Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Leather pants love you,” I whisper, cupping his smoothly shaven cheek, almost anticipating the brush of bristles later. I slide my hand over his satin lapel, not shawl-collared tonight but pointed. His jacket is double breasted and has a classic feel about it.
“I have something for you, and I’m so pleased to say I think it’ll work.”
“Oliver . . .” My body language turns to that of an embarrassed teen as he moves to the table behind him, sliding a shiny black box from it. “You shouldn’t have,” I whisper as he balances it on his palms. “But can I tell you the truth?” My gaze lifts, and he nods. “I’m touched that you have, no matter what this is.”
“Even if it’s that leather mask with a pink ball gag?”
“You went back to the thrift store!”
His laughter is so deliciously deep it almost resonates through me.
“I told you thrifting is addictive,” I add.
But I can breathe easy, because this is not a piece of jewelry. The box is way too big. Plus, it’s made from heavy embossed card. It’s not that I don’t want jewelry; it’s more that I’m not comfortable with receiving expensive gifts. I’m pretty sure he’s gathered this by now.
“The only thing I’m addicted to is you.”
“I knew it all along. You were never going to have me deported.” He slides me an amused look. “You love me and my ridiculousness.”
“Are you going to open it?”
“Yes!” My answer is an excited hiss as I press my hands to the sides of the box and shimmy the lid off. There’s another box inside. Smaller. Black again. “Is this going to be a Matryoshka doll joke? Box after box after box, and a pack of Tic Tacs in the last one?”
“Yes, because I’m evidently that much fun.”
“I think you are,” I murmur, sliding the lid under my arm before reaching in. My fingers brush the tactile feel of velvet, and suddenly, I know. I know, and I don’t care as excitement wells inside me.
“Let me help.”
I throw the cardboard lid behind me, and Oliver discards the rest, holding out the black case like an offering. The velvet has worn bald in places, but that makes this feel all the more special. Reused. Reloved. Somehow, Oliver has picked up on this.
I press my thumb to the tiny brass button. The lid creaks open, and I gasp.
“Oliver.” I look up to find him smiling down at me. Meanwhile, my eyes must be a little dusty, because my vision is suddenly hazy.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s a tiara,” I whisper, awestruck. Bandeau style—that much I remember from our trip to the fancy jewelers. It sparkles so brightly, and though quite dainty in style, those are such a lot of diamonds.
“So it is.” His mouth hitches. “It’s Victorian. An heirloom piece, I’m told. I saw it, and I just thought, that belongs on Eve’s lovely head.”
Stop before I explode with pleasure.
“It looks like flowers.” The setting is a row of graduating V shapes that look like fronds. Tiny stones sit at the base, each frond holding a bigger, much more stunning stone. But still delicate, like a flower bud. I touch my fingertips to the cool, glittering stones.
These can’t be diamonds, can they?
“Of course they are.”
“I didn’t mean to say that out loud. But real diamonds?” My gaze lifts again, my brow furrowed with worry this time.
“Almost four hundred of them, a mixture of old and rose cut. It also converts to a necklace, which is quite a statement piece for all its daintiness. Want to know how many carats?”
“Dozens, I’m guessing,” I say, shaking my head. The eighty-thousand-pound ring is already too much.
“Let’s say several dozens.”
“But why?”
“Because I saw how much fun you had at Garrard. I wanted to see you smile like that again. And also, because this is the kind of gift no one else can ever give you. Well, apart from Mandy.”
“Mandy is not going to give me a tiara.”
“He’s enamored enough. You do know he was called Randy Mandy in his younger years.”
“That’s so funny. I love that for him.”
“But not so much for his chambermaids, I’m sure.”
“He’s too much of a gentleman. But, Oliver, I can’t take this from you. It’s too much.”
“Nothing is too much for you. Not from me. Especially when I have plans of seeing you wear it and nothing else.”
I press my hand to my hip as I answer. “Well, there he is. Regular-programming Oliver.”
“The one you love.”
“I kind of like the one who buys me tiaras too,” I answer shyly. “And the one who loves to be the big spoon to my little spoon. I also like the one who feeds me chocolate for breakfast. But the Oliver I love best is the one I have right here.”
His hand snakes around my back, and he kisses me like he doesn’t want to let go, but all I can think is Don’t drop my damn tiara! Kiss broken, I make my way to the mirror, and Oliver helps me attach this loveliness to my head.