Tough as Diamonds

I am considered by many to be a expert on jewelry. President of Cameo Collectors International, I've also written at length for many publications about the history and myth of stones. So imagine my chagrin to discover, this month, that my dubious relationship with diamonds continues to become more complicated.

The first engagement diamond Ahmed gave me was a monstrously large stone surrounded by smaller ones. He knows now that I loved how much he wanted to give me but was never comfortable wearing something so large. Turns out fate knew, too, since I was robbed en route to a Maine vacation and off the diamond went. It later surfaced, the serial number pieced together after it had been cut into smaller stones.

Enter diamond number two, a single, large (but not huge) stone in a gorgeous art nouveau filigree setting. I adored that ring. So imagine my dismay at finding the setting a bit loose earlier this month.

Now... I am tough on stones and rings in general. My dear friend Maria says my personal power is so great it cracks them. I love this theory, but suspect I'm just a tomboy who never completely refined. But even I figure diamonds are safe from my rough treatment. They aren't, in fact, the hardest stone (jade is, and even spinal is harder). But they are pretty hard.

Turns out, however, that my rock was cut with the original, natural cleavage line intact and the serial number was masking this. Clever jewelers! Since Ahmed's dad secured the stone for him, he has agreed to take it back and yell at someone in England. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we are off this week to pick out something new from Tacori.

I promised Ahmed not to use the "O" word. (Rhymes with NO MEN). I do like threes... always have. Wish me luck. If I manage to lose/be robbed of/break this one I'm switching to sapphires.