Page 34 of Bride By Coronation

"Vodka," I state, then take a seat.

She brings me a crystal tumbler with three fingers of liquor and asks, "Would you like something to eat?"

I grumble, "No. Please tell the pilot to get off the ground as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir," she replies, then disappears. She returns a moment later, stating, "He said three minutes."

"Great. Thank you," I respond, then stare out the window, my heart racing faster.

What if I pick the wrong one?

I should have brought Valentina.

No. This is my responsibility.

The flight to Monaco takes almost eleven hours. I normally sleep on flights, but I can't today. When I arrive, the hours of self-loathing and remorse over ruining Fiona's life hit a high.

The plane door opens, and I walk through the hallway, lit only by the flickering flames from the candles inside the sconces. There are several turns before I get to the first door. I put my hand on the knob and pause.

What am I doing?

There's no way out of this.

Man up.

I open the door and enter a room with a table, a locked wooden box, and two oversized chairs. It's in the back of a jewelry store, which happens to be the most exclusive and expensive supplier of wedding rings in the world. I sit and wait.

A few minutes pass until Ahmed, an old Moroccan with wrinkled skin and who is The Underworld's only jeweler, appears. He bows reverently. "Your Majesty."

I rise and hold out my hand. "Ahmed. Good to see you."

He shakes my hand and smiles, replying, "And it is always a pleasure to see you, sir."

I motion to the chair. "Please. Sit."

He obeys.

I follow suit and wait.

His brown eyes gleam. He unlocks the box and removes the lid, claiming, "These are the best in the world, reserved for your queen."

Diamonds glitter with brilliance, making the situation I'm in more real. My pulse skyrockets as I pick up each one, assessing them.

"Perfect clarity, color, and cuts," Ahmed assures with pride in his tone.

"Yes, I can see that."

"Did you have a specific cut in mind?" he probes.

The hairs on my neck rise in apprehension.

She has to love it.

The air turns thick, and my palms sweat again.

Ahmed picks up a ring and holds it out, suggesting, "What about a princess cut?"

"She's not a princess. She's a queen," I remind him.

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