Page 44 of Salvation

“We’re looking for a ring,” she said, her accent more pronounced than usual, as it often was when she was nervous. “A wedding ring.”

Arthur’s eyes flicked to the plain band on her finger, then to our joined hands, understanding dawning in his gaze. “Of course. Something to replace the current one, perhaps?”

I nodded. “Something special.”

He gestured toward a case on the right side of the store. “Why don’t we start over here? I have several lovely options that might interest you.”

We followed him to the case, where dozens of rings glittered against black velvet -- some simple bands, others elaborate confections of precious metals and gemstones. Yulia’s eyes widened slightly at the display.

“See anything you like?” I asked, watching her reaction carefully.

She bit her lower lip, gaze moving uncertainly over the options. “Maybe something simple?” Her finger pointed to a plain platinum band, only marginally more elaborate than what she already wore. “This one is fine.”

Arthur removed the ring she’d indicated, placing it on a small velvet pad for her to examine. But I shook my head slightly.

“Let’s look at some others first,” I suggested. “Something with a stone, maybe.”

Yulia’s eyes met mine, a hint of panic in them. “Salvation, really, I don’t need anything fancy. This is more than enough.”

I understood her reluctance. For a girl who’d grown up in the cold opulence of her father’s Bratva connections, who’d been taught that beauty was just another form of currency, accepting something purely decorative, purely for pleasure, wouldn’t come easily. She’d spent so long focusing on survival, on practicality, that asking for something simply because it was beautiful felt foreign to her. To most, she would have appeared to be a spoiled princess, but I had a feeling there was quite a bit we didn’t know about her time with her family. Even though Grimm’s wife was her sister, I wasn’t convinced she’d told him absolutely everything either. Our women seemed to pick up pretty quick that we were on overprotective lot.

“This isn’t about what you need,” I said quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s about what you deserve.”

Her eyes softened at my words, though uncertainty still lingered in their blue depths. Arthur, sensing the delicacy of the moment, tactfully moved a few steps away, pretending to adjust another display.

“Let me do this for you,” I continued, keeping my voice low, just for her. “Let me give you something that shows the world what you mean to me.”

After a long moment, she nodded, a small but significant surrender. “Okay.”

Arthur returned at my gesture, and I explained what we were looking for -- something unique, elegant but not ostentatious, with character.

“I think I might have just the thing,” he said, retreating to a cabinet behind the counter. He returned with a black velvet tray bearing rings that hadn’t been in the display cases -- special pieces, I guessed, or custom work.

“These are some of my personal designs,” he explained, setting the tray on the counter before us. “One-of-a-kind pieces.”

The rings were indeed distinctive -- each clearly crafted with artistic vision rather than mass production in mind. Some were bold designs in mixed metals. Others featured unusual stone settings or intricate metalwork. But my attention was immediately drawn to one in the corner of the tray.

It was a band of rose gold, delicate but substantial, with tiny roses engraved around its circumference, so detailed I could make out individual petals and leaves. Set within the center of one rose was a small pink diamond that caught the light with unexpected fire.

I picked it up without hesitation, something in my chest tightening as I examined it. “This one.”

Yulia leaned closer, her breath catching audibly as she saw the ring in my palm. Her finger reached out to trace one of the tiny roses, the gesture almost reverent.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“It reminds me of you,” I said, the words simple but loaded with meaning. “Beautiful. Strong. With hidden depths.”

Her eyes lifted to mine, wide and suddenly bright with unshed tears. Arthur discreetly turned away again, giving us privacy in the moment.

“May I?” I asked, nodding toward her left hand with its simple band.

Yulia nodded, extending her hand toward me. With careful fingers, I slid the plain gold band from her finger. I pocketed it, knowing we’d keep it as a reminder of where we’d started, then took the rose-engraved ring and held it poised at the tip of her finger.

“Yulia Romanov,” I said softly, using her maiden name deliberately, “will you be my wife? For real this time?”

A single tear escaped, tracking down her cheek as she nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

I slid the ring onto her finger, where it settled as if it had been made for her. The pink diamond caught the light, sending tiny reflections dancing across her skin. Yulia stared at it, wonder in her expression that made my heart clench painfully in my chest.

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