He smiled a little at my description. “I’m certain I can find you something that will impress him. How much were you thinking of spending?”

I swallowed. Many of the pens were in excess of a thousand dollars. I lightly grimaced. “About five hundred dollars.”

The man just nodded. “We’ll find him a pen he’ll never forget.”

Even though the price of the pen was just a fraction of what Nicholas had spent on me, it was nearly all my savings. But it was something I wanted to do for him. It wasn’t the amount of money he’d spent on me as much as it was the way he’d done it. Lovingly. He had shown me more love than my own husband and my own father ever had. In our pretend affair, he had opened my eyes to what a real relationship could and should be.

“I recommend this one,” the man said, delicately presenting me a pen. “We just got it in. This is our Bohème Marron pen. The rollerball is a bit more practical than the fountain pen, and better priced.”

“It’s pretty,” I said. “Is that a gem?”

“Yes. It’s a brown topaz.”

“How much is it?”

“It’s five hundred and twenty-five dollars, plus tax.”

“Okay,” I said. “I read that you can engrave something on it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How long does that take?”

“It usually takes a day or two.”

“Is it possible to do it any sooner? I was hoping to give it to him this evening.”

He smiled at me. “If you can come back in an hour, I’ll walk it over to the engraver myself. What would you like engraved on it?”

I thought for a moment, then said, “Love, Elise.”

“Let me get an order form.” He wrote down my words, then showed it to me for approval and a signature. I gave him my credit card. “Very well, Ms. Elise, I will have this for you in one hour.”

“Thank you.”

I left Montblanc and walked a block to the famous Tiffany store. I went up to the first sales counter I saw. “I’m here to pick something up for a friend of mine.”

“Were you thinking gold, silver, or diamonds?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, I meant, he already purchased the item. He wanted me to pick it up for him.”

“My mistake,” she said kindly. “What name would that be under?”

“Nicholas Derr,” I said.

“Nicholas Derr,” she repeated. “Just a moment.” She typed something into her computer, then walked away from the counter, returning about five minutes later. “Mr. Derr requested that the gift remained wrapped,” she said.

“That’s fine.”

“I will need to see some ID.”

“Of course.” I brought out my wallet. “There’s my license.”