Chapter 110 The Matching Rings
Chapter 110 The Matching Rings
A few years had made Dina even more striking. Milan had lacquered her with that cool, impossible sheen.
“Honestly, Dina… I liked you first,” Matt said, slow and hopeful.
Dina’s expression iced over. As if a man who isn’t worthy to carry Julian’s gym bag gets to “like” me.
Matt’s mother, sharp-eyed in petty ways, sensed the disdain. She rushed to fill the silence. “Matt, that girl’s attitude—our family couldn’t accept a daughter-in-law like—”
“Ma, that’s not the point,” Matt cut in. “She’s helping me get the money back. When I’m flush again, we’ll have our pick. Remember all those girls lining up before?”
His mother softened. In her eyes, her son could do no wrong. Even the haughty Dina, she decided, might be lucky to have him.
—
Cora knew none of their scheming. She was still fuming about being tricked when the doorbell rang.
A housekeeper carried in a slim, elegant case, grinning. “Mrs. Watson, it’s the gown Mr. Watson commissioned for you.”
“A gown?” Cora blinked.
“It landed an hour ago. The Italian designer worked two days and nights straight.” The woman bubbled on, delighted. “You’ll steal the whole gala.”
Anger evaporated. “All right,” Cora laughed. “Show me.”
Inside lay a mist-white evening dress—gossamer, cleverly cut—and a pair of hand-stitched flat shoes made for pregnancy. The dress was clearly built around the shoes, not the other way around. Only a top house could pull that off.
“Want to try it?” the housekeeper asked.
Cora nodded, curious despite herself.
With Winny and the housekeeper helping, she slipped into the gown and shoes. Oh. No pinching. No dragging. The cut was wickedly smart—softly skimming the faint roundness of her belly while lifting her newly fuller bust and framing the long line of her neck. Even in flats, she looked taller.
A familiar voice warmed the doorway. “I knew it would suit you.”
Julian crossed the room, took over the last hook from the assistants, and fastened it himself.
His gaze dropped to the chain at her throat—two slim bands resting against her collarbone.
On their wedding day, he hadn’t even planned on rings. They’d used a random diamond band for show, and afterward Cora rarely wore it; a million-dollar trinket was a heart attack waiting to happen if lost. Their fingers had remained bare.
It hadn’t bothered him… until Liam. Every time he caught Liam looking at Cora, something hot and territorial flared. So Julian had ordered a pair of bands from the Watson design studio—something they could live in.
He’d meant to surprise her. Instead, that box had ended up on a conference room floor after a fight. He’d assumed she’d chucked the rings. He hadn’t expected to find them hanging over her heart.
He unhooked the chain, lifted the bands into his palm. His mouth curved—then he smothered it in a dry drawl. “Why keep these? Toss them.”
Cora snatched them back and glared. Waste money? If he didn’t want them, she could sell them. If she’d had a spare hour this week, she might’ve already—
Julian’s chest went pleasantly light. She cares. (If she could read his thoughts, she’d have rolled her eyes. You’re overthinking it, sir.)
He offered his hand, palm up. “They’re a pair. Planning to wear both yourself?”
Cora blinked, small and startled—little mole face back in full effect.
Julian took the smaller band, caught her left hand, and slid it onto her ring finger.
The metal kissed skin; a ripple of heat shivered up her arm. Color rose fast in her cheeks. It’s just hormones, she told herself. His stupid aftershave is too good.
His eyes never left her face. When the blush bloomed, pure satisfaction flickered across his.
He extended his hand again, meaning clear now.
So I’m the one putting his on. There went the resale value—from a pair to a single, she sighed internally, and lifted the heavier ring. Carefully, she eased it over his knuckle.
The moment the circle settled on his finger, something subtle locked into place—as if a quiet click sounded in both their chests. Cora’s fingertips trembled. Julian’s, too.
“Have you ever put a ring on anyone else?” he asked, low.
“No,” she answered before thinking.
“You’re the only one,” he said back—automatic, unguarded.
They both froze, caught in the odd, weightless hush after words that couldn’t be taken back.
“Ah—” Cora ducked her head, lashes skimming her cheeks, and focused hard on the task. Ring on. Done. Retreat.
She tried to pull away. Julian laced their fingers instead—ten warm points locking tight. The strange current surged again, stronger.
His voice dropped at her ear. “They’re our first matching bands. Don’t you want a photo?”
“Huh?” She looked up, just in time to miss the blaze tucked beneath his lazy half-smile.
He lifted his phone and framed their hands: two intertwined, two bands gleaming.
Click.
Only then did he let her go.
Cora stared for a beat, then deliberately lowered her eyes and pressed the flutter out of her chest. Calm down, Cora. You’re leaving the Watsons one day. If your heart goes soft now, how will you walk away?