She Divorced The Wrong Man

Chapter 7

Preston's face turned dark. He had been pleased with himself a minute ago, and now his jaw was so tight that a muscle jumped in his cheek.

He was sure Ethan was doing it on purpose. A car wash worker walks into a room like this, and he has the nerve to say that ring is his, right in front of everyone. Preston's hand curled around his glass until his knuckles went pale.

"Fine," he said, and forced a laugh. "Let's see how he plans to get it. I'd love to watch."

Around them, the guests were already whispering and grinning. Nobody in the room believed Ethan for a second. They figured he was a poor man trying to look big in front of a famous woman, and they were ready to enjoy the show when he fell on his face.

Harold Mercer walked up to the stage, tapped the microphone, and welcomed everyone. People took their seats. Waiters moved between the tables, and the auction began.

The first item was an oil painting of a harbor. It sold for two hundred thousand dollars. The second was a gold pocket watch that had belonged to some railroad owner, and it went for even more. A diamond necklace came next, and a pair of emerald earrings after that.

Ethan didn't lift a hand for any of it. He sat at the table with Olivia beside him and cut into a piece of steak, and when the plate was empty, a waiter brought another. He hadn't had a real meal since breakfast, and he ate like a man who knew it.

"Not interested in the necklace?" Olivia asked him with a small smile.

"It's nice," Ethan said. "It's not mine, though."

She laughed under her breath and leaned toward him to say something low in his ear. He tilted his head to listen, and for a moment the two of them looked like people sharing a joke.

At the next table, Preston bid on the necklace and won it. Then he bid on the earrings and won those too. Each time the hammer fell, he turned to Claire and put another velvet box in her hands.

"These are for you," he said.

"Preston, this is too much," Claire said quietly. "I can't take all this."

"Of course you can. Think of it as a thank-you for the partnership."

She smiled because it would have been rude not to. But the boxes sat unopened in her lap, and she didn't look at them. Her eyes kept moving across the room.

Ethan was at the other table, leaning in toward Olivia, and the two of them were talking like old friends. He looked relaxed, he looked more at ease than she had seen him in months, and he hadn't glanced her way once.

She didn't know why that bothered her so much. She had ended the marriage herself, so she had no right to be upset about who he talked to. But every time Olivia laughed, Claire's stomach tightened a little more.

She dropped her eyes to the velvet boxes and tried to listen to what Preston was saying.

Preston noticed Ethan sitting there, quiet and not raising his hand even once, and his confidence grew. If the man had money, he would have bid on something by now. That was what he told himself, and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Ethan had no money. He was hiding behind Olivia and living off whatever she gave him.

Soon the sixth item had been sold, then the seventh. The ballroom was getting warm and loud. Waiters carried champagne through the crowd, and somebody at the back was already half drunk.

Then Harold Mercer stepped up to the microphone again, and the room settled down.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "Now we come to the item I know many of you have been waiting for."

Two staff members carried a small glass case onto the stage. Inside it, on a black velvet cushion, sat a ring.

It was dark and heavy, and it was old. Strange lines were cut across its surface, in a pattern that no one in the room could read.

"This piece has been in my private collection for many years," Harold said. "I won't tell you where it came from, because honestly, I don't know. All I can tell you is that no one has ever been able to identify it. Some say it's a thousand years old. Some say it's not from this world at all."

A few people laughed, Harold smiled.

"Whatever it is, I've decided it's time to let it go to someone who will care for it. The starting bid is five million dollars."

Ethan had stopped chewing.

He put his fork down very slowly. His eyes were fixed on the case, and his heart was hammering. It was the same ring as the one in the photo, but seeing it in front of him was different. It pulled at him, and the pull came from somewhere deep inside, from a place that had been shut for three years.

The ring on his own finger felt warm. It felt almost like it was answering.

He knew without a doubt that he could not leave this room without it.

"Five million," Harold said. "Do I hear five million?"

Nobody moved.

A man at the front raised a hand halfway and said, "Five million." Another man, near the back, said, "Five and a half." Then it stopped. Even in a room full of rich people, five million dollars for a strange old ring was a lot, and nobody wanted to be the fool who overpaid for something with no history.

"Five and a half million," Harold said. "Going once."

Preston stood up. He had been waiting for this. He wanted Claire to see it, and he wanted the whole room to see it too, and he especially wanted one person near the back to watch him win.

"Ten million," he called out, in a loud, clear voice.

The ballroom gasped.

A woman put her hand over her mouth. Someone near the front whispered, "Ten million, just like that." The man who had offered five and a half million shook his head and sat down. Nobody else lifted a hand.

"Ten million from Mr. Whitaker," Harold said, and his eyes lit up. "Do I hear more?"

Silence.

Preston sat down again, slowly, and straightened his tie. Around him, people were looking at him the way they looked at a king. The heavy man in the gray suit gave him a thumbs-up from across the table, and the woman in green was mouthing the word wow.

Preston turned his head just enough to see Ethan, and he smiled.

It was a smile that said, Well? Where is your ring now?

"Ten million, going once," Harold said.

Preston felt Claire watching him. He felt the room watching him, he could almost feel the cold metal of the ring in his hand already.

"Going twice."

"Fifteen million," a calm voice said.

It wasn't loud. It didn't have to be. In the quiet of the ballroom, it carried to every corner.

Heads turned all at once. The whole room looked toward the voice, and it was Ethan, sitting in his plain black suit with one hand resting on the table.

For a moment nobody spoke. Harold stood on the stage with his mouth slightly open, still holding the hammer in the air.

Then the whispering started, rising from every table at once.