Christmas with a Rockstar (Rock Revenge Trilogy 3.50)

That had been fitting in more ways than one.

“There’s a farmer’s market not far from here.”

“Farmer’s market? Are you serious? He’s trying to buy an engagement ring, not a ripe melon.”

“Hello, there are numerous stands inside that place. They have jewelry,” Nick said stubbornly, holding out his mobile toward Simon.

Simon had one hand on the wheel and one eye on the phone and I did not feel safe in the back of this open-air Jeep.

For one thing, I nearly levitated right out of the vehicle when my brother hit a rut in the road. And he seemed to hit a lot of ruts. For another, Simon and Nick were arguing too much to pay any attention if I went flying, seatbelt or no seatbelt.

Nick would probably rejoice anyway. Yay, roadkill!

The weather wasn’t helping. This sort of transportation was not ideal when the winds were tossing everything to and fro. Branches, rocks, small children. All went hurtling in front of the vehicle and my brother barely seemed to bat an eyelash.

“Did you buy Li a trinket like that? I’m amazed she

married you. Even if you didn’t buy her a trinket, I’m amazed she married you.”

“Her ring is five carats, thank you very much. She loves it. Just because you emptied out your piggy bank to pay for Margo’s because you knew she wouldn’t marry your sorry ass otherwise. Did you write her a check too?”

I frowned as I gripped the back of Nick’s seat. He shot me a look so I transferred my grip to Simon’s. “I can’t believe you two are best friends. You sound like you absolutely hate each other.”

Yet I’d seen how they were together when Margo had been kidnapped. They were as tight as any brothers I’d ever seen. Leaning on each other in a way I’d truly envied.

I’d wanted something like that for myself, and I was beginning to find it. Not only with my brother, but with my friends Flynn and Rory.

I would never take such friendships for granted.

“Yes, and we’ve sounded this way for going on twenty years. Deal with it, spud.”

Spud? I didn’t even know how labeling someone a potato counted as an insult.

“What kind of ring are you hoping to get her?” Simon looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Please tell me you’ve done some kind of research.”

“Yes, some. She’s not the usual, so—”

“Definitely not the usual if she’s marrying you.”

I ignored Nick. His life’s work was getting a rise out of people, and I was his favorite target. “She likes unique pieces. But she wouldn’t object to something vintage either, I don’t think, with some history to the design. Maybe a piece with an Art Deco feel.”

Both men said nothing. If I could have seen their faces, I knew they would register puzzlement. And possibly glazed eyes, because few men enjoyed discussions of wedding rings.

I didn’t either, but it was important to me I pick something Zoe would love, not just tolerate. Part of why I’d stalled on deciding to ask. What if I couldn’t find the right one? I couldn’t buy just anything and hope it would do.

Now I was under the gun. I had to ask her while we were in paradise—assuming we didn’t get blown off the island by the storm—so that the memory of our engagement would be extra special. I couldn’t ask without some fanfare and focus on the ceremony itself.

Oh, and our life together. That too.

That wasn’t how women thought. Or so I’d been schooled by the two experts of matrimony themselves.

God help me.

“Art Deco is a style of art and architecture popularized in the—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You know her tastes. But I recommend some bling. All chicks dig bling.”

“Zoe really isn’t the kind of woman who enjoys large baubles. They would only get in her way while she’s working. She does a lot with her hands.”