I love how deep his dimple is right now. “You didn’t give me a ring, though.”
“But . . .” I motion to his hand, except . . . the ring we’d found isn’t there anymore. It hasn’t been there for awhile, not since he took it off the moment he found mine in the secret box. And now it lies next to the one that had hugged my finger back in the apartment we left behind a few hours ago.
He shakes his head slowly. “I loved those rings, Chloe. Part of me still does. I have a lot of happy memories associated with them. It’s just . . .” He blows out a breath that sends the hairs around his face floating. “Fate picked those rings out for us. We didn’t have a say in them.”
For a moment, I don’t know what to say. Jonah . . . he feels that way, too? Resentful of how Fate has manipulated us so much?
“This one, though,” he says softly, pulling something out of one of his pockets, “I think . . . it would mean a lot to me if you wore it.” His palm opens to reveal one of the most beautiful diamond rings I have ever seen. It’s still rose gold, like our others, but constellations of small diamonds surround a beautiful square one in the middle. Wait—there’s one small blue stone near the center diamond. Maybe a sapphire? “This is the one I’ve always wanted to propose to you with. This is the one I’ve always seen on your finger when I dream about our future. This is the one I wanted to pick.”
My breath catches in my throat. It’s gorgeous. Just absolutely gorgeous.
“It’s been in my family for generations. My mom wore it last. It would mean the worlds to me if you wore it, too, as a symbol of how much I love you.” He’s uncharacteristically nervous, which I would find adorable if I didn’t actually feel like bursting into tears brought on from sublime happiness right now. He wants me to wear his mother’s ring?
My voice shakes with emotion when I tell him, “I love it.”
He holds the ring up so the blue stone faces me. “This one . . . this sapphire is from Astrid.” His smile is so very sweet. “Because I’ve been lucky enough to have not one, but two wonderful women to raise me. Maybe someday, when we pass this ring down to our son or daughter, you can substitute one of the stones for something that represents you, too.”
Okay. I officially burst into those noisy, happy tears. I stick my hand out and the moment he slides it on my finger, this feeling of overwhelming contentment overcomes me. He gave me his mother’s ring. Somehow, after everything that’s happened over the last few years, he trusts and loves me enough right now to hand over one of the few possessions of hers he still has.
I pull him up so I can throw my arms around his neck. “I love you so, so much, Jonah Whitecomb. Nothing would make me happier than to wear this ring.”
Later, as we lay naked on the ground on top a blanket I made us, sated in each other’s arms after an intense yet beautiful round of lovemaking, I marvel at how right this ring looks on my finger.
I will never take this one off.
“I’m gone for like a week, and you get engaged?” Will nearly slams his coffee cup down on the table. “Plus you’re moving out already?” He glares at his father. “Dad! Is this not moving a wee bit too fast? Didn’t you lecture us just a few months back about how the two of us are way too young to even contemplate marriage?”
Cameron sighs and sets the newspaper he’d been reading down. “Son, you know as well as I do that love doesn’t always move on the timetables we’d like it to.”
“I’m not moving out today,” I assure him. “The apartment isn’t even done yet. Plus, it’s a ten minute walk away, so chances are, I’ll be over here everyday anyway.”
Will arrived in Annar less than an hour before—he’d been ready to go to his room and pass out when he noticed the ring on my hand. From that point on, rather than telling us what happened in Glasgow, he drilled me on the particulars of everything that happened in the last few days.
Cameron and I exchange a worried glance. If Will is acting this upset over me moving out, it’s because something bad happened in Scotland.
“How is Becca?” Cameron asks quietly.
He’s silent for so long I actually start believing he’s not going to tell us. Just as Cameron gets up to head into the kitchen, Will finally says, “Cora came through. Becca’s . . . she’s fine. Miraculous recovery and all. Her family nearly shattered the record for hysterical sobbing over how the doctors didn’t know shite.” He sighs and drops his chin in a propped up hand. “She doesn’t remember anything about the accident. Broke down when she learned that Grant was dead.” He scrubs his hair with his free hand. “Had to be tranquilized or some shite when she learned she lost the baby.”
“Oh, son,” Cameron murmurs, reaching out to lay a hand on Will’s forearm.