Page 62 of The Client
I take two steps away from the desk before I freeze, my curiosity getting the better of me. Glancing nervously at the door, I wet my lips, and despite my better judgment, I tiptoe back over. Quickly, I grab the blue box and open it, then crack open the smaller velvet jewelry box inside. Sitting there, wedged into a bed of satin, is a stunning engagement ring. It’s so beautiful, it actually takes my breath away.
The band is made of rose gold, embedded with tiny diamonds all around, and the center diamond solitaire is huge. I don’t know much about fancy jewelry, but I imagine that this had to have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Why is it sitting here on his desk?
My pulse thumps in my ears as I pause to listen for any sounds outside the office. I can’t have Mrs. Dunham walking in on me snooping, or God forbid, Rhys himself. But the pieces are starting to fall into place, and I can’t just drop everything and run away from the truth, no matter how upsetting it is. No matter how ugly.
I carefully pull the ring out of the box and study it. Something is engraved on the inside of the band. Holding it up, I make out the cursive letters:Celine, mon coeur, it says, and then today’s date, except three years ago.Mon coeur.
My heart.
Tears prick my eyes as I’m overwhelmed with sadness and grief. I can’t make sense of it, but I know I feel sorry for myself.
Swallowing down a lump in my throat, I allow my eyes to scan the top of his desk. There are three envelopes there, the kind you send an invitation or card inside of. One is open with the tip of a card peeking out. I’ve come this far, why stop now? Listening once again for any sound outside, I pulled the card out.
It’s a birthday card. Inside, someone had written, ‘Enjoy your day on the fifth. Wishing you many more happy birthdays.’
Oh, no.
Oh, please, no.
The fifth is today. The ring was engraved with today’s date but from three years earlier. Is it… Rhys’s birthday today? I connect the dots as a flood of emotion goes through me. He was going to propose to Celine on his birthday, but considering they are definitely not married something happened. She left him on his birthday?
How cruel.
No wonder he can’t stand this day.
There are so many pieces to this puzzle.
I’m holding an engagement ring that Rhys apparently intended to give to Celine. Celine, who Rhys clearly has never completely gotten over. Celine, who married Rhys’s father.
Slipping the ring back into the box, I set it back down on top of the torn invitation, exactly the way I found it. Then I leave the office and run up to my room, quickly breezing by Mrs. Dunham in the upstairs hallway so she won’t see the tears spilling down my cheeks.
Locking the door behind me, I grab my laptop and climb onto my bed. I’ve done very little internet research on Rhys or his family since our arrangement began. Looks like I’m about to make up for lost time.
Ten minutes later, the reasons behind Rhys’s tragic heartbreak are crystal clear. Society gossip websites were all over the story when it broke. Three years ago today, Rupert McConnell threw himself a lavish birthday party—for the birthday he shares with his only son—and invited everyone worth inviting in Chicago.
There was no indication that Rhys was involved in this party beyond simply showing up as a guest. What kind of father has an extravagant birthday party without including the child with whom he shares the date? But it gets worse. Because Rhys found out that night, at that party, very much in public, that his father had married Celine behind his back. The two had eloped in secret.
I think—I’msure—that Rhys had intended to proposethat night. With the ring I had just held in my hand downstairs.
Instead, his whole world must have come crashing down.
The comments Rhys made at the opera the other night suddenly make perfect sense.
I’m so angry and hurt for him. Celine never deserved him. What kind of woman does something like that? Yes, I knew she’d ended up with Rupert, but I had no idea that it had played out like this. It turns my stomach to think about it. Of course Rhys hates his birthdays.
I want to do something for him. Give him a better birthday, a do-over. Maybe if I can make some happy new memories for him, it will ease the pain of the old ones still haunting him.
There have been many birthdays and holidays that my sister was too sick to fully celebrate or enjoy herself. My uncle and I would always do something special to try to make her smile. No child should be too sick to enjoy their own birthday. And no man should be blindsided by his double-crossing girlfriend and douchebag of a father. I mull over what I can do to make this day special for him. I understand now that Helga warned me to tiptoe around him today because he probably hates this day and is reminded once a year how terrible his family is.
* * *
Immediately,I start to perk up, my mind full of ideas. I can make festive decorations out of colored paper and string, I can whip up a cake, I can sing in Polish.
I’m giddy just thinking about it. This will be good for me, too. I’ve been going crazy lately just sitting around the house all day when I’m not working.
After taking a quick shower, I put on a light blue taffeta dress with a nipped waist, a puffy skirt, and colored dots all over it that remind me of the rainbow sprinkles on nonpareils. Then I spend a few minutes on my makeup—minimal, just BB cream and mascara and pink lip gloss—and go look for Mrs. Dunham. She’s polishing the wood balustrade of the staircase.
