Chapter 9

After returning home, I told Thomas about it.

Thomas was flipping through a magazine, suddenly stopped, and after a while said, “If someone wants to go on a blind date, you can’t really stop them, can you?”

“It’s just a bit of a pity. I can tell she still has feelings for that first love.”

“…So what?”

He didn’t even look up, still engrossed in his magazine.

I threw a pillow at him: “You straight guys wouldn’t understand!”

The pillow landed by his feet, and only then did he look up at me: “What kind of reaction do you want from me?”

“Do you know any decent single men? Maybe I could invite Amelia over, and we could all have dinner together?”

I giggled and sat on his lap: “Isn’t that how we met, through friends?”

Thomas opened his arms to hug me: “You’ve met all my friends, which ones do you think are suitable?”

I mentioned a name.

He laughed sarcastically: “You think he’s good?”

I laughed so hard I trembled: “You’re jealous over this too?”

He snorted, then seriously said, “Don’t meddle too much in other people’s affairs. What if they don’t appreciate it and blame you?”

I pouted, indicating I understood.

Looking back at the magazine on the table, it was open to an advertisement page, showing a delicate bracelet on a slender female hand.

I muttered, “I thought you were reading some news, but you’re staring at an ad for so long…”

“…”

Being held, I seemed to feel Thomas’s breath quicken slightly.

He said, “I was looking at it for you, do you like it?”

I leaned against him, saying I didn’t like it.

While teasing his taste, I remembered the surprise he had hidden away.

The rings he chose were quite tasteful.

…

On Valentine’s Day, Thomas booked a table at my favorite restaurant.

Thinking about what he had prepared, I put in extra effort, choosing clothes carefully, and spending an hour on makeup that usually took five minutes.

Before leaving, I changed into a dress, a nude-colored slip, with a pearl necklace around my neck that Thomas had given me for my birthday a few days ago.

I stood in front of Thomas, hands on hips: “Do I look good?”

He was dazed for two seconds, then pinched my strap: “Aren’t you cold?”

I slapped his hand away: “I have a coat.”

“The restaurant has heating.”

I deliberately found a loophole: “Then it’s fine.”

He looked at me and finally compromised: “Whatever makes you happy.”

Valentine’s Day, everything was perfect.

If it weren’t for the fact that the box Thomas took out was deep blue velvet instead of black leather, I think this day might have been my favorite of the year so far.

Watching the deep blue box slide across the table, I realized my mouth was dry, and I couldn’t quite find the words.

I looked at Thomas.

In the candlelight, Thomas smiled with deep affection.

He said, “Open it and see.”

Velvet has a different texture from leather, opening it had a heavy resistance.

I should be happy.

But upon seeing the watch inside the box, I felt as if an invisible hand was tightening around my throat.

Why wasn’t it a ring?