Her Best Kept Secret
Autore
Naima Simone
Letto da
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Capitoli
17
One
“A pawnshop? Did you really bring me to a pawnshop?”
Lenora—or “Nore,” as she never answered to anyone if they dared to call her by that godforsaken name—Daniels loosed an evil cackle as Tatum Haas, her best friend and future bride-to-be, stared up at the neon green block letters pronouncing the nature of the store.
Okay, gaped.
Her friend gaped.
“I believe the sign says ‘Awn Sho.’” Nore cocked her head, wrinkling her nose in mock confusion. “I’m not exactly sure what kind of performance that entails since I don’t know what an ‘awn’ is but you think Britney Spears will be included?”
“For the love of...” Tatum sighed, the cultured, proper notes of New England in her voice not concealing her annoyance. At all. “If you insist on bringing me to a pawnshop—and I still don’t know why—you can’t at least find one that can afford all the letters in its name? We’re in Las Vegas. Isn’t this like the pawnshop capital of the United States?”
“Uh, Houston is actually the pawnshop capital of America,” Nore corrected. “As of last count, it has 128 stores.”
Tatum snorted and somehow it still sounded elegant. “How do you even know that fact?”
“One does not aim to be a Jeopardy! contestant and not know those facts.” Nore shrugged, swiping at a bead of sweat that rolled down her temple.
She mock-glared at Tatum, who stood under the same vicious, I’m-a-make-you-my-bitch June sun and didn’t even glisten. They must teach that in the finishing school for Boston belles that Tatum had attended.
“No, really, what are we doing here? I thought we were headed to dinner at the Honey Salt and then Cirque du Soleil,” Tatum said, shuffling back on the sidewalk toward the parking lot.
Nore reached out, encircling her wrist and halting her friend’s retreat even as her stomach rumbled for the caramelized sea scallops and charred filet mignon at the popular Vegas restaurant.
“Not so fast. We have business here. And you mean Magic Mike Live, not Cirque du Soleil.” She arched an eyebrow and tugged her friend forward. “This is a girls-trip-slash-pre-bachelorette-party after all. What kind of best friend or maid of honor would I be if I didn’t take you to see hot strippers? But first things first.”
With that, Nore grabbed the handle on the pawnshop front door and pulled. Before Tatum could utter another protest, she entered, hauling her friend behind her.
This wasn’t Nore’s first pawnshop, but it was definitely her biggest. And her bargain/haggler heart just soared. Cases and cases of glass lined the walls and stood free in the middle of the floor, all containing merchandise from jewelry to electronics to even rarer items like military medals. Larger items such as appliances, luggage and furniture occupied several corners. All for sale.
Lord. She might be drooling.
Focus, ma’am. Not here to shop for you...although is that a real Louis carry-on...?
“I see the direction you’re staring and unless that Louis Vuitton is paying its share of the Uber ride and dinner check, it stays right where it’s at,” Tatum drawled.
“Killjoy,” Nore muttered, then huffed out a, “Fine.”
“Thank God,” her friend added, not bothering to utter it under her breath.
But when you’d been friends for as long as they’d been—freshman year of college—and had cleaned up each other’s, uh, mess after a night of excessive partying, things like offending each other ceased to be a concern.
“So are you going to tell me why we’re here?” Tatum pressed.
“You’ll see in just a minute.” With determined strides and a pang in her chest that she refused to acknowledge, Nore headed toward the back of the store. A handsome older Black gentleman sporting a well-groomed salt-and-pepper goatee and a dark green short-sleeved shirt bearing the shop’s logo stood behind a case.
“Excuse me, hi,” she greeted him with a smile.
He returned the smile. “Hello. Can I help you?”
“Yes.” As she opened the oversize purse at her side, her lips trembled, echoing the quiver in her belly. And that damn twinge in her chest that she was still refusing to acknowledge. “I want to sell this.”
She pulled out a black cloth napkin that she might or might not have swiped from the restaurant they’d dined at the night before and laid it out on the glass counter. Unwrapping it, she revealed a gorgeous two-carat, emerald-cut diamond ring with a white gold band.
Gorgeous...and ugly because of the pain attached to it.
A soft gasp came from next to her.
