by Karen Booth
“I made an appointment with a personal shopper. I didn’t want to risk them being too busy to take care of us,” Chris said.
“Of course you did. That’s thinking.”
“Claire, you should know by now that I don’t toy with this sort of thing. If we’re going to do it, we’re going to do it right.”
Chris spoke to a woman behind the counter and she directed us to a gray-haired gentleman tending the long glass case across the aisle.
The man tilted his head back, peering through tiny-framed glasses teetering on the end of his nose. “You must be Mr. Penman.” His regal British accent caught me completely off guard. He offered his hand before Chris had the chance to introduce us. “I’m Mr. Russell. You must be the future Mrs. Penman.” He looked at me with a knowing twinkle in his eye that made me smile and blush. He was like the Santa Claus of Tiffany’s. Mr. Russell had likely gone through this routine thousands of times if he’d been with Tiffany’s a long time, and by the way he carried himself, my guess was that he had.
“I am the future Mrs. Penman, but you may call me Claire.” The future Mrs. Penman. Holy shit.
“I understand we have an important purchase to make today.”
“That we do.” Chris planted a soft kiss on my temple.
“Excellent. Let’s get on with it then. No more mucking about.” Mr. Russell reached beneath the counter and put on a pair of white gloves.
“Did you ask them for a Brit?” I whispered into his ear.
“Luck of the draw, my dear,” he quipped.
“Now,” Mr. Russell started. “The first thing we must address is the shape of the diamond.” A velvet presentation board held a row of rings. “Tiffany offers ten choices.”
Chris picked up an Emerald-cut, but I already knew what I wanted.
“I prefer round.” I pointed to the ring in the middle.
“You sure?” Chris asked. “What about this one?”
“Round.” I nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Round is classic. Timeless,” Mr. Russell said, showing polite neutrality about my decision. “Now, have we put any thought into the type of metal for the setting and band? Platinum?”
“Yes, platinum,” I answered.
Chris cleared his throat as if annoyed that I hadn’t consulted with him.
“Perfect.” Mr. Russell whisked away the presentation board and turned to unlock a cabinet behind him.
Chris elbowed me. “I find it interesting that the woman who made such a stink about not wanting a big fancy ring had clearly put some serious thought into wanting a round diamond with a platinum band.”
I shook my head. “These are things I determined at a very young age.”
Mr. Russell turned back with a new presentation board filled with wonderful, twinkly diamond rings. “We have twenty-one settings to choose from. Of course, we will hand-select the stones.”
Chris pointed out a three-stone setting with a diamond band. “What about this one?” He then set his sights on an even larger ring closer to him. “Or this?”
I, however, was drawn to a simpler, more modern design. “I like this one.”
“Ah, the Etoile.” Mr. Russell removed the ring. “Simple. Elegant.”
Without a word, Chris put his arm around me as Mr. Russell slipped the ring onto my finger. The wide, shiny band had a single diamond surrounded by a raised ring of platinum.
“This is a bezel setting. It protects the diamond.”
It was beautiful. Stunning, not flashy. Probably quite far from what Chris had envisioned as the ring he’d put on my finger. He didn’t utter a word though as I admired it, turning my hand and watching it catch the light. His silence made me love him in a new way—he seemed to sense that it was the ring for me, just as he was the man.
“I love it,” I whispered. “I really, really love it.”
Chris kissed the top of my head. “Then that’s the one we’ll get.”
“May I?” Mr. Russell asked, reaching for the ring.
“Of course.” Taking it off was the last thing I wanted to do.
“This stone is just under one carat in weight. This setting won’t accommodate much larger than one and a half carats.”
“One is fine with me,” I said.
“Claire, come on,” Chris pled. “Let me buy you the one and a half. Just so I can feel like I played some role in this.”
“Allow me to fetch the matching bands while you discuss it.” Mr. Russell again retreated to the cabinet behind him.
