Trading My Cheap Fiancé For Gold Chapter 2

At ten in the evening, the front door clicked open, and Keith walked in, with Fiona trailing a step behind him.

"Here, Delia," Keith said, sliding a plain black velvet box across the kitchen island toward me.

The lid popped open, revealing a tiny, thin silver chain with a speck of a diamond.

Fiona was standing right beside him, the dazzling pigeon-blood ruby necklace already resting against her collarbone. The deep, blood-red stone caught the light, sending sharp glints of crimson across the room. My fingers stilled.

On our first anniversary, I had stopped in front of a jeweler's window, admiring a very similar ruby necklace. Keith had pulled me away immediately.

"It's tacky," he had said. "You'd look like new money wearing that."

It wasn't that the rubies were tacky. It was just that they were tacky on me.

"Look at him, Delia," Fiona giggled, touching the ruby at her throat. "He didn't even bother to ask for a gift box. But honestly, that little diamond really does suit you. You don't go out to events much anyway, so anything larger would just go to waste."

I quietly closed the cheap box. "You're right. It would be wasted on me."

Keith blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. He looked at me a little longer than usual, as if finally noticing how quiet I was being.

But Fiona had already bypassed us, settling onto the sofa with a stack of wedding itineraries she pulled from her designer bag.

"Oh, Delia, by the way," she called out, her tone light and airy. "I swapped the main wedding car for a Porsche convertible. I get terribly car sick, and Keith agreed that the open air would be better for me. You don't mind, do you?"

My wedding. But the lead car had to be changed for the bridesmaid.

I lowered my eyes, my gaze falling on the suitcase parked by the foyer. "Do whatever you want."

Keith’s eyes followed my gaze, freezing when they hit the suitcase. It was the same one I had used the day I moved in with him.

"Are you going on a trip?" His brow furrowed. "The wedding is tomorrow."

I looked at him, preparing to tell him the truth.

"Oh—"

A sudden gasp cut me off. Behind us, Fiona’s water glass slipped from her hand, shattering against the hardwood floor.

"Keith, I'm so sorry..." she murmured, pressing a hand to her chest, her face pale. "I suddenly felt so lightheaded."

Keith’s expression transformed instantly into sheer panic.

"Is it your heart? Did you catch a chill outside?" His voice was thick with desperation as he rushed to her side.

The explanation I had prepared died in my throat. I looked down at the broken glass on the floor. It was one of our couple mugs.

Last year, Keith had gifted Fiona a complete set of handmade Italian porcelain. When I asked him if we could have something that belonged only to us, he had dismissed me as petty. Later, he had lazily ordered a pair of custom photo mugs. It was the only time he had ever tried to appease me.

The mug with my face on it was now in pieces. It felt poetically timed.

"I told you not to drink cold water. Why don't you ever listen to me?" Keith was murmuring, his voice stern but laced with an undeniable tenderness. He didn't even notice the shattered porcelain by his shoe.

Last winter, when I ran a fever of 104 and could barely stand, Keith had only spared a moment to say, "Drink some water, take some Advil, and go to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

Yet, Fiona merely dropped a glass, and he treated it like a medical emergency.

Fiona leaned heavily into his chest, looking up at him with weak, pleading eyes. "Keith, are you still going to dance the first dance with me tomorrow? Won't Delia be upset?"

Keith rubbed her back, speaking as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You’ve wanted a chapel waltz since we were kids. I promised you, and I don't break my promises to you. Delia is sensible. She’s not the type to get jealous over something like this."

At my own wedding, the groom’s first dance was reserved for the bridesmaid.

I watched them, wrapped up in each other, and a small, genuine laugh escaped my lips. Keith saw the curve of my mouth and assumed I was agreeing to play along.

"I'm glad you understand," he said, looking relieved. "I've always looked out for Fiona like a sister. It’s just second nature to me now."

Fiona snuggled deeper into his arms. "Don't get the wrong idea, Delia. I still remember when we were kids and I wanted to see the fireworks—Keith climbed over the school wall to take me, and his dad made him kneel on the cold floor all night as punishment. And the first time I fell in dance class, he carried me all the way home on his back. We really are just like siblings."

She sighed, a delicate, wistful sound. "I'm so jealous of you, though. After tomorrow, you'll officially be Mrs. Keith."

Keith looked down at her, his eyes soft with indulgence. "Alright, let's get you off your feet. Are you feeling any better?"

Fiona wrapped her arms around his neck, pouting. "A little bit. But only a little."

Keith gave a helpless, affectionate laugh. "Okay. Let me carry you up to the guest room so you can rest."

He paused, finally remembering I was standing there. "We have a long day tomorrow. Go to sleep early. Once Fiona is settled, I'll come back down."

He carried her up the stairs without looking back once. The bedroom door clicked shut, muffling their quiet laughter.

I didn't go to bedroom. I walked back to my suitcase, zipped my passport and documents into the side pocket, and closed the lid.

As the zipper clicked shut, a sharp, violent spasm tore through my stomach.

The pain was so sudden and intense that I collapsed onto the floor, cold sweat instantly soaking through my shirt. It was the chronic ulcer I had developed over the last three years—the result of countless late-night dinners where I drank myself sick to secure capital for Keith’s startup when his company was on the brink of collapse.

Trembling, I pulled out my phone and dialed his number.

"Keith," I gasped, clutching my stomach. "My ulcer... it's flaring up. I can't move. Can you take me to the ER?"