“Nore,” Tatum breathed. “What are you—?”
With her gaze trained on the ring, Nore shook her head. “Getting rid of the trash.”
“Nore,” Tatum said again, but Nore cut her off with another shake of her head.
“I know what I’m doing, Tate.” And for added emphasis she nudged the napkin and the jewelry just a little farther across the glass toward the pawnshop employee. “I’d like to sell this, please.”
The older man, whose name tag declared him as Dan, arched both eyebrows.
“Pawn it or—”
“Sell it.” She reached into her bag again and emerged with an insurance appraisal. “Here’s an appraisal from six months ago.”
To Dan’s credit, he didn’t blink. But working in a pawnshop in Las Vegas, he must see a lot. The least of which was a jilted fiancée wanting to sell her engagement ring. Not that he knew about the jilted fiancée part.
Still...
He picked up the ring and studied the appraisal, flipping through the couple of pages. She knew what he’d see. A bunch of details about clarity, cut, color, measurements, yada, yada, yada. None of it mattered as much as that price in bold font: $16,600.
“You are aware that jewelry depreciates...” Dan started, lifting his gaze from the ring and the report.
“Yes, but not by much given that ring was bought and appraised just six months ago. Not that I care.” Nore waved her hand. “Give me your best price, Dan.”
He studied the ring for several more moments, then looked at her again, a shrewd gleam in his eyes. Oh, if only he knew that was wasted on her.
“Emerald-cut, two-carat diamond. Good cut. E color and SI2 clarity.” He paused. “I can give you six thousand for it.”
“Deal.”
Dan blinked, but quickly recovered. Probably wanted to jump on the fact that she wasn’t haggling and seal the deal as soon as possible. Smart man. Smarter employee. “O—”
“Hold on just a second here,” Tatum interjected, throwing a palm up in Dan’s direction. She whipped around to face Nore. Grasping Nore’s shoulder, she lightly shook it. “Listen, I know the...breakup with James sent you in a tailspin. But you shouldn’t do anything out of emotion. How about you just take a beat and think on this for a few days. This is just...rash.”
Nore’s lips twisted into a smile. By that pause, what her friend really wanted to say was crazy. This was just crazy.
And Tatum might not be wrong.
But she didn’t care.
“Tate, I love you like Thanksgiving mac ’n’ cheese. Not better, but y’know, in that vicinity. And I get that you’re concerned for me, but this isn’t a whim. I’ve been thinking about this since the moment my heart stopped feeling like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest. So about two weeks.” She lifted a hand to the one still on her shoulder and squeezed when a soft, strangled sound came from her friend. Needing to soften the words and comfort Tatum, she gave her another smile. “No, it’s okay. I’m okay—or at least, I will be. But I need to do this, and I didn’t want to do it alone. So I waited until this trip when you would be with me. Because I need my girl beside me when I say a final goodbye to this chapter of my life.”
“Nore,” Tatum whispered, moisture glistening in her eyes.
Oh damn. If her friend started crying—and looking beautiful doing it, too. Who did that?—then she would create a spectacle here in this store. That she did not want.
She’d cried enough tears over James Whitehead, dammit.
“Nope.” Nore shook her head. “Don’t you do it. I spent thirty minutes on these lashes and eye makeup. I’m not about to let you ruin them.” Turning back to Dan, she grinned, though yes, it was a bit waterlogged. “Sorry for this episode of Black Gilmore Girls. I’m ready to finish up this sale. I’ll take the six thousand.”
Dan glanced at Tatum, as if waiting for another objection. After a second, he returned his attention to Nore and nodded, smiling.
“Let me go get final approval,” he said, gathering up the ring and the appraisal report. “While I’m gone, feel free to look over what we have here just in case you see anything you’d like to buy or trade. And...” His smile widened, flashing a dimple in his right cheek. Okay. That quick Dan became a zaddy. “I’m willing to watch a rerun with Lorelei and Rory any day.”
With a wink, he strode off toward a closed door several feet behind him.
“Wow. Dan watches Gilmore Girls. What time do you think he gets off?” Nore asked, staring after him.
