The box in Vincent’s pocket could fit in his closed hand, and yet, it seemed to weigh a ton – to weigh as much as fifteen years of being mated to a vampire.
He kept moving it, as though it might grow lighter. At first, he kept it in his shirt front pocket; close to his heart, but the pocket didn’t close and he grew scared of losing it. Then he moved it to his jeans pocket, which was tight enough to be safe, but maybe too tight: the square shape was much too obvious. Finally, in his jacket inside pocket, but that, too, was too obvious as he kept reaching in to check it was still there.
In the end, it was just too heavy to carry. He set it down on Lilia’s pillow, and hoped that, on her finger, it would feel light as air. He hoped, also, that she would find it as beautiful as the past fifteen years.