I grasped Chris’s elbow. “Isn’t one carat big enough?”
He shook his head. “This is a very public symbol of my love for you. There’s a very good chance that photos of that ring on your hand will turn up in magazines.”
“If it means that much to you, okay. We’ll go with one and a half.”
His face lit up like a Christmas tree, but then he narrowed his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m saying thank you for your allowing me to spend more money, but thank you.”
Mr. Russell brought a third presentation tray, this one with two bands—one plain and one studded with diamonds. “The choice here is pretty straightforward.”
I didn’t even get a word out of my mouth before Chris weighed in. “Diamonds. Definitely the diamonds.”
It was a showstopper—sparkly and twinkly and totally over-the-top. The man’s trying to buy me more diamonds. Who am I to stand in his way? “It’s perfect.”
An hour later, we’d chosen a stone, I’d been sized for the rings, and Chris put an absurd amount of money on his American Express. It would be a week until I would receive the finished product. It would’ve taken longer if Chris hadn’t paid to expedite the process.
As we strolled through the door holding hands, flashes of light hit my eyes. What the hell? I averted my eyes, struggled for my sunglasses in my purse. An arm around my waist jerked me forward. The lights persisted. Bam. Bam. Bam. I turned my head to escape the flashes, but they were everywhere. Voices called out.
“Over here.”
“What kind of a ring did you buy?”
“Chris, is it true you’re getting married?”
I was blinded. I stumbled. A strong arm that I assumed belonged to Chris tugged me ahead. I landed in the backseat of the town car. Lou screeched away from the curb.
“Are you okay?” Chris looked down at me, his sunglasses on.
I nodded. So this is my new life. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” I blinked, computing what had just happened. I sat up straight and grabbed his hand.
“Well, that was a successful shopping trip.”
I was still catching my breath. “Except for that last part.”
“I’m sorry darling.”
“It’s okay. Guess I’d better call my sister before that ends up on newsstands, huh?”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Chris said. “So much for secrets.”
Chapter Seven
I’d thought it would be fun, but as I flipped through a catalog of studio gear, I quickly realized it was work. And why is the print so ridiculously small? Frustrated with having to squint to read the specs on a mixing board, I nicked Claire’s reading glasses from the bedside table. “Much better,” I mumbled, settling back into bed.
Claire flicked off the bathroom light and approached, rubbing her hands and forearms, presumably with lotion. She was constantly moisturizing, not that I would ever complain. There was nothing better than running my hands all over her silky soft skin. She climbed onto the bed and took me by surprise, straddling my lap and plucking the catalog from my hands. Now we’re talking.
I gripped her hips, watching her eyes flicker with flirtatious amusement. “Is there some reason you so rudely interrupted me?” Her fidgety body weight against my crotch was about to make ordering studio equipment the best amusement ever.
“You look insanely cute in my reading glasses, but why won’t you admit that you’re getting old and get your own?”
I removed them, rubbing the indentations
that had formed on the sides of my nose. “I don’t really need them. They just help me see better.”
She leaned forward, kissing me softly. “I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of needing glasses.”
I pulled her flat against my chest and she began to play with my earlobe as we kissed, tugging, running her finger along the sensitive skin below it. Blood flow was beginning to circulate below the waist when there was a knock at the bedroom door.
“If it’s my dad, I’m going to kill him,” she whispered, rolling to her side.
“It’s ten-thirty. No way your dad is still up.”
“Yes?” she asked.
Sam stuck in her head, a mass of blonde curls hanging about her face. “Hey, guys. I’m sorry. The power is out in my bedroom again.”
I threw back the quilt. “It’s the fuse. I’ll take care of it.”
Claire sighed and climbed under the covers. “Try to get to sleep at a decent hour tonight,” she said to Sam. “Only two more nights until you’re back at school.”
“I’ll try,” Sam replied.
I walked past Sam and started down the hall. “It will only take a second.”
