice. Definitely better than whatever the Lord of the Rings here is packing. So you don't have to do this."

"I knew it! I knew you liked it! How could you not? I'm phenomenal and so is my?—"

To my left, the salesperson yawns loudly and looks down at the three rings he's holding out in front of him on a small black satin-covered tray. "No rush. I really could watch you two lovebirds all day long. I can't think of anything more enjoyable, except maybe waiting hours on hold while I try to get ahold of my health insurance company."

"These are the most expensive ones?" I ask.

He nods.

"About time." I lean over to examine the rings. All of them have enormous stones surrounded by smaller stones, and all of them are sparkling like they have fireworks inside them. Any one of them would be perfect for a hockey player's fiancée. "What do you think, Princess Glitterfarts?"

Emory glares at me, and I swear I can feel the heat coming from her. "I'm just not sure, Captain Comes-Too-Quick. These are really pretty rings."

I can tell from her voice that something is holding her back. Is she still worried about the price? Because that's the least of my concerns. "But?"

She faces me and the way she tilts her head does something to my chest. "Are you serious about this, Kayden?" I nod. "And I can choose any ring?" She pulls in the left corner of her bottom lip and pinches it between her teeth.

Why does staring at her lips make whatever is going on in my chest even worse? I nod again. "Any ring you want."

"Then that one."

I wait to see her reach for one of the rings the jeweler is still impatiently holding out, but when she doesn't, I look up. She's pointing into the case to our right. "Emory?"

"You said any ring. That's the ring I want."

"The one with the halo around the emerald?"

"Not a halo. It's a galaxy."

"Isn't there a giant black hole in the center of most galaxies?"

She looks up with furrowed brows, as if she's examining me.

"What? I watch PBS. I'm not always a dumb jock."

Her bottom lip juts out just a little and her gaze drops. "You're never a dumb jock. But you don't like this ring."

I lean over to look more closely. The ring has a round cut emerald with two graduated bands of small diamonds spiraling around it like the arms of a spiral galaxy. It's gorgeous. It's also not a ring that any woman I've ever dated would choose. It's not flashy or expensive enough.

But Emory is nothing like those women.

"I do like it," I tell her. "And I love that you like it. "

"I love it," she whispers.

"Then it's yours."

The salesperson twists his face into an exaggerated scowl. "We're certain this is the one? The foundation of your love?"

I look at Emory, and she nods. "This is the one."

"Fantastic choice. I would never mention that I work on commission, but I will point out that this ring is many, many thousands of dollars less than I thought you were going to spend. I'm utterly thrilled you were able to save so much money." A computer voice from a 1960s sci-fi movie could express more joy. "I'll be sure to discreetly slip each of you the business card of a marriage therapist. He has a two-star average on Yelp, but he's cheap. Budget does seem to be your primary concern."

I tug Emory's hand to get her attention. "This is it?" I want to make sure. The engagement might only last a few more months, but I want this to be a ring she can keep forever.

"This is the one," she repeats.

Warmth spreads through my chest when I see the glow of her green eyes. They must use some special light in here that makes things sparkly.