DEAD TO ME [tartaglia]

005 - TWELVE CARAT

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+p kiss it better - rihanna

TAPPING IRRITABLY AT the glass material of Childe's dining table, you can't help but frown in annoyance when your cell phone lights up for what seems like the hundredth time today.

Like almost all the other times the device lit up and dinged obnoxiously, it's Scaramouche, evidently angry and most probably seething in embarrassment from a certain media article containing a photo of you in the very lobby of the apartment you currently resided in. Upon further inspection of the photo, you're smart enough to pinpoint that the photo was taken from the receptionist's desk.

You shut off the phone with a huff, shifting your attention to the pen in your hand and the halfway-filled divorce agreement in the other when you notice shuffling by the front door. It's Childe, and you notice his left hand is loosely clung around a small velvet box.

"I'm back," He says, and you give him nothing in response except a look of confusion, even when he swiftly sets the box down in front of you. "open it."

When you set down the pen and papers and do what you're told, a large sapphire the color of his eyes is present and neatly presented upon a silver ring band. You can't help the low smile that invades your expression.

"If he loves you, he'll buy you twelve." You recall him saying the night he found you in the garden. You even recall the way he didn't even bother looking at you as he said it, and you realize you've always thought Childe was so cool.

"..How many carats is this?" You question, picking the ring from the box and inspecting the sapphire you presume cost your new fiancé a heavy sum.

He picks up the silly reason for your questioning, grins, straightens up and answers proudly. "Twelve carats."

You don't expect his bold answer so instead, you clear your throat and hesitantly pull off your old wedding ring and slip the sapphire onto the same finger before quickly changing the topic. "So I met with my lawyers this morning,"

It doesn't take much to sense the disappointment in his eyes, but you pay no mind when he only hums for you to continue. "The quickest way to get the divorce over with is if scaramouche cooperates. When that's over, we marry, get your dad's approval, you inherit whatever it is that you want to inherit, then we go our separate ways.. That is why you want to marry me, is it not?"

Taken aback by your straightforwardness, he clears his throat and loosens his unbuttons his collar. "..Yeah."

You frown slightly, and brush thought that there's something else going on here away to continue silently filling out the agreement. If Childe valued your time as old friends at all, he would not harm you. Or rather, you hope he won't harm you.