Chapter 8: The Ring

Imogen's POV

The ring sat in a velvet box in my coat pocket for four months, and on Tuesday I carried it into a jewelry dealer's shop on Wabash Avenue.

It was my engagement ring, and the settlement had listed it as mine to keep.

Ansel came with me.

I had not asked him to. He had simply been waiting at the corner when I left the studio, with two coffees, and he had walked beside me ever since.

"You don't have to talk," he said at the door. "I'll stand here and look expensive."

"You're wearing a paint-stained jacket."

"Then I'll stand here and look suspicious."

I almost laughed. It was the first time in months.

The dealer sat behind a glass counter with a loupe on a chain.

He was a heavy man in a gray vest, and he smiled before I said anything.

I set the box in front of him and opened it.

The diamond caught the light, and he stopped smiling.

He turned the ring over and looked at the stamp inside the band.

A small crowned M.

"Merrick," he said slowly.

"Yes."

He looked up at my face.

I watched him place it. The photograph, the headline, the cheating wife.

"I see," he said. "That does change things."

"Why?"

"Pieces from the house carry a premium," he said. "Pieces tied to a public scandal carry a discount."

"How much?"

He named a figure.

It was less than a quarter of what the ring had cost.

I had seen the receipt. I had signed beside it on my wedding day.

"That's not the price," I said.

"It's the price today." He shrugged. "People are talking. I'm doing you a favor."

Behind me, Ansel shifted his feet.

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