Unknowingly, my eyes drifted to his slacks. His deep laughter filled the entryway. “Yes, I have that surprise, but I believe I’m waiting for someone to ask.”

I fought the reddening in my cheeks. I hadn’t meant to look, but once I did, I recognized how truly close I was to asking.

“Tonight,” he continued, “I have another surprise, before we make our dinner reservations.”

Stewart helped me to the car, where Travis was waiting. As we approached, his driver scanned me up and down, almost as if he knew I was nude beneath my dress. My mind told me it was absurd, nothing more than a combination of paranoia and my overactive imagination.

A little time later, the car came to a stop in front of a well-known, exclusive jewelry store in downtown Miami. The sign near the entrance indicated that the store was closed. Undaunted, Travis opened the car door, and Stewart helped me out. Before I could question his motives, the door to the store opened and a slight gentleman in a very nice suit came our way.

“Mr. Harrington, welcome! And Miss Conway.” He bowed respectively. “I was exceptionally pleased to receive your call. Please, if the two of you will follow me.”

I looked around the interior. Though it was closed for business, the cases were lit and members of the staff stood at the ready awaiting their directions.

“Would you like to peruse our cases, or would you prefer to see the private collection?”

Stewart didn’t hesitate. “Alfred, the private collection. I don’t want my wife wearing a ring that just anyone could purchase.”

A ring? I tried to keep the look of shock from my face. Of course, I’d have a ring. I was getting married.

We followed Alfred into a regal private office, complete with a large desk. Stewart and I sat on one side, as the jeweler settled on the other. Before he could begin, a woman entered, carrying a tray bearing crystal fluted glasses and a bottle of chilled champagne. “Excuse me. May I pour you each a drink, something to celebrate this monumental occasion?”

I looked toward Stewart. I wasn’t old enough to drink, not legally.

“Thank you,” Stewart said with a nod.

I waited, wondering what would happen when they asked me for identification. However, they never asked. Instead, Alfred began, “Mr. Harrington, from our brief conversation, I believe I’ve selected the finest gems our company has to offer. I must tell you, one of these rings was already promised to another client, but for you, I’ve postponed our meeting.”

Stewart’s lips formed a straight line. “I assure you, Alfred, you don’t need to apply high-pressure sales tactics or I’ll willingly take my business elsewhere. If my fiancée likes what she sees, we’ll buy it. It’s that simple.”

“Of course,” he muttered, as he pulled a black velvet case from a drawer. Fixing his eyes on me, he said, “We can have any one of these rings sized for you by tomorrow. Please concentrate only on the unique settings, quality, and flawless stones.”

My heart fluttered as he opened the case. There were only four rings, each with a stunning center diamond. The one that caught my eye had a beautiful emerald-cut yellow diamond.

Stewart looked at me. “What do you think?

“I-I think they’re astounding.” I looked from the case to my fiancé. “Do you truly not want more information before I choose?” Like maybe the price?

“Alfred, are any of these rings doubles? I emphasize the need for an original.”

The jeweler’s eyes opened wide. “No, sir. Each creation in this collection has been made by one of our world-renowned designers. Each one is as unique as the love the two of you share.”

So they’re all fakes? I couldn’t help but think; however, before I could turn toward Stewart, he squeezed my hand. A not-so-subtle reminder that this was another step in convincing the world we were real.

“Alfred,” I said, “I think the yellow diamond is beautiful.”

The jeweler’s grin grew. “Miss Conway, you have wonderful taste. The center stone is a flawless 4.7-carat yellow diamond, surrounded by another 15 carats of white diamonds. This is the ring that I mentioned. I say that,” he clarified, “because it has already been sized, but it too can be readjusted.”

He removed the ring and handed it to Stewart. After a brief inspection, Stewart asked, “Would you like to see if it fits?”

It was the closest thing to a proposal I’d hear.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, extending my left hand. Slipping snuggly over my knuckle, it was as if it had been made for me. “It fits. I love it.”

Stewart turned back to the owner. “Do you have the matching band?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Harrington.”

When he handed the diamond-embedded band to Stewart, he also handed him a note that I assumed contained the pricing information. Stewart barely looked at the paper, placed it on the counter and extended the band in my direction. “Do you like this, too?”

“Miss Conway,” Alfred informed me, “the band has another 16 carats of white diamonds.”

I didn’t respond to Alfred as I positioned the two rings together and secured them both on my fourth finger. The sparkling band fit perfectly, accentuating the large yellow diamond. Looking up to Stewart’s watchful gaze, I smiled. “I do.”

Stewart extended his hand to the jeweler. “Thank you, Alfred. We appear to have made our decision.”

I handed both rings back to Alfred who placed them into a velvet-lined box and handed the box to Stewart. “Thank you, Mr. Harrington…” He nodded and reached for my hand, lowered his lips to the top and said, “…and Miss Conway, we’re honored that you came by our humble establishment.”