Snowball
What was pissing Raye off the most was that she didn't speak fucking French…or German…or whatever the hell they spoke in this overly-bright hospital in Switzerland. Her feet were cold, she was hungry, and they had plans tonight to have sex in the hot tub of the Swiss chalet while drinking champagne…and then that idiot had to go and break his stupid arm. Now there would be no hot tub sex in the snow, no fondue, no more skiing the Alps, no nothing for the rest of the trip.
She dragged the plastic chair closer to the hospital bed and crossed her arms. Jason was unconscious with his right arm in an air cast and stuck fill of weird sensors and tubes. Once an operating room was available, they would take him in and try and repair his shattered forearm, which from the looks of things, was broken in more than one place.
Idiot, she fumed. She was always on him to take more calcium so these stupid things didn't happen, but no, he had to subsist on beer and whatever he could eat with his left hand as he drew with his right. Oh great. Now he wouldn't be able to work when they got home. And probably not be able to feed himself, or do any chores. How would he bathe?
Raye couldn't hold back. "You dumbass," she hissed at her boyfriend's unconscious body. "I told you not to show off! I'm the better skier, anyway! What the hell were you thinking?" The fury was building, and she was on a roll. "Now we're going to have to spend the rest of our vacation in the freaking hospital!" An older gentlemen in the bed opposite of Jason's threw her a look, and she glared back with all her fury. He turned his face to the wall and she continued ranting. "And oh my God, I'm going to have to call your parents and they are going to panic. You're making everyone worry, you big stupid asshole!" A tear slipped out of her eye, and she hurriedly brushed it off. "What if you got yourself killed? What would I do? I can't love anybody else after you!"
"Miss?" A nurse called from the doorway in accented English. She held up a clear bag with Jason's ski jacket inside. "I'm sorry—they had to cut it."
Raye sniffed and buried the unshed tears. "Yeah, thanks."
"Does he have passport?"
"I don't know." She pulled the jacket out and felt into a pocket. "I think we left it at the chalet…" There was nothing in the right pocket except a crumpled tissue, but when she wrapped her fingers around it, she felt something hard. She pulled out the wad of tissue and peeled it back.
Buried in the middle was a diamond ring.
Her throat was closing up. She couldn't breathe. The platinum band was filigreed around a clear solitaire, and flanked with two smaller diamonds. Its classic beauty was ageless. It looked antique, and she wondered whose hand used to wear this ring. She would put money on the late Grandma Fisher.
"Are you his wife?"
Raye slipped the ring on her left hand and held it at arm's length. Even under the glaring fluorescent lights, the diamond glittered like a star. "I will be."