Page 8 of Hard Hearts

“Famous furniture designer from the '70s,” Graham informs me. “He’s into leather recliners, Mason. That’s why I brought him to you. He’s marrying an uptown girl with a law degree and lots of ambition.”

“You want something tasteful then.” The jeweler pulls out a velvet tray filled with rings with no rocks in them.

I make a sound, I guess of disappointment, because Mason holds up a finger. “Wait.”

He reaches into another drawer and fishes out a pair of white gloves. He then unfurls a black velvet roll to reveal a small collection of stones. With a long tweezer-shaped implement, he picks up one pear-shaped diamond and places it into a plain setting.

“Two point two carats, VS1, color G, ideal cut. Looks good on any type of finger.” He places a different diamond in the next empty setting. “Three point two eight carats, VVS1, color H, brilliant cut. Oval. Creates a longer, more slender silhouette.”

“Too small.”

He looks up at me over the top of his glasses. “I thought she was a lawyer.”

“She is, but everyone will know she’s married to me, a football player, and I don’t want her walking into a WAG meeting?—”

“That’s wives and girlfriends,” Graham interjects.

“—meeting feeling like she’s got the smallest rock in the room. Besides, she’s a lawyer for a steel company. She needs to have a big diamond so that everyone in that place knowsshe’s taken.” From what I’ve heard, it’s sausage central at her workplace with only a handful of female employees besides her.

Mason removes the small stones and tucks them away. Another velvet case appears on the table. The moment the fabric falls away, I know we have a winner. The rocks are big and colorful. There are diamonds, at least I think they’re diamonds, in colors of pink and yellow and blue. I rub my hands together. “Now we’re talking.”

“Thanks for vouching for me with Mason. He’s the real deal.”

“He doesn’t just make rings. He’ll do anything you want. A real genius but only works by word of mouth.” Graham’s driver pulls up.

After seeing Graham off, I head to a wine store and pick up a bottle of La Cave du Marche Burgundy. Jasper might be a whiskey guy, but I bet his wife likes wine. This particular brand is a favorite of my center’s wife. I went with him to buy it last year for their first year anniversary and almost fell over when we went to check out and it rang up to over $11,000 per bottle. He was buying a case. I figure if it’s good enough for my center’s missus, it’s probably good enough for Mrs. Parker.

“I’ve never heard of this wine before,” Frankie says, turning the bottle to read the back of the label.

I explain the backstory, leaving out the price.

“Did you enjoy it?” she asks.

“He didn’t break one open for me,” I tell her, pulling up to the gates of Jasper’s estate. “But I’m assuming it’s good.” For the price, it should taste like gold.

“What if it’s terrible?”

“I accidentally on purpose knock it to the ground and then we drink water for the rest of the night.”

“That sounds…” She pauses. “Actually, I can live with that. Deal.”

I pull to a stop in front of the grand stairs leading up to Jasper’s mansion and lean toward her. “You look a little too pristine.”

She flips down the car visor to stare at her reflection in the little mirror. “What’s that mean?”

I flip it up. “It means that we’re supposed to be young lovers making wedding plans, so Jasper would expect me to sneak in a few kisses before going inside, and that means your lipstick should be smudged and your hair mussed.” It’s what I’d expect.

“Are you seriously trying to use this situation to get into my pants?”

“Yes.”

Her silence is deadly. I try to look as innocent as possible. “I’m trying to help you close the deal, Kitten, even if it means getting physical.”

”You’re so generous.” She grabs the interior car latch.

“Hold up.” This time I’m serious. “If I don’t open your car door, Jasper isn’t going to let me in the house. You know he’s old fashioned like that.”

Frankie sighs and slumps back against the seat. “Fine, but no funny business. I’m already irritated that I have to pretend we’re getting married.” She holds up her hand, the six-carat pink diamond so pure and perfectly cut that it sparkles even in the twilight. Mason outdid himself.

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