Page 79 of Mess With Me

“I’m sorry.”

My stomach twists. Dad does know about losing the love of your life.

Was Laura the love of my life? I always thought so. But now…

Dad reaches into his pocket. When he pulls his hand out, he’s holding a dark blue jewelry box.

I blink, shoving those confusing thoughts away.

“Open,” he says.

I hold my hand out, and he sets the box on my palm. I lift the top. Inside is a ring. Delicate and antique-looking, with a swirl of diamonds and something pale in the center. An opal, I think.

I can’t take it. Not for a fake wedding. “Dad—”

“It wasn’t your mother’s.”

I loosen up, just a little. I should have known that. Mom was buried with hers.

“Grandma’s?”

“Yes, but not my mother. It belonged to your mom’s mom.”

“You knew her?”

“No. But your mother told me years ago she wanted to give it to one of you kids. She didn’t know how to choose. Thank God none of you got married before she went.”

I laugh at his morbid joke, and so does he.

He looks at me, then down at the ring again.

“I could have given it to any one of you, but I didn’t. It was indescribably special to her. One of only a few things she had of her mother’s.”

Dad clears his throat.

“Anyway. You hang on to it. I know you already have rings, so keep it and give it to your kids.”

Out of nowhere, I think of Sasha’s face when I told her I wasn’t planning on having kids. How she’d looked almost hurt, like it mattered what my plans were.

“Why me?” I ask Dad, closing the lid to the ring box.

“You always know the right thing to do, better than any of us. So I trust you to do the best thing with it, Griffin.”

I feel like a fucking fraud. If he knew this marriage was for convenience only, he’d never entrust me with this. I want to tell him it’s a mistake to give it to me.

But I don’t have time. Dad stands up abruptly, his eyes going over my shoulder.

Sasha stands in the doorway to the town hall, wearing the suit she had on last night. Except now her hair is all brushed back in curls. She smiles when she sees us, and I swear to God I hear my dad gulp.

Her expression’s nervous. But with the way her eyes are pinned on me, I can hardly breathe.

“I almost forgot,” Dad whispers.

“Forgot what?” I ask, slightly dazed.

“That your mother used to look at me just like that.”

My mouth goes dry.

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