Page 55 of Bronson

Most of my friends are senile. Half of them can’t remember their names.

And I will be subjected to his discipline. His dominance. Even when I don’t agree with him. He will have the final say.

Those words almost make me come.

I’m seated on his white leather couch. I twirl the wineglass in my hand, waiting for Bronson to return. He moved me upstairs to the living room. He’d insisted on making me something to eat, but I feel he’s giving me space to think. We’d left the restaurant before we’d even ordered. The smell of garlic wafts up the stairs and into the room.

Like I could stomach a meal right now. Nerves sit in tiny bundles, tightening in my belly.

I close my eyes, stilling my mind.

I sit quietly. My thoughts, my feelings, my fears melt away. This is the closest to praying I’ve ever come.

Opening my eyes, I place my wineglass down on the spotless glass coffee table.

I’ve made my decision.

He returns. There’s no plate in his hand, as I expected. Instead, in his opened palm sits a small red leather box.

At the sight of the box, my heart begins to beat double time. My hand flutters to my chest.

The word Bachman’s is etched across the top in gold, swirling letters.

I want to touch it. I want to cry just seeing it in his hand. I want to know what is in there. I can’t believe he’s chosen me to give a gift to.

He sits down beside me. His eyes are soft, his gaze almost unsure.

He holds the box out to me.

I take it from him. Hold it with trembling fingers. I peek up at him. He smiles and nods reassuringly, saying, “Please open it.” His first ‘please,’ yet.

I put my thumb and index finger on either side of the lid, lifting it. It opens with a quiet snap.

Inside the black velvet sits a ring.

My breath leaves my body. My head feels dizzy. I must be dreaming.

The blue diamond.

I’ve forgotten it even existed.

I hadn’t bothered to look for it in the window after he’d hired me.

And here it is, now, in my hands. A priceless gem.

My mouth forms a wordless ‘o.’

His voice is husky with emotion. “It’s yours. Whether you stay or not. I want you to have it.”

Words I never thought would cross my lips tumble out. “I… I can’t accept this. It’s priceless.”

“You’re priceless,” he says.

My eyes lock on his.

“I’d like you to have it. Hopefully as a sign of our relationship. But if you choose to leave, then think of it as a goodbye gift. A token for your troubles.”

A token? This thing could pay for the living expenses of me and the entire home for years. He sits beside me on the couch, his hard thigh pressing against mine. I sit, staring at the unbelievable gift I hold. His eyes catch mine. “May I?” he asks. I give him a small nod and he takes the box from my hand. Lifting the magnificent ring from its nest, he closes the box.