His Fake Ring Has My InitialsChapter 1

My breakup with Aaron Lockhart was far too polite.

It was civilized. Dignified. Which is probably why it took until the second year after we parted ways for me to finally admit the truth to myself: Aaron had never loved me.

His split from his new flame, however, was a spectacular, tabloid-worthy disaster. Even my Nana, who usually paid absolutely no attention to society gossip, was utterly captivated by the drama playing out on our small television. It was nothing like our quiet end. No screams, no broken plates. For Aaron and me, it had been a single, soft "goodbye," and then—nothingness.

But as Nana watched the broadcast, her brow suddenly furrowed in deep concentration.

"Vera, sweetie," she muttered, squinting at the screen, "why does this young man look so familiar?"

I was holding two different diamond rings under the jeweler's loupe, comparing their cuts, and answered without looking up. "He’s practically royalty in the city, Nana. You’ve probably seen him on some news segment."

Nana fell silent for a moment, then slapped her knee.

"I remember now!" she gasped. "He came into the shop yesterday while I was watching the counter. He ordered two diamond rings—and he specifically asked for you to hand-deliver them!"

* * *

My hands froze. The two rings slipped through my fingers, clattering onto the glass counter before bouncing onto the floor. I scrambled to pick them up, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I forced a tight laugh, looking up at Nana. "You must have him confused with someone else. He's in New York, Nana. We're all the way in Newport. Why on earth would he come to our little shop?"

There was another truth I kept to myself: Aaron was impossibly fastidious. He was a man who wore custom Tom Ford and wouldn't dream of wearing socks that weren't designer. There was no universe where he would step foot into a no-name local boutique like ours to choose an engagement ring.

But Nana was resolute. "No, I'm sure of it. A face that handsome isn't easy to forget."

She hobbled toward her bedroom, her limp more pronounced today. I quickly followed, hovering nearby in case her balance gave out. After rummaging through her dresser, she pulled a crumpled slip of paper from her apron pocket.

The elegant, sharp handwriting on it made my chest tighten.

Two diamond rings. Pickup in two weeks.

Nana looked at me with an apologetic sigh. "Oh, my foolish head. Ever since the accident, I can't keep things straight. I forgot all about this order."

"It's okay," I whispered, trying to soothe her. "I'm sure we can still manage it."

My eyes drifted to the date stamped at the bottom of the slip.

Two weeks ago.

The breath caught in my throat, and my smile froze.