her way around the exclusive shop and went directly to the glass showcase where she would find what she wanted. Once there, she stared down into it, and Frans followed suit.
“It’s all rings,” he said.
“Yes, it is,” she replied.
“May I help you, madam? Sir?” a middle-aged gentleman asked. The beautifully groomed and dressed Bianca seemed ill matched with Frans, a mass of tangled hair in an old surplus Russian-army greatcoat, leather jeans, and beat-up boots.
“I want to try on a couple of rings,” Bianca said.
“Yes?” the salesman said. “If you’ll point out which ones—”
“I love that. . . . Is it a canary?” She was pointing with one of her carefully lacquered fingernails.
“You have exquisite taste, madam,” the salesman replied, removing the diamond ring from its velvet display case. “It is a canary yellow diamond, round cut, set in platinum.”
“Whoa,” Frans said. “That’s some rock, Bianca.”
“Some rock indeed,” the salesman said with a smile. He held it out for Bianca to try on.
She slipped the ring on and held her hand steady, fingers splayed, then moved her hand from side to side, watching the diamond flash in the light. “How many carats is this?” she asked, her eyes remaining on the ring.
“Two,” the salesman replied. “And perfect, I might add.”
“What do you think?” Bianca asked Frans.
“It’s hot,” he said, smiling.
She returned his smile, then peered back into the glass display case. “May I see that one . . . there?” she said, tapping the glass. “The emerald-cut white one.”
“Of course.”
Bianca tried it on, then repeated the process with four more rings, consulting Frans each time. His responses were variations of his first one until she slipped on a perfect marquise-cut white diamond of five carats set in yellow gold. “Wow. Supercool zonker,” Frans enthused. “Makes the rest look like river rocks.”
“It is, isn’t it?” She waved her hand back and forth, watching the marquise-cut white diamond flash its fire in the light. “It’s less traditional than the others,” she said, “but I love the cut and the yellow gold. And the size.”
“Size matters,” Frans said with a lewd laugh. “Even with diamonds.”
Bianca punched his chest lightly. “Especially with diamonds,” she said, “and this one is big.”
“Five carats,” the salesman said.
“You don’t think it looks too . . . flashy?” she said.
“Oh, come on, Bianca,” Frans said, “how can a diamond be too flashy?” He grabbed the hand on which she wore the ring and kissed it. “Flash is what you’re after, babe. Why else bother?”
Bianca laughed lightly. “Oh, well. I’m Italian. I can get by with it, right?”
Frans put his arms around her and kissed her on the lips. “You bet you can,” he said. “It looks just right on you.”
Bianca looked at the salesman, and he nodded almost imperceptibly, a small smile on his lips. “Well . . . ,” she began, “it does fit.”
“That wouldn’t be a problem, madam,” the salesman said. “If it doesn’t fit perfectly, we could size it for you, of course.”
“No,” she said. “It fits perfectly.” She splayed her fingers again and glimpsed back up at Frans. He smiled, his sensuous lips spreading, and his intense blue eyes sparkled.
Her mind was suddenly made up. “I’ll take it,” she said.
The salesman nodded. “An excellent choice,” he said. “It will only take me a moment to box it and get the GIA paperwork together. How do you wish to pay, if I may ask?”
Bianca retrieved her wallet from her pocketbook and slid out her American Express card. “Here,” she said, handing the card to him.
He nodded and took the card. “I’ll only be a moment.”
“What paperwork?” Frans asked. “What’s he talking about?”
“From the Gemological Institute of America,” she replied. “You know, guaranteeing the weight and color. That kind of thing.”
“Oh,” Frans
“It’s all rings,” he said.
“Yes, it is,” she replied.
“May I help you, madam? Sir?” a middle-aged gentleman asked. The beautifully groomed and dressed Bianca seemed ill matched with Frans, a mass of tangled hair in an old surplus Russian-army greatcoat, leather jeans, and beat-up boots.
“I want to try on a couple of rings,” Bianca said.
“Yes?” the salesman said. “If you’ll point out which ones—”
“I love that. . . . Is it a canary?” She was pointing with one of her carefully lacquered fingernails.
“You have exquisite taste, madam,” the salesman replied, removing the diamond ring from its velvet display case. “It is a canary yellow diamond, round cut, set in platinum.”
“Whoa,” Frans said. “That’s some rock, Bianca.”
“Some rock indeed,” the salesman said with a smile. He held it out for Bianca to try on.
She slipped the ring on and held her hand steady, fingers splayed, then moved her hand from side to side, watching the diamond flash in the light. “How many carats is this?” she asked, her eyes remaining on the ring.
“Two,” the salesman replied. “And perfect, I might add.”
“What do you think?” Bianca asked Frans.
“It’s hot,” he said, smiling.
She returned his smile, then peered back into the glass display case. “May I see that one . . . there?” she said, tapping the glass. “The emerald-cut white one.”
“Of course.”
Bianca tried it on, then repeated the process with four more rings, consulting Frans each time. His responses were variations of his first one until she slipped on a perfect marquise-cut white diamond of five carats set in yellow gold. “Wow. Supercool zonker,” Frans enthused. “Makes the rest look like river rocks.”
“It is, isn’t it?” She waved her hand back and forth, watching the marquise-cut white diamond flash its fire in the light. “It’s less traditional than the others,” she said, “but I love the cut and the yellow gold. And the size.”
“Size matters,” Frans said with a lewd laugh. “Even with diamonds.”
Bianca punched his chest lightly. “Especially with diamonds,” she said, “and this one is big.”
“Five carats,” the salesman said.
“You don’t think it looks too . . . flashy?” she said.
“Oh, come on, Bianca,” Frans said, “how can a diamond be too flashy?” He grabbed the hand on which she wore the ring and kissed it. “Flash is what you’re after, babe. Why else bother?”
Bianca laughed lightly. “Oh, well. I’m Italian. I can get by with it, right?”
Frans put his arms around her and kissed her on the lips. “You bet you can,” he said. “It looks just right on you.”
Bianca looked at the salesman, and he nodded almost imperceptibly, a small smile on his lips. “Well . . . ,” she began, “it does fit.”
“That wouldn’t be a problem, madam,” the salesman said. “If it doesn’t fit perfectly, we could size it for you, of course.”
“No,” she said. “It fits perfectly.” She splayed her fingers again and glimpsed back up at Frans. He smiled, his sensuous lips spreading, and his intense blue eyes sparkled.
Her mind was suddenly made up. “I’ll take it,” she said.
The salesman nodded. “An excellent choice,” he said. “It will only take me a moment to box it and get the GIA paperwork together. How do you wish to pay, if I may ask?”
Bianca retrieved her wallet from her pocketbook and slid out her American Express card. “Here,” she said, handing the card to him.
He nodded and took the card. “I’ll only be a moment.”
“What paperwork?” Frans asked. “What’s he talking about?”
“From the Gemological Institute of America,” she replied. “You know, guaranteeing the weight and color. That kind of thing.”
“Oh,” Frans
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