Society Wives: Secret Lives: The Rags-To-Riches Wife. Jennifer Greene

a minute.”

      No doubt the bathroom was calling again, he decided. While she was gone, he took the opportunity to study her home. The place was small, smaller than he’d suspected, he realized as he made the short trek to the kitchen and put the ice cream in the freezer. It was neat, clean and colorful. Lily liked bright colors. He hadn’t known that about her. But given the orange print curtains and the dish towels on the counter, the lady surrounded herself with brightness.

      She also liked fresh flowers, he noted, spying the arrangement of daisies on the kitchen table and the roses on the coffee table in the living room. Like the kitchen, the living room was small, but bright and cheery. There were lots of homey touches—an afghan on the end of the couch, shelves of books ranging from the latest Sandra Brown thriller to technical books on psychology. There were groupings of candlesticks and books on art and gardening. She liked the Impressionists, he decided, as he checked out two Monet prints. She’d made the place a home.

      The only thing that he found missing were photographs. Unlike his and his parents’ homes, there were no photographs scattered about the apartment. There were no snapshots of a young Lily on Santa’s knee. None of her smiling and showing a gap where she’d lost her first tooth. No pictures of a teenaged Lily dressed for the prom. The absence of any family photos told him more about her than anything else he’d learned via background checks and talks with her. It also caused a tightening in his chest for the young Lily who had grown up without the one thing every child deserved—a family. And along with his aching for her, he couldn’t help but feel admiration.

      “I’m sorry to take so long,” she said as she returned to the room.

      Jack turned at the sound of her voice. “No problem,” he told her and had to keep himself from going to her and taking her in his arms. “I was just checking out your artwork. I see you like Monet.”

      “Yes. Degas, too. Someday I’ve promised myself I’m going to make it to Paris and spend a week in the Louvre.”

      “You don’t have to wait for someday. We can go after the wedding next week. We are entitled to a honeymoon,” he said and walked over to her. He took her hands in his. “What do you say?”

      “I … what about work? We can’t just take off.”

      “I’ll clear my schedule and I’m sure you can get some time off from the agency. So, shall I book us some flights?”

      “I don’t think so,” she said and tugged her fingers free. She walked across the room. “I wouldn’t be comfortable traveling now … not before the baby comes.”

      “Then maybe we’ll go next spring. April in Paris is beautiful. And when it rains, you can smell the chestnut trees. How does that sound?”

      “It sounds lovely,” she told him. “Would you like something to drink? I have water, iced tea and soda. I’m afraid I don’t have any wine.”

      “Iced tea would be great.” When she disappeared into the kitchen, he slipped his hand into his pocket and fingered the ring box. She’d grown up without family, without having anyone she could rely on but herself. He didn’t ever want her to be alone again. He would be her family, he and their baby.

      “Here we go,” she said as she returned to the room carrying a tray with two glasses, a pitcher, a dish of lemons and a bowl with sweetener.

      “Here, let me get that,” Jack said, and, taking the tray from her, placed it on the table.

      “I wasn’t sure if you liked sugar or sweetener. So I brought both.” She poured them each a glass and handed him his.

      Jack took the glass from her and set it down on the table. “Lily, I don’t want tea.”

      She paused, set down the other glass.

      “Would you come sit for a minute?” he asked and patted the seat next to him on the couch.

      She did as he asked. “Is there something wrong? Listen, if you’ve changed your mind about getting married—“

      Jack placed his finger over her lips. “I haven’t changed my mind. I wanted to give you this.” He took the ring box from his pocket and opened it. She gasped at the sight of the antique emerald-cut diamond ring set in the platinum band.

      Her blue eyes shot up from the ring to his face. “Jack, I told you I didn’t need an engagement ring.”

      “I know you did. But this isn’t just any engagement ring. It’s been in my family for nearly two hundred years and it’s said that all the women who’ve worn this ring have enjoyed long, happy marriages.”

      “Jack, I can’t—“

      “It belonged to my grandmother and has been passed on to the oldest male descendant in each generation. My mother was an only child and I’m her male descendant, so it came to me, to give to my bride. Since you’re going to be my bride, I’d like you to wear it.”

      “Jack, I can’t. It’s not right. This is meant to be worn by the woman you lo—“

      “It’s meant to be worn by the woman I’ve asked to be my wife. I’m asking you to be my wife, Lily.” He took it from the box and held it out to her. “Will you wear it? For me? For our baby?”

      For a moment, he thought she was going to refuse. Then she held out her left hand to him.

      He slipped the ring onto her finger and it fitted as though it were made for her. Maybe there was something to the Irish mysticism on his mother’s side of the family, he thought, because the ring looked right on her finger. It felt right.

      “It’s beautiful,” she told him as she stared at the ring. She met his gaze. “I promise to take care of it.”

      “I know you will.”

      “It’s getting late,” she said and stood.

      “Right,” he said and walked with her to the door. “I’ll call you in the morning,” he told her and before she could say anything, he leaned in and kissed her. It was just a brush of lips, no open mouth, no hunger and passion. Yet long after he had left the building, got into his car and was heading home, he could still taste her on his lips.

      Long after Jack had left, Lily continued to lean against the door. Bringing her hand to her mouth, she brushed her fingers along her lips where Jack’s lips had touched hers. Unlike the kisses they’d shared that night at the ball, this one had been gentle, loving. It had been a kiss of giving, of promise.

      He was marrying her because of the baby, she reminded herself. As she lowered her hand, the diamond in the ring caught and reflected the light. Lifting her hand, Lily stared at it. He’d given her his grandmother’s ring.

       His grandmother’s ring.

      It didn’t mean anything. It was for the baby, she kept telling herself. But she couldn’t shut out Jack’s face, the way he had looked at her, his deep blue eyes filled with warmth, with caring. She closed her eyes to block out the image, but he was still there. She could hear his voice, his words echoing in her ears.

       It’s said that all the women who’ve worn this ring have enjoyed long, happy marriages.

       It belonged to my grandmother … to give to my bride….

       I’m asking you to be my wife, Lily. Will you wear it? For me? For our baby?

      Opening her eyes, she stared down at the ring again. She had wondered many times how she would feel on this day. A wonderful man, a man who was handsome, kind and generous, a man of integrity, had asked her to be his wife. He’d slid an heirloom ring on her finger and asked her to marry him.

      She should be happy. Her baby was going to have everything she could ever have wanted for it—a loving father, a real family. Her child would never be lonely or alone.

      She thought of all that the ring symbolized.