Chapter 9: Chapter 8

He holds my hand as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, bringing the ring close to my finger — not putting it on yet. Just watching.

He does this with each ring, one by one. Long, precise fingers moving the pieces carefully.

Until, on the last one, he slides the ring onto my finger. It’s a bit loose, but the stone… small, pinkish, absurdly beautiful.

I stare at the jewel, not sure what to feel.

Dominic removes the ring calmly.

“This one. She’ll keep this one. Resize it. And now… wedding bands.”

“Wait a minute,” I pull my hand back, frowning. “I’m not going to—”

“You will,” he cuts me off, not even changing his tone. “As my wife, you need to wear something that matches me.”

“That’s a diamond, Dominic!”

“I know. So what?”

“It’s way too expensive for a fake marriage.”

“I’m simply investing.”

“An exaggeration, that’s what it is.”

“It’s not an exaggeration, it’s a diamond,” he approaches. “And it’s going on your finger. You’d better get used to it.”

His phone rings. Dominic takes it from his pocket, answers, and walks away calmly, as if he hadn’t just slipped a diamond on my finger like he was handing over a coin.

The saleswoman, still smiling, comes over with the ring sizer and begins adjusting the size. I stand there, hand extended, trying to understand what kind of circus this is.

Dominic returns, putting his phone back into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“I have to handle some matters,” he says, taking out his wallet and placing a shiny black card on the marble counter. “Choose the bands. Use this.”

I look at the card as if it were radioactive.

“You’re going to trust your card to me? I’m a complete stranger. I could just… steal it.” I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms.

He gives me a bored look, as if listening to a chattering child.

“First: you’re my wife. Second: if you manage to blow this card’s limit, I’ll even congratulate you. Cards are the last of my worries.”

I widen my eyes, trying to process what he just said.

“I’m only your fake wife.”

“But it has to look real. Remember?” He’s already turning, straightening his blazer lapel as he speaks. “See you tonight. With your bags ready.”

Without another word, Dominic walks away with slow, controlled steps. He doesn’t look back. He disappears through the door as if he’d just delegated the most mundane task in the world.

I stand there for two seconds, trying to understand if it all really happened. I look at the card still on the counter. Then I face the saleswoman.

“So… will you go see the bands?” she asks, still with the same friendly smile.

I sigh resignedly and force a smile back, even though my face says I’m trapped in a nightmare far too expensive for my reality.

“Yes. I’ll look. I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

She walks to a side case and takes out a box with more options.

“I have some bands that pair perfectly with the diamond ring.”

I step closer slowly, observing the pairs of gold, each more lustrous than the last. None of them have price tags. Of course not. It only reinforces that everything there costs more than my entire life paid in installments on credit.

My fingers hover hesitantly over the glass until one particular band catches my attention: thin, squared, elegant. I pick it up carefully, turning it between my fingers.

“This is from a limited line in white gold,” the saleswoman explains, her voice as smooth as silk.

“I think… I’ll take this one.”

“Excellent choice. Mr. Moretti has refined taste; he’ll love it.”

My gaze lingers on it.

“Do you know him?”

“Of course. He’s a frequent client.”

Great, I think — besides being mysterious, he’s the bored rich type who blows money on jewelry just because.

She places the bands in a bag with extreme care and walks to the register. I hand over the card with some hesitation.

She slips it into the machine and the beep of an approved purchase echoes like a gunshot.

She returns the card and the receipt, but my eyes freeze on the printed amount.

Over ninety thousand Canadian dollars?

I stand there, jaw almost dropping, eyes wide. I nearly drop the receipt. I swallow, force the glass door open, and leave the store, still stunned, the bag in my hands.

“Ninety thousand… on bands… for a fake marriage,” I murmur, utterly incredulous. “This man is crazy.”

“Mrs. Moretti.” A firm, masculine voice echoes behind me.

I turn sharply, nerves fraying, and come face to face with Dominic’s two guard dogs — Enzo and Salvatori — standing there like hellish security.

“What now?” I snap through my teeth, narrowing my eyes.

“We will escort you to your home. Mr. Moretti requested that your bags be prepared,” Enzo says in a calm, almost robotic tone.

I let out a sarcastic laugh, shaking my head.

“Of course, of course… As if my day wasn’t weird enough already.”

I cross my arms tightly.

“I have to work. Do you hear me? Work. I’m not a toy he can pack up and take home.”

“These are orders, ma’am. You’d better make preparations.” Salvatori steps forward slightly, as if ready to force an escort.

I take a step back, clutching the bag with the ring and bands, and shove it against Enzo’s chest angrily.

“Here, take this crap too. Tell your boss I’m not for sale, and if he wants to fight, let him come himself.”

My eyes burn, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me weak.

“And another thing,” I continue, feeling my heart speed up, “If you follow me, I call the police. And I swear on everything that this will look real — I’m very good at causing scenes.”

Tension hangs in the air for a second. They exchange that look of “this will cause trouble,” but they don’t move.

I turn, huff, and walk determined down the sidewalk, trying to seem steady though my legs shake. My heels click on the concrete.