Page 39 of Misrule
She growled. Actually growled! “You’re working on my last ever-loving, motherfucking nerve,” she spat, her eyes hardening. “Let me put it to you this way, I see them all as my family. I expect you to at leasttryto fit in with them. Didn’t you tell me to put your mother on my wedding committee? Why can’t you just go along with Mortician for now?”
“Because I don’t appreciate his interference. Furthermore, I don’t fucking like to think you’re consenting to this because ofsomething between us. What does that even mean? You think I’m not going to go through with the marriage?”
“This just feels too good to be true, Knox. A dream. A fairytale.” She shrugged. “I don’t want to lose you. Think about how much more special our wedding will be if we haven’t been living together and—”
He stiffened. “If that’s the case, why did I move in with you?”
“I never expected you to propose to me,” she admitted softly.
When he’d moved in with her, he hadn’t intended to propose to her. He loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Marriage, though, meant legalities. And he had so much at stake if their union was to crumble. Still, he’d become increasingly annoyed at how the bikers gazed at her and interacted with her. They were always respectful—she gave them no choice—still Knox knew lust when he saw it. Roxanne was his, and he wanted the world to know it.
Of course, the pressure Mortician had put on him also precipitated the matter, but that wasn’t important.
“We can think of our little rendezvous as adventures,” she went on, twisting her engagement ring and giving it a quick glance.
“What?” he asked suspiciously, not liking the look he’d glimpsed.
“What do you meanwhat?”
“You don’t like the ring? It’s a Harrington heirloom.”
“The ring is beautiful.”
“But…?” He heard the word in her tone.
“It’s just silly old superstition. There’s a very defined culet on the ring.”
It was rare that he didn’t know the meaning of a word, but this was one of those times. “What the hell is a culet?”
She slid the ring off her finger and his stomach sank. It was the worst feeling in the world. As long as she wore it, she was his.
“Put that back on.”
She smiled at him and came closer, then turned the ring over and pointed to the spot under her diamond. “Do you see that little point? It’s a culet. They are hallmarks of this type of antique cushion ring. It’s an heirloom,” she acknowledged. “Most of the rings in the late 1800s, early 1900s had this, whereas the majority of modern rings don’t have this sharp point.”
Her explanation lost him. “And?”
“Well, there’s a superstition that says evil spirits can enter through the culet and put a curse on the wearer.”
His mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious.”
She nodded. “There’s another one that says if the engagement ring is secondhand then however the previous owner’s marriage went, so it would go for the current owner.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t believe that nonsense. You’re the most pragmatic woman I’ve ever met. This isn’t you talking.”
By the look on her face, he knew shedidbuy into that ridiculousness. He blew out an annoyed breathed, torn between frustration and his need to reassure her.
“My great-great grandparents, my great-grandparents, my grandparents, myparentshad and have very happy unions, thank you very much.”
She shoved the ring back onto her finger. “Butyoudidn’t. As far as I know, your ex-wife is the last owner of it.”
“Callie wanted her own ring. She didn’t value the Harrington history. Before I met you, I intended to pass it on to Grant.”
“Of course, you’ll be able to give it to your son when he’s old enough to marry. It should stay in your family where it belongs. I’m honored to wear it. My feelings just go back to the fear that my dream of being your wife will turn into a nightmare.”
Before he responded, her cellphone started ringing. He knew from the tone it was Bailey calling. Like the rest of them, Roxanne had special tones for everyone.
“I guess time’s up for us,” she sighed.