“I don’t get why this keeps happening.” She trailed me down the stairs.
“Because this house is ancient. These circuits weren’t meant to handle the number of gadgets we use nowadays.” I flipped on the light switch in the laundry room and opened the fuse box. For the second time in as many weeks, the one for Sam’s room had a dark center, telling me that it was indeed blown. Above the box sat a neat row of fuses, fully stocked thanks to Claire’s dad.
“Why don’t you just teach me how to do this?” Sam asked, pushing up the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “Then you don’t need to worry about coming down here the next time.”
I unscrewed the old fuse and replaced it. “Absolutely not.” I popped the stubborn metal door into place with the side of my fist. “I don’t trust this thing at all. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“I have to learn how to do this stuff at some point.”
With a wave of my hand, I shooed her from the laundry room, and followed her into the kitchen. “Not this you don’t. There’s no way I’m letting you live somewhere with this sort of antiquated wiring. I can’t believe we all sleep in this house every night the way it is.”
“Are you going on about the electrical thing again?” Claire came down the stairs.
Much like an animal desperate for sustenance, Sam rummaged through the freezer. “Who wants ice cream?”
“You know I do,” I answered.
“I’m good.” Claire filled her water glass at the sink.
“Electrical thing?” I asked. “It’s what’s commonly referred to as a fire hazard.”
Claire said nothing, downing her water, but I could see in her eyes how much she deplored this topic.
“I’m only going on about the electrical because it’s a problem,” I continued, placing my hand on her back. I sucked in a deep breath. “I think we need to look for a new house.”
She clunked her glass on the kitchen counter. “What’s wrong with my house?”
“Would you like me to make you a list?” I keep my voice even and measured, knowing full well that I’d struck an unpleasant chord. “I love the house, but we’re at maximum capacity with your dad staying in the guest room.”
“It is sorta cramped, Mom.” Sam loaded massive scoops of ice cream into two bowls.
“The plumbing is bad, the electrical is old,” I added. “The air conditioning struggles to keep the upstairs cool and the driveway is crumbling. There’s more. Do you want me to keep going?”
Claire folded her arms across her chest. “What if we just fix things up?”
“That doesn’t remedy the space issue.” Sam slid a bowl of ice cream across the counter to me. “Thank you.” I took a bite of mint chocolate-chip, not my favorite, but Sam lived on the stuff. “What happens if we get pregnant? It’s a year until Samantha leaves for college, which means her room isn’t a possibility for a nursery. And it would be great if we could find a place with a pool.”
“I thought you only wanted to stay in Chapel Hill for a year.”
“That seems silly now. The studio could be a new phase of my career, and I love the idea of having it somewhere that isn’t LA.”
She gnawed on her thumbnail, likely still processing everything I’d said.
“We could keep two houses and we can go back and forth, but stay based in North Carolina.”
“Really?” Her voice squeaked.
“I thought this would make you happy.” I took another bite of ice cream.
“Maybe I should go upstairs,” Sam said.
“No, Sam, this involves you too,” I said. “We’re a family. You should stay.”
She twisted her lips. “It’s kind of getting tense.”
“I know. Your mother’s having a hard time with the idea, but we have to talk about it.”
“Mom? Aren’t you happy Chris wants to stay in Chapel Hill?”
“I am.” Her face became pinched with stress, an expression I’d seen from her hundreds of times. “It makes me really happy. There’s just a lot going on right now.”
“So you and Chris are getting married. Big whoop. That’s awesome. That doesn’t have to be a big deal if you don’t want it to be. Although it’d be cool if you guys had a really fancy wedding.”
“There’s a little more than that, Sam,” I said. “Your mother got a big job offer while we were in New York.”
“You did?”
Claire nodded. “Entertainment editor with a new magazine. But don’t tell your grandfather. I haven’t made a decision yet and he’ll just want to offer his opinion.”
