The Marriage Dare

I give her a little space, looking over the jewelry myself. There are some pieces here that cost more money than some people make in a lifetime. But Monica is worth that. And I’ve always had a rule— though she doesn’t know it— whenever I buy an item of luxury, I donate the same amount to charity. I don’t think I could live with myself any other way. I spent too much of my life poor to blindly spend money like it’s water. I’ll have to find out if there are charities she would like to support before I make the donation for this.

I stop when I see a necklace. It’s that similar feeling to when I saw Monica in the casino for the first time. A gut deep knowing of ‘that’s the one.’ The necklace itself is silver, a beautiful twisting chain. And on it, a teardrop diamond contained in a swirling silver cage that looks like a blooming flower or vines. It’s incredibly understated compared to some of the other jewelry in the store, but that’s the one. I think that she’ll like it.

I raise my hand for one of the attendants and she comes rushing over. “Put this on our bill,” I say. “And have it sent over to my suite at the Brazen Hotel. Today please.”

“Of course, Mr. Argent.” She immediately starts working on packing up the necklace, and I move to rejoin Monica before she notices that I bought something. I find her near a display of rings in a corner of the store. And when I see what she’s looking at, I know I made the right decision. All these rings are silver, and understated. The display itself is in the corner, like it’s been hidden away because this style is less popular.

“Do you like these?” I asked.

Monica nods. “I think they’re beautiful.”

“What do you like about them?” I want to know why she’s drawn to things.

She tilts her head, still looking at the rings, and thinks. “I like that they’re unassuming. Not that there’s anything wrong with being the center of attention, I’m just tired of it. Everyone’s already going to know that we’re married. I don’t need to remind them with a ring the size of my head,” she says. Then she smiles and adds an afterthought. “Plus, they’re pretty.”

“They are that,” I say. “Which one?”

She points. “I want to try that one.” Her finger is over the glass, hovering over a simple silver ring with a round diamond. The band twists and curls around the stone on either side. The attendant who’s been shadowing her steps up and opens the display case and pulls it out. He holds it out to Monica on its display rod. She goes to pick it up but I stop her. “Let me,” I say.

She does. I take the ring and hold her hand, softly slipping the ring onto her finger. A thrill runs up my spine, like déjà vu but looking forward. Like feeling what I’m going to feel in the future. The ring fits almost perfectly. It’s a tiny bit loose.

“What you think?”

She’s staring down at our joined hands, and I can feel her shaking a little bit. I don’t blame her in the slightest, this feels like a lot even to me. The ring looks perfect on her hand. I hope she agrees.

“I love it,” she says.

I love it too, but the emotions welling up in my chest leave me no room to say it. I point to the simple silver bands— one bright and one dark— that rest next to where Monica’s ring was. “Can we see those?” I ask.

The attendant brings out the rings, clearly a matching set, and I put the bright one on next to the ring Monica is already wearing. I slip my own on, though it’s a bit too tight.

Monica is staring at her hand, completely enraptured.

“I think choosing these is going to be a lot easier than I thought it would be.”

“Yeah,” she breathes. “I can’t imagine anything else.”

I look at the attendant. “We’ll take these then. Can they be sized today?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll take your measurements. It looks like they’re pretty close. For you, Mr. Argent, we’ll have them done in an hour.”

“Perfect,” I say. “We’ll go get lunch and come back.”

He quickly takes our measurements and we test a couple of ring sizes making sure that everything is comfortable. And when we’re satisfied, he disappears into the back without another word.

“Is that it?” Monica asks.

“That’s it. What do you feel like for lunch?”

She shakes her head. “Honestly I have no idea. It’s been a while since I got to choose food based on desire and not economy.”

I pull her close as we make our way back to the door. “Let me rephrase the question then. What’s your favorite type of food?”