“Oh my God.” Tatum groaned, and Nore snickered. “So what are your plans for your sudden windfall? Although James would be choking on his tongue right now knowing you sold it for such a low price.”
The corner of Nore’s mouth curled even as her chest clutched at just the mention of her ex-fiancé. The man she’d spent the last three years with, planned to spend the rest of her life with... The man who’d broken up with her by fucking email.
Coward.
Dragging in a breath, she deliberately switched her thoughts away from James Whitehead and on to how she could spend her spoils on a ring that, in the end, hadn’t been a symbol of commitment and love but disappointment and heartbreak.
Clearing her throat, she perused the case containing glittering rings, necklaces, bracelets and even really beautiful cigarette cases. Still, nothing really caught—
“Oh,” she breathed. Her fingers touched the glass as if she could reach through to the piece of jewelry that had caught her eye. A flutter behind her breastbone persisted the longer she stared at the gorgeous brooch nestled between a butterfly-shaped hair comb and a diamond-crusted lapel pin. And she couldn’t stop staring. “That’s...”
“Stunning,” Tatum finished, her shoulder nudging Nore’s as she bent down to study the jewelry.
“Would you like to have a closer look?” A woman appeared behind the counter, her dark curls liberally sprinkled with gray and laugh lines fanning out from the corners of her bright brown eyes. More faint lines creased the teak skin around her mouth and forehead, but they only added to her beauty. This appeared to be a woman who enjoyed life to the fullest. She didn’t wait for Nore to reply but opened the back panel of the case and carefully removed the brooch. Setting it on the black napkin Dan had left behind, she murmured, “There you go. It’s a very unique piece.”
Wasn’t that an understatement?
Gold and silver fashioned into tiny, fragile-looking flowers—turquoise, pink and dark red—surrounded a lovely portrait. Diamonds and seed pearls studded the flowers and vines, adding to the beauty of the antique piece. The woman, whose back and delicate profile were visible in the painted image, appeared to be Black. A wide-brimmed hat hid most of her features, but the skin of her cheek, mouth, chin and elegant neck was indeed a light brown.
Nore had never seen anything as exquisite.
“The brooch is fifteen-karat gold and silver with diamonds and natural pearls, enamel in the middle. The stone itself is rose cut. The piece is Victorian, dated between 1850 and 1859.”
“Victorian?” Tatum touched a fingertip to a pearl. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“What she’s so delicately trying to not say is I’ve never seen a Black woman on a Victorian brooch.”
Tatum shot Nore a look that clearly called her a mannerless guttersnipe. After so many years of friendship, Nore was fluent in everything Tatum Haas.
The employee whose name badge identified her as Nelle smiled. “Apparently, the painting on the brooch is a depiction of the wife of an English baron. She was the daughter of a Barbadian Parliament member. They met when her father traveled with the governor general to London and it was love at first sight. It’s said they lived many happy years together, and he had the brooch commissioned as one of the many symbols of his love for her.”
Nore glanced at Tatum, the fascination bubbling inside her chest reflected on Tatum’s face as she stared at the older woman.
“That’s a beautiful story,” Tatum said. She reached for the brooch, but at the last moment, dropped her arm to her side. “How did it end up here? Uh, no offense.” She winced.
“None taken. Here, you can hold it.” Nelle lifted it from the napkin and extended it toward Tatum. After a brief hesitation, Tatum accepted it and Nore crowded closer to her friend. Unable to help herself, Nore brushed a fingertip over the painting and the flowers surrounding it. A weird reverence expanded inside her, and underneath it, an inexplicable sense of urgency. “The customer who brought it in said she purchased it at an estate sale. There’s more.”
The dramatic pause that followed had Nore swiftly transferring her attention from the gorgeous jewelry to Nelle.
The older woman nodded toward the brooch. “It seems a legend is attached to it. Though the baron and baroness loved each other dearly, they didn’t have an easy road, as you can imagine. Even the power and wealth of his title couldn’t prevent racism and classism. Yet they prevailed and their love and marriage remained strong and true. Therefore, it’s said that whoever possesses the brooch will experience that same kind of love. He or she will meet their soulmate, and though the path will be troubled, they will ultimately find a lasting true love.”
