Pink Promises Novels & Stories

I say, though fine is not the word for my pulse. He reaches past me to the vanity, opens a slim box I hadn’t noticed. Inside, a strand of small, stubborn pearls—vintage the way the ring is vintage. He holds it up so it catches the city’s leftover light. “I thought these would suit,” he says. “You don’t have to wear it.” “I don’t do leashes,” I say lightly, trying to joke, break the tension. “It’s not a leash,” he says, “ just a claim.”