She tips her head in acknowledgment; they could. That's what she'd wound up doing with her old wedding ring during the competition; eventually -- perhaps, a little, just to see if Thomas might notice and what he might make of the change -- she'd stopped with the bother of switching it back and forth between finger and chain, and left it on the chain to stay. It had seemed fitting. Her old marriage was over, even if she wasn't explicitly angling for a new one. She didn't need to keep wearing it.
It would seem far less fitting to let her new engagement ring hang alongside it, if only because her old wedding ring is a sturdy thing. She wouldn't want them clattering together and knocking one of the diamonds into a bowl full of batter or something. God, it hardly bears thinking about.
The kiss manages to pull her out of her own head, and she smiles against his lips, her hand brushing down his side, sliding the fabric of his undershirt between her fingers. "I do appreciate that," she admits. "Anything larger than this, and I'd feel like I was going about with a 'rob me' sign stuck to my back."
Which is absurd, and she knows it -- she'd have to wear something far more ostentatious to far worse parts of town than she ever frequents to be in any real danger of that -- but two years in Darrow hasn't entirely purged her of her Village sensibilities.
She releases him and takes a step backward, sitting on the edge of the bed and examining the ring with a game attempt at a thoughtful frown. "Maybe if I was wearing only the ring," she muses with theatrical nonchalance, "so there was nothing else to distract me..."
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It would seem far less fitting to let her new engagement ring hang alongside it, if only because her old wedding ring is a sturdy thing. She wouldn't want them clattering together and knocking one of the diamonds into a bowl full of batter or something. God, it hardly bears thinking about.
The kiss manages to pull her out of her own head, and she smiles against his lips, her hand brushing down his side, sliding the fabric of his undershirt between her fingers. "I do appreciate that," she admits. "Anything larger than this, and I'd feel like I was going about with a 'rob me' sign stuck to my back."
Which is absurd, and she knows it -- she'd have to wear something far more ostentatious to far worse parts of town than she ever frequents to be in any real danger of that -- but two years in Darrow hasn't entirely purged her of her Village sensibilities.
She releases him and takes a step backward, sitting on the edge of the bed and examining the ring with a game attempt at a thoughtful frown. "Maybe if I was wearing only the ring," she muses with theatrical nonchalance, "so there was nothing else to distract me..."