proprietary with me, I would have been offended. It would have felt inappropriate. Crass. But with David, it was sweet and comforting.
We were greeted by an armed security guard and a petite man in a three-piece suit. As we entered, I was struck by the emptiness of the store. That's when it sank in—he'd called ahead to have a private showing.
“Mr. Taylor.” The man in the suit nodded to David, then looked to me. “Miss James, I'm André.”
“Thank you for doing this on such short notice,” David said in greeting as his possessive hand slid lower, palming my ass. Pressing his lips to my forehead, he muttered, “Find whatever ring you want me to wear. I'll go look around.”
This was important to him— if he was letting me look on my own. I understood that. It meant everything to me that he had chosen my ring on his own.
Slowly pulling away from David, I followed André to the back of the store. I was noticing that whenever David was willing to let me go, I was reluctant to.
They were prepared—having what looked like all the men's rings out on top of the case.
Something immediately caught my eye.
It wasn't a traditional wedding ring.
It was two rings together, the bigger one was hammered titanium framing a smooth, polished, flat, platinum band with three black diamonds set inside the metal like bolts.
It was perfect.
It was David.
He was the strong, hammered band covering me, protecting me.
And he's the bolts holding us together.
I knew there would be times he had to hold me together, especially with what we would soon be facing once we returned home.
“This one,” I said as I inspected it more closely.
“Excellent choice, very unique. This is the only one we have.”
He voice was kind, but I couldn't help thinking ,
That's the same crap you tell everyone.
Truth was, I didn't want his opinion. I certainly didn't need it, and it had no relevance on my decision.
“Thank you,” I responded politely. I knew part of my bitchiness was due to my PMS.
Maybe I need Midol…
“Miss James, do you know what ring size you'll need?”
“No. That's why he came.” I motioned behind me without looking.
“Would you like to pay for this now?”
“Yes.” I dug through my purse, searching for my wallet. I knew I had enough to cover it, but I was definitely going to have to call the bank to transfer money from my savings to cover my bills.
“Sweetheart, here.” I heard David's voice from somewhere behind me.
I turned, finding him on the other side of the store, making his way toward me. “No. You are not paying for your own wedding ring.” My voice was harsher than I had intended.
He stopped midstride, looking at me. It reminded me of the first time I saw him, except his trademark expression and intensity were shifting. Amusement showed as he failed miserably at suppressing his growing grin. He ducked his head, hiding behind his hat, turning as a huge smile broke across his face, revealing his white teeth.
“Here.” I turned back to André, forcing a pleasant smile as I handed him my card. David cleared his throat, attempting to cover what was definitely laughter. My eyes closed and my jaw clenched in annoyance.
I wasn't sure what was so amusing about what I said, or maybe it was my tone. Whatever. Either way, it wasn't that funny.
“David,” I reprimanded.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said through suppressed laughter.
He wasn't sorry at all.
“Charles, get Mr. Taylor's ring size, please,” André said to another man, halting my next words to David.
I took a deep breath, reminding myself this reaction was hormones—probably. I opened my eyes to see André studying my ring. My view shifted, seeing it how others would, and I felt a sense of pride I hadn't expected. David loved me—irrationally, obsessively loved me, and my ring was the embodiment of that—over-the-top, breathtaking, insane. Just like him, like us. And it gave me a kind of peace I had never known, even though
We were greeted by an armed security guard and a petite man in a three-piece suit. As we entered, I was struck by the emptiness of the store. That's when it sank in—he'd called ahead to have a private showing.
“Mr. Taylor.” The man in the suit nodded to David, then looked to me. “Miss James, I'm André.”
“Thank you for doing this on such short notice,” David said in greeting as his possessive hand slid lower, palming my ass. Pressing his lips to my forehead, he muttered, “Find whatever ring you want me to wear. I'll go look around.”
This was important to him— if he was letting me look on my own. I understood that. It meant everything to me that he had chosen my ring on his own.
Slowly pulling away from David, I followed André to the back of the store. I was noticing that whenever David was willing to let me go, I was reluctant to.
They were prepared—having what looked like all the men's rings out on top of the case.
Something immediately caught my eye.
It wasn't a traditional wedding ring.
It was two rings together, the bigger one was hammered titanium framing a smooth, polished, flat, platinum band with three black diamonds set inside the metal like bolts.
It was perfect.
It was David.
He was the strong, hammered band covering me, protecting me.
And he's the bolts holding us together.
I knew there would be times he had to hold me together, especially with what we would soon be facing once we returned home.
“This one,” I said as I inspected it more closely.
“Excellent choice, very unique. This is the only one we have.”
He voice was kind, but I couldn't help thinking ,
That's the same crap you tell everyone.
Truth was, I didn't want his opinion. I certainly didn't need it, and it had no relevance on my decision.
“Thank you,” I responded politely. I knew part of my bitchiness was due to my PMS.
Maybe I need Midol…
“Miss James, do you know what ring size you'll need?”
“No. That's why he came.” I motioned behind me without looking.
“Would you like to pay for this now?”
“Yes.” I dug through my purse, searching for my wallet. I knew I had enough to cover it, but I was definitely going to have to call the bank to transfer money from my savings to cover my bills.
“Sweetheart, here.” I heard David's voice from somewhere behind me.
I turned, finding him on the other side of the store, making his way toward me. “No. You are not paying for your own wedding ring.” My voice was harsher than I had intended.
He stopped midstride, looking at me. It reminded me of the first time I saw him, except his trademark expression and intensity were shifting. Amusement showed as he failed miserably at suppressing his growing grin. He ducked his head, hiding behind his hat, turning as a huge smile broke across his face, revealing his white teeth.
“Here.” I turned back to André, forcing a pleasant smile as I handed him my card. David cleared his throat, attempting to cover what was definitely laughter. My eyes closed and my jaw clenched in annoyance.
I wasn't sure what was so amusing about what I said, or maybe it was my tone. Whatever. Either way, it wasn't that funny.
“David,” I reprimanded.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said through suppressed laughter.
He wasn't sorry at all.
“Charles, get Mr. Taylor's ring size, please,” André said to another man, halting my next words to David.
I took a deep breath, reminding myself this reaction was hormones—probably. I opened my eyes to see André studying my ring. My view shifted, seeing it how others would, and I felt a sense of pride I hadn't expected. David loved me—irrationally, obsessively loved me, and my ring was the embodiment of that—over-the-top, breathtaking, insane. Just like him, like us. And it gave me a kind of peace I had never known, even though
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