“I’m going back to London for a while.”

His stomach tightened.

“Why?”

She looked at him.

“You know why.”

He set down his keys.

“Caroline, please.”

She continued packing.

“I can’t keep doing this.”

He approached.

“We can talk.”

“We have talked.”

She lifted another book.

“You go home to her. You plan your wedding. You tell me you love me. Then you ask me to wait while you decide which part of your life is real.”

Julian stood beside the table.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Caroline looked at him.

“Then give me something that means you won’t.”

He hesitated.

The room was quiet.

She looked down at the open wedding-ring box protruding from his jacket pocket.

“What is that?”

Julian followed her gaze.

He took out the box.

Caroline stared.

“The rings?”

He nodded.

She looked away.

For several moments, neither spoke.

Then Caroline laughed softly.

“Of course.”

Julian closed the box.

“Caroline—”

She raised a hand.

“Don’t.”

He watched her.

Something desperate and foolish began forming in his mind.

It was the sort of solution he often preferred: a gesture large enough to postpone a decision without actually making one.

“What if I gave you a ring?”

Caroline turned.

“What?”

“A ring. Something that belongs to us.”

She stared at him.

“You’re getting married in six weeks.”

“I know.”

“And you’re offering me jewellery”

He stepped closer.

“I’m trying to show you that this matters.”

Caroline looked at him for a long moment.

“You really don’t understand how insulting that is.”

Julian reached for her hand.

She pulled it away.

But later that evening, after he had left, she found herself thinking about the offer.

She hated herself for it.

Then she began wondering what kind of ring he might choose.

Julian returned to the jeweller the following week. Mr Pritchard was not in the shop.

His nephew, Daniel, was managing the counter.

Julian asked to see a selection of women’s rings.

Daniel brought out several trays.

Julian wanted something elegant but understated.

Caroline disliked large gemstones.

She preferred clean designs and unusual details.

Eventually, he selected a platinum band with a small, concealed blue sapphire set into the inner curve.

The ring was beautiful.

It was also dangerously similar in size and weight to Eleanor’s wedding band.

Julian noticed the resemblance.

He dismissed it.

He asked for an inscription.

Daniel handed him a card.

Julian stared at the blank space.

He considered several phrases.

None seemed appropriate.

He finally wrote:

Only ours.

The words made him uncomfortable.

He used them anyway.

Daniel explained that the ring would be ready in ten days.

Julian paid.

As he left, he told himself the gift did not constitute a promise.

It was simply a way of acknowledging that Caroline mattered to him.

He had begun using the word simply with increasing frequency.

By September, Eleanor was busy enough that she scarcely noticed how little time Julian spent at home.

Her work had entered a demanding phase.

She was supervising the conservation of decorative plasterwork in a historic townhouse and often returned late with dust in her hair and a headache from concentrating beneath bright lamps.

Wedding arrangements filled the remaining hours.

There were seating plans.

Dietary requirements.

A delayed dress fitting.

A disagreement with Margaret about flowers.

Beatrice helped whenever she could.

One afternoon, the two women sat at Eleanor’s kitchen table sorting place cards.

Beatrice examined the guest list.

“Why is Caroline Bellamy at the top table?”

Eleanor looked up.

“She’s an old friend of Julian’s.”

“That doesn’t explain why she’s sitting with the family.”

Eleanor reached for the list.

“Margaret put her there. Apparently Caroline’s parents know half the guests.”

Beatrice frowned.

“Interesting.”

Eleanor glanced at her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Beatrice.”

She looked uncomfortable.

“I knew Caroline years ago.”

“I know. Julian told me.”

“Did he tell you they were close?”

“Yes.”

Beatrice turned a place card between her fingers.

“They were very close for a while.”

Eleanor looked at her.

“How close?”

Beatrice hesitated.

“I don’t know. They were young.”

Eleanor considered.

Julian had never pretended he hadn’t known other women before her.

She had no reason to expect him to.

“Was there something serious?”

“Not exactly.”

Beatrice seemed relieved by the ambiguity.

“They were always together. Then she moved away.”

Eleanor nodded.

She returned to the place cards.

A moment later, Beatrice said, “I only ask because he’s been working with her so much lately.”

Eleanor looked up again.

“On the hotel project.”

“Yes.”

The two women regarded each other.

Then Beatrice smiled.

“Probably nothing.”

Eleanor smiled back.

But that evening, when Julian returned home, she asked whether he’d ever dated Caroline.

He stopped in the hallway.

“No.”

“Never?”

“Not properly.”

She looked at him.

“What does that mean?”

He put down his briefcase.

“We were close at university. There was nothing serious.”

“Did you kiss her?”

Julian laughed.

It was the wrong response.

Eleanor noticed.

“Julian.”

He looked at her.

“Years ago, perhaps. I honestly don’t remember.”

She studied him.

The answer was plausible.

It also seemed oddly careless for something he had once described as a meaningful friendship.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it was ancient history.”

She looked down.

He stepped toward her.

“El, are you worried about Caroline?”

“No.”

He placed a hand against her cheek.

“You don’t need to be.”

She looked up.

He kissed her forehead.

The gesture was familiar.

Comforting.

She wanted to believe it.

So she did.

The second ring was ready on a Thursday afternoon.