I call Linda Patterson, to plan, and she explains that her boss wants to use a specific gold that holds a lot of meaning to him.
“That is actually really romantic,” I tell her. “Could I speak with him to get a better idea of what he would like the ring to look like?”
“No, that won’t work,” she tells me. “He really loves your work, and trusts your eye.”
“And money, you said there is no limit? I mean, would he want a two karat diamond or ten?”
“He wants whatever will best represent someone beautiful, yet imperfect. You can invoice me and I will put down a deposit, straight away. And I can express the gold to your studio as soon as you give me the go ahead.”
“So, he just wants me to design this ring, however I like, and spend as much as I want?” I laugh, thinking this request is insane.
“Exactly. How soon can you make it?”
“When do you need it?”
“In four weeks.”
“Well, that will require me to juggle my calendar around slightly—”
“No problem,” Linda says, cutting me off. “He will pay double for it.”
I’m unable to say no, obviously—money is money—but also this is the most exciting order I have ever received. I get the details, send an invoice, and Linda tells me the gold will be delivered via FedEx in twenty-four hours.
I hang up, laughing at the absurdity, but then tears spring to my eyes at the romantic man and the woman who is lucky enough to have him.
I open my design portfolio, determined to make the most beautiful ring I have ever created in my life.
16
The month passes in a blur.
Work keeps me busy, and it’s been too damn long since I focused on the company I own and the mountain that pays for my freedom.
The approaching wedding, and knowing I will see Ava Grace again, is a huge motivator for me to go all in with work. I head to the mines each morning on the outskirts of Faro. I get in my pickup truck with the snow-capped mountains surrounding me. The fresh mountain air fills my lungs before I don a headlamp and head below the Earth’s surface to check on my crews.
It’s fucking terrifying to have laid it all out for Ava Grace, not knowing how she will receive me when I see her again, but also knowing I am currently my best self... the best man I have ever been. No longer wrapped up in my past, I am looking to my future.
A future I want to share with Ava.
I send my housekeeper Esme, and my assistant Linda, to my place outside of Whistler a few days before the wedding weekend begins. If Ava Grace forgives me, I want to bring her to one of my houses and then drop to one knee. Which means I want my seldom-used place to look like a home.
Now the wedding weekend is here. I drive the one hundred miles to Whitehorse and then get on a plane to Whistler. Linda says I should take a private jet, but I don’t need that fancy ass shit. When I finally, hopefully, have my woman here with me, of course, I’ll buy a jet if she wants it—but I don’t need that just for me.
When I finally land in Whistler, I take a deep fucking breath. This place is crowded every day of the goddamned year, and it exhausts me. That’s why I would never stay in the village proper. I have a place thirty minutes outside of the busy ski town and I take a cab to my place to check in with Esme before I meet up with the wedding party.
“Can I show you the redecorated great room, Samson?” Esme asks after I drop off my bags in my room. She hands me a whiskey and we walk toward the back of the house to the room large enough for a gala. The previous owners were politicians, and I get why they’d need a room that could seat two hundred. Me, though? I’m not planning on throwing any parties anytime soon. Still, the room was dated, musty and needed new flooring installed.
“It looks great, Esme. Especially the fireplace. That is really good craftsmanship.” The mantle is made of geodes and raw-edged wood. It's a work of art.
“Oh, Linda had that made. It was all her idea.”
“Is she around?” I ask, knowing that she has a package that is incredibly important.
“Yes, she was just arranging flowers as you requested, in the kitchen. Pink roses in every room, correct?”
“Correct.” I head to the kitchen and see Linda seconds before my mind registers hundreds of pink roses.
“Well, what do you think?” she asks, turning a vase to face me.
“It looks pink.”
Linda smiles. “That is what you asked for, is it not?”