The Perfect Illusion(10)

“You really want this ring?” He lifts his left brow, rubbing his hand along his chiseled jaw.

I nod, clasping my hands together.

Hudson sighs, turning to Guinevere. “How much is this one going to set me back?”

She brings a finger to her lips, breathing in and exhaling. “Well. This one’s special. It once belonged to the Duchess of Guildford in the 19th century. It’s from our Legacy collection. I could show you a few pieces from our Estate collection if you’d like? Those are newer and less … historically significant.”

“Babe, this is a royal diamond.” I place my hand on top of his, pouting. “This is a piece we could have in our family for generations to come. We could pass this down to our children’s children someday. Could you even imagine?”

I hate the way I sound. Hate it.

Hudson sighs. “All right. You going to tell me how much it is?”

“Just a hair under two hundred,” Guinevere says. “Comparable rings from our Estate collection would be quite less. I’m not sure what your budget is, but—”

“It’s fine. We’ll take it.” Hudson reaches for my hand and squeezes—hard—before diving into his wallet and retrieving his black AmEx. “Anything for my future wife.”

“You’re a smart man, Hudson.” Guinevere stands, collecting his card and the remainder of the engagement pieces. “And you’re a very fortunate lady, Maribel. Hudson is one of New York’s most eligible bachelors, and the Rutherfords are a wonderful family to marry into. Your parents must be proud.”

“They’re thrilled,” I lie.

My parents have no idea, and ideally, I’d like to keep it that way.

They’re salt-of-the-earth, childhood sweethearts who’ve never left their hometown of Orchard Hill, Nebraska. They’re humble and kind. They go to St. Mary’s for mass every Sunday and spend the weekends holed up in their Cornhusker-themed living room watching re-runs on HGTV.

They raised me to walk a straight line, to work hard, and to live a respectable life.

They wouldn’t understand this.

And they sure as hell wouldn’t be proud.

“Guinevere,” Hudson says, “my parents don’t know about the engagement yet, so if you could not mention it next time you see them …”

“My lips are sealed. I promise. Be back in a moment.” She smiles, slipping her glasses back over her nose and disappearing behind the double doors.

“Can you not?” Hudson turns to me, his expression fading the second she’s gone.

“Not what?”

“Can you not act so vapid and materialistic? Eight carats? Are you fucking kidding me?” He rubs his temples and sinks back in his chair, staring straight ahead past one of the narrow windows. “And don’t call me ‘babe.’ Please.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted?”

“What about me makes you think that’s what I wanted?” His words are swift and frustrated.

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I’ve seen the kind of women you associate with. I was just trying to be like them.”

He huffs. “If I wanted a woman like that, I’d have settled down a long time ago, Mari. There’s a reason I chose you for this. You’re not like them.”

“What do you want me to do?” I lean forward, brows meeting in the middle. “Maybe you should’ve told me what you wanted from me before you brought me here. I’m not a mind reader. How do you want me to act?”

“Like yourself. Be authentic. Not a caricature.”

I wrinkle my nose, readying my rebuttal just as Guinevere returns, two little red boxes in her hand. She slides the small ring box toward us.

“The ring fits you perfectly,” she says to me. “Correct?”

I nod.

“Wonderful.” She smiles, passing Hudson’s card his way along with a receipt to sign. “And if you ever need it sized, please don’t hesitate to bring it back. Also, as a special thank you, I’m throwing in a little something extra.”

Guinevere slides the larger of the two boxes between us.

“It’s a love bracelet,” she says, cracking the box open with a gentle pop. A thick gold bangle rests on a velvet pillow alongside a matching gold screwdriver. “This is a signature piece. Very timeless and classic. Hudson, you’re supposed to place it on her wrist and hold onto the screwdriver. You’re the only one who can remove it.”

My throat is dry. She may as well be presenting me with a medieval chastity belt. Who in their right mind would call this romantic?

“Wow,” Hudson says. “Thank you. Mari, what do you think?”