Weeks later, the jeweler sent the final renderings. The bands were simple and matched in spirit: his wider, hammered and warm; hers narrow, satin-finished, with a flush-set diamond and the tiny engraving inside. The coordinates were there, and the French phrase—Toujours à toi—curled in a script so small it felt like a secret.
Isadora held the sketch between her fingers and looked at Kane. "Will you wear yours every day?"
"Every day," he promised.
She smiled, the kind that made the room feel smaller and safer. "Then let's do this."
Kane closed the sketchbook, slid his hand into hers, and for a moment the planning lists, the vendors, and the small anxieties all fell away. The city outside continued its indifferent hum, but inside the apartment a quiet certainty settled.
"Always," he said.
She leaned forward and kissed him, brief and sure, as if sealing the promise with something that needed no words.
_______