“It’s a big thing to consider.” I sensed that Claire had made up her mind to take the job. I wasn’t convinced it was a great idea, but I wouldn’t hold her back.
“And Chris has his own excitement. Banks Forest is reuniting to do some shows in New York.”
“You are?” Sam asked, placing her ice cream bowl in the sink. “That’s so cool. Can I come up for the shows?”
“We’ll have to see how your school schedule shakes out.” Claire shook her head. “See? There’s a lot going on. Do you really want to move in the midst of all of this? We haven’t even set a date for the wedding yet.”
“So set a date,” Sam said flatly. “How about December? Christmas weddings are cool.”
Hmm. “I love that idea.”
“Would that give us enough time to plan it?” Claire asked.
Sam flipped up the miniature pages of a bank calendar stuck to the fridge. “It’s August now. If you get married in December, that gives you more than three months.”
“Perfect,” I said. If she felt as if this was just a pesky loose end, perhaps we should scratch it off the to-do list. “We both said we didn’t want this to be a big affair. No reason it’ll take much time to plan it. If we find a new house, we can have it there.”
Claire stared at the calendar. “I do like the idea of not taking forever to do it. What about the Saturday before Christmas?”
Sam tapped the date. “The 20th.”
“Claire Abby and Christopher Penman cordially invite you to witness their betrothal, Saturday, the 20th of December.”
“Betrothal?” Claire cocked her head and gave in to a small grin. “Let’s do it. One less thing to worry about.”
Exactly my thinking.
“And are we really going to try to find a new house before then?”
“I know it seems like a lot, but this is just part of merging our lives.” I took her hand, squeezing hard. “The new house will be a chance for us to build something. Something that’s truly ours.”
“Now I really think I need to go upstairs. This is getting a little too lovey dovey.”
“Goodnight, honey,” Claire said.
“Night, Mom. Night, Chris.” Seconds later, Sam was thundering up the stairs.
I set my hand on Clai
re’s stomach and wrapped my other arm around her as she peered up at me. The worry on her face was starting to fade.
“I know there’s a lot to think about,” I said. “It’s going to be like this for a while.” I stroked her warm, pink-tinged cheek with my thumb.
“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m stressing out. I have a hard time letting go of things. It’ll be sad to say goodbye to this house.” She dug her head into my chest and I pulled her even closer, inhaling her sweet scent.
“Don’t think of it as saying goodbye. You can drive by as much as you want until it’s condemned by the city.”
She exhaled and fully relaxed in my embrace. “Very funny.”
“It’s all good, darling. I love you and we’re going to get married and have a baby and a wonderful life together. Absolutely nothing to worry about.”
She looked back up at me, showing me one of her magical, unguarded smiles. “You’re amazing. You know that, right?”
“I may have been told that a few times here and there, yes. Still doesn’t mean I don’t like to hear it.” I kissed her on the forehead then tilted her chin for a straight shot at her lips. “And you’re the one who’s amazing. I’m just a lot of hot air.”
Chapter Eight
I’d perfected the art of inconspicuously flattening my hand and splaying my fingers. Or so I thought.
“Admiring your ring again?” Sam asked, hunched over a bowl of cereal.
I shrugged—one of those “I am so, so guilty” shrugs, where your shoulders touch your ears. “I can’t help it. I want to stare at it all day long.” I turned my hand so the diamond could catch the morning light and sparkle. “I love it.”
She smiled for an instant then frowned. “What happened to summer? I can’t believe there’s only one day of vacation left.”
“You should be excited.” I produced a big smile, trying to sell it. “Your senior year of high school.”
“I like sleeping in too much to be excited.”
“I’ve noticed.” I poured myself a third cup of coffee. I would’ve enjoyed the chance to sleep in that morning. Instead, I’d had another of Chris’s unintentional six am wake-up calls when he’d knocked the alarm clock off the bedside table while attempting to quiet the snooze. “Are you coming with me this morning? Chris is dying to show off the studio space.”