DAMIEN'S POV
December arrived and I had a ring.
I'd bought it three months ago from a jeweler in Portland who specialized in custom pieces. Not the kind of ring my mother would have approved of, no giant diamond designed to signal wealth. A simple gold band with a small oval sapphire, deep blue, the color of the ocean Elara painted in her studio whenever she was happy.
James had seen it and said nothing for a full ten seconds.
"That's not a Cross family ring," he finally said.
"No. It's an Elara ring."
He nodded slowly. "Good."
I'd been carrying it in my jacket pocket for six weeks, which was probably excessive, but I couldn't decide on the moment. Nothing felt right. Too planned felt wrong. Too casual felt disrespectful. I was overthinking it, which James pointed out repeatedly.
"
