…want to introduce us, Jamie?” the waiter finished, his smirk widening into a look of absolute, vindictive triumph. He crossed his arms and casually leaned against the edge of our booth.
James looked like he was going to be sick. He lunged across the table to snatch the ring from my dressing-covered fingers, but I quickly pulled my hand back, wiping the sparkling diamond on my cloth napkin. Now that the shock was wearing off and I was looking at it closely, it wasn’t even my style. It was a gaudy, blindingly large emerald-cut monstrosity.
“I… it’s a mistake, Sarah,” James stammered, sweat instantly beading on his forehead. “He gave you the wrong table’s order. Give it here.”
“Oh, it’s the right table,” the waiter chuckled, his eyes locked dead on my husband. “Though I suppose it’s the wrong partner. Tell her, James. Tell her why you were browsing Tiffany’s on your ‘solo fishing trip’ to Maine last month.”
I looked between the two of them. The waiter was young, handsome, and practically vibrating with venom. The puzzle pieces clicked together with sickening, undeniable speed.
“Who is he, James?” I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous, icy calm. Fourteen years. Fourteen years of stainless steel kitchen gadgets, and here was a five-carat diamond pulled from a bed of arugula.
“My name is Julian,” the waiter answered for him, stepping closer. “And that ring was supposed to be mine. He told me he was finally leaving you today. When he texted me from the bathroom two minutes ago to say he ‘lost his nerve’ yet again, I decided to serve up the truth myself.”
James buried his face in his hands, letting out a pathetic, muffled groan. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t try to explain. He just sat there, a coward rapidly drowning in a mess of his own making.
I looked down at the velvet-lined box sitting next to my water glass, which held the heavy-duty meat-carving fork he had proudly presented to me twenty minutes prior. Then, I looked at the diamond in my hand.
“Julian,” I said, dropping the sticky diamond ring into James’s half-empty water glass with a soft plop. “You can have him. But honestly? You’re settling.”
I stood up, grabbed my purse, and picked up the carving fork. “I will be keeping this, however. It’ll be perfect for tossing his clothes onto the lawn.”
I walked out of the restaurant without looking back, my head held high, leaving James to deal with the bill, his furious lover, and the sudden, spectacular wreckage of our marriage.
