“Oh, I’m a schmuck?” With seemingly little effort, he hefts the huge photograph up and walks it over to prop it against the wall. He strides back to the bed, his eyes glinting with wicked intent. “Say it again.”
I hold my breath, allowing the anticipation to coil between us to the point of snapping. “Schmuck!”
I take off running to the other side of the mammoth bed. He chases me, almost catches me, but I jump up, my feet sinking into the soft mattress, and leap to the other side. I feint left and right, running around and over the mattress a few times before his iron arms close around me and gently wrestle me to the bed.
“Please don’t tickle me,” I beg, laughing before he’s even sta
rted.
“So I’m a schmuck?” He slips one arm under my back, pressing me to him and making it impossible to do anything but squirm and relish our closeness.
“No, you’re not a schmuck! And you’re not a grumpy old man either.”
“You didn’t call me a grumpy old man,” he says with a frown.
“Well, I just did! Suckaaaah!”
And then his persistent fingers dig into my ribs, finding every soft, ticklish spot. I kick and flail and arch my neck and contort my body as much as possible, but he won’t be deterred.
“Oh, my God,” I protest. “Please don’t make me pee in this dress the first time I wear it.”
He finally relents, lying on his side, resting his head in the heel of his hand as he watches me.
“That is the only thing that saved you.” His features, already softened with humor, grow even more tender with affection. “I love your photo. It’s going on that wall so it’s the first thing I see every morning.”
“That’s not awkward or anything,” I mumble, but I can’t hold back my pleased grin. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it,” he repeats. “But soon I’ll be spooning the real thing every morning when I wake up.”
“Kenan, we’ll see.” I release a long exhale. “Let’s talk to Dr. Packer. Moving in is a big deal, especially since Simone lives with you. I just want to make sure she is a hundred percent comfortable.”
“Okay.” He drops a kiss on my forehead before pulling me to sit up on the edge of the bed. “Now you close your eyes.”
He stands, lifting his brows when my eyes remain as open as his did. “My turn.”
I roll my eyes before closing them.
“Keep them closed,” he calls, his voice coming from farther away, but still somewhere in the room.
“They’re closed, dammit,” I pretend to grouse.
I’m still trapped behind the darkness of my closed eyelids when he takes my left hand and twists the gris-gris ring off. It hasn’t left my finger in years. I suppress the instinct to open my eyes and grab it before it’s gone.
He slowly eases it onto the ring finger of my right hand. My heart assumes a thunderous rhythm, and blood rushes to my face and throbs in my ears. Sweat sprouts out all over my body as he slides a different ring onto the finger where MiMi’s ring rested before.
What if she gave me to you? What if I’m your gris gris now?
Kenan’s words from months ago wash over me, run through me.
You did good, MiMi, I whisper in silent, complete gratitude.
I thought her heart was the greatest gift she left me, but no.
It’s this man.
I can’t play along anymore. My eyes fly open to find Kenan down on one knee in front of the bed, in front of me. A vintage cushion-cut diamond set in blackened platinum glints from my left hand. I have no idea how many carats it is, but it’s huge without being gaudy. It’s antique, but thoroughly modern.
It’s perfect.