The cynical part of Nore—the part that had ceased to believe that kind of love existed—scoffed at this “legend.” But a smaller, battered part of her yearned to believe. To hope...
Once more she glanced at Tatum, then down at the stunning, elegant solitaire on her left ring finger.
“I’ll take it.”
The words burst out of Nore before the thought had fully formed. But once they were out there, she didn’t negate them. No. She let them stand. Especially when a...rightness settled on her like a soothing balm. That peace calmed the urgency inside her like a cool, refreshing breeze on a sweltering night.
“What?” Tatum frowned at her. “You can’t just... Listen, I understand about the ring but this, Nore...” She shook her head. “You don’t even know how much it costs.”
“Too true.” She tilted her head. “How much is it, Nelle?”
“Sixty-two hundred.”
“Right.” Nore nodded. “I’ll take it. Dan just took a diamond ring back there that I’m supposed to receive six thousand for. I’ll pay the difference.”
“Nore,” Tatum hissed. “This is—”
She held up a hand to stop her. “I’m getting it.” Then softer, “I’m getting it for you. I didn’t find that kind of love but you have, with Mark. And you should have that.” She dipped her head toward the jewelry. When Tatum started shaking her head, Nore shook hers right back. “Yes, consider it my bridesmaid gift. It’ll be your something old. And something new, too, because well, it’s new for you, right?”
“Nore,” Tatum whispered, and tears moistened her eyes.
She smiled, and gently took the brooch from Tatum and offered it back to Nelle. “Could you let Dan know?”
Nelle accepted the jewelry, glancing from Nore to Tatum, her lips curved.
“Certainly. Be right back.” She turned and headed to the same door Dan had disappeared behind.
“This is crazy,” Tatum repeated, just as quietly, but emotion throbbed in her voice.
“So you’ve said.” Nore wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders and squeezed. “I’m not being impulsive. Okay, maybe a skosh impulsive,” she corrected when Tatum gave her another sidelong glance. Chuckling, Nore continued, “But it’s almost poetic. Trading what’s a symbol of heartbreak for one of love. It’s beautiful. And being able to give that to you is beautiful for me.” She frowned, mock-glaring. “So don’t go ruining the moment by refusing the gift.”
Tatum studied her for a long moment. Then she finally nodded.
“Okay. And thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever received a more gorgeous and thoughtful gift.”
“Except one.” Nore aimed a pointed glance down at her left hand and the ring winking on it.
“Except one.” A smile slowly bloomed on her face, and she slid an arm around Nore’s waist, squeezing. “I’ll accept the brooch on one condition.” She paused and her smile expanded into a grin. “You hold it for me until my wedding day. If that legend is really true then maybe in the six months before I get married, you’ll find your true love, too.”
Nore snorted even as pain tugged at her, twisting. And mingling with it was a terrible longing for something she no longer believed was meant for her. Especially not in the next six months. Hell, she and James had been together for three years, and he hadn’t loved her enough to commit. And she was supposed to find the kind of love that crossed cultures, defied society and racism in weeks?
Yes, well, there was also a bridge for sale in Westeros. Dragons, too.
“Sure, I’ll keep it until then.” She held up a finger, forestalling whatever romance-related nonsense would spill from Tatum’s mouth next. “And not because I believe or even want to fall in love again.” Court this humiliation, disillusionment and hurt for another go-round? No, thank you. Masochism wasn’t on her bingo card for this year. “I want to be the one who pins it on you when you start your new life with Mark.”
“Un-huh.” Tatum nodded. “We’ll see.”
“Tate, the brooch is stunning and it has a lovely story attached to it. But you can’t possibly believe it’s more than that—a story.”
A smile that could only be called mischievous curled Tatum’s lips. “Like you said, we’ll see.”
Nore stared at her friend for a long moment, then rolled her eyes, dropping her arm and nudging Tatum’s shoulder with her own.
“Whatever. Let’s get this taken care of so we can go eat and then scream over hot strippers.”
“You mean applaud at Cirque du Soleil.”
Nore arched an eyebrow and patted Tatum’s arm.
“It’s so adorable how you think that’s going to happen.”
“Oh God,” Tatum groaned.
Nore cackled, legends of true love and fated soulmates already forgotten.
