DELAYING IS ONLY GOINGto make things worse.
I actually learned that two years ago, when I nearly worried myself to death wondering if I should or shouldn't make the first move with Kazeyuki. Spoiler alert: I compromised with a half-move, which was letting him know (well, okay,everyonein the hospital also knew) that I was kinda sorta into him, but never quite putting it in words?
Honestly, I'm not sure that half-first-step helped me in any way.
But what I do know now is that I'm delaying things again, and—
"Here we are,mademoiselle."
We're in a jewelry shop, the fanciest in the city, the kind of place that doesn't have prices on anything because if you have to ask, you don't belong here. The carpet is cream and so thick my heels disappear into it. The walls are paneled in soft, hushed wood that absorbs sound, and the lighting is so flattering even the security guards look like they could be in a cologne ad.
The manager, silver-haired, very formal, very French in every way that I sometimes have to pretend I understand what he's saying, has just presented a tray of his shop's most beautiful rings. I think by that he means most expensive, too, but anyway, they are beautiful. Each and every one of them. A couple are diamonds, but surprisingly, there are other stones, too. Rubies. Sapphires. Emeralds. Amethysts. Pearls. Even a black pearl.
The tray is lined with deep navy velvet, and the lights overhead catch every facet, sending little pulses of color across the glass counter, and on any other day I'd be losing my mind. I'd be taking mental photos of every single one. I'd be drafting an Instagram caption already (when bae proposed I had no idea he'd take me to,heart eyes, ring emoji, a tasteful number of sparkles), and—
"Does anything catch your eye?"
"Anything..."Nothing.
Because I can't stop thinking the same thing again.
It was Emily's list, not mine.
Kazeyuki gazes at me curiously. "You don't have any preference?"
Why should I? How can I? What's the point of having a preference when I can't stop thinking...
I think he was pressured.
And no, no,no.
The moment the thought crystallizes in my mind, the tears start falling—
"Katherine?"
I can't seem to stop crying.
"I'm s-sorry." I try drawing big gulps of breath to get myself back under control, but it's not working. Nothing seems to be working, and I don't think...I don't think anything will work to make me stop thinking. And believing that—
He was pressured.
By me.
Being an idiot.
Like always.
"Katherine?"
The concern in Kaz's voice only has me crying harder. It's great that we're the only customers here, but we still have witnesses in the shop's staff, and I can feel the sales associates gazing at me oddly. The guys don't seem to have caught on, but the girls know. They're standing very still behind the far counter, and they think I'm so ungrateful and undeserving because they can totally tell I'm not crying happy tears, and I wish I could tell them—
It's not that at all—
I think he was pressured.
—because it's the opposite.
"Is it Matt?"