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I ignored him and shook her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“You, too,” she replied. “I’m here to help with all your needs. Ring shopping needs, that is.”
Oh, she was a cheeky one, wasn’t she?
Atticus huffed in annoyance.
Fuck him. He didn’t know shit. Hell, I would have been happy to ogle this chick. It would make things a whole lot easier. But no, my damn dick was obsessed with Christine. So was my brain. And if I had a heart, that bullshit organ would be obsessed with her too. I wasn’t sure when it happened, but she waltzed right back into my life and fucked everything up. I wanted her like I wanted my next hit, and that was a problem.
I didn’t like it when people had control over me. It’s why I was a fucking royal. It was in my blood.
The woman looked between Atticus and me, then blushed. “Mr. DuPont informed us that you are here to buy an engagement ring. Do you have any preferences for style, cut, or size?” she asked. “What is she like?”
What a loaded question. I felt like I hardly knew her anymore. “Something big and expensive,” I replied. If it wasn’t personal, then it would damn well make a statement. “Something very fucking ostentatious. Something that will warn off astronauts in space.”
Her eyes widened at my words. “Oh-okay,” she said with a nod.
“You don’t fucking know Christine at all,” Atticus cursed. Yeah, asshole. I was already kicking myself about that and had every intention of intimately getting reacquainted with her.
I glared at him. “And you do?” I snapped.
With a pretentious roll of the eyes, Atticus said, “I know she would rather bite off her own finger than wear an oversized ring.” Hell. He probably had a point. Atticus was always right. It was one of the reasons he annoyed the ever-living fuck out of me.
“Fine. What would you get her then?” I asked. I hoped he picked something ridiculous so I could call him a stupid fucker and pick out what I wanted.
The salesperson helping us looked like she was watching a tennis match, her eyes dancing between the two of us. “You’re excused. I’ve got this,” Atticus said with a wave of his hand.
“Of course, Mr. Dupont.” She bowed, like he was the king here, not me. Then she scurried off.
“Come here,” Atticus said before gliding over to a display case in the corner. Like his entire family, his jewelry shop was gaudy. Expensive chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Velvet drapes lined the expansive windows. Every surface sparkled. Gold-plated everything. Persian rugs that cost more than most people’s homes. It was almost tacky.
“Emerald cuts exude elegance and refinement. The elongated shape and step-cut faceting is just right for someone on the more understated side,” Atticus said while pulling out a ring and gently setting it on a velvet pillow. “This cut is best suited for women who have discerning taste—those who prefer classic with an edge. It mirrors Christine’s taste in art.”
I blinked twice. “Was I really that high the other night? You must have had lots of time to talk if she was opening up about her taste in art.” I might have said that with a bit of a sarcastic undertone. Atticus was really annoying the fuck out of me today. I hated that he pretended to know my future wife better than me.
And most of all, I hated that he probably did know her better. I was a selfish king that didn’t try hard enough to bring her back, and now the girl was a complete stranger to me.
“Christine doesn’t talk about her likes and dislikes, August. You must pay attention to see what she’s attracted to. You can’t blink.” He pulled out a polishing cloth and rubbed it along the stone. “Not even for a second.” His voice trailed off for that last part.
“So how do you know what she likes?” I asked. Christine had been away for three years. He spoke as if no time had passed at all.
“I just do,” Atticus said, his lips twisting into a secretive smile. “Here. Look at this.”
I looked down at the ring in his hand. It was beautiful, but not nearly what I had envisioned for my future wife. Understated was the most appropriate descriptor. It was big, though. I imagined how it would look on her dainty finger. I wondered how those fingers would look wrapped around my coc—
“I’ll take it,” I rushed out.
Atticus arched his eyebrow. “Are you sure? You haven’t seen any others.”
“It’s perfect. You’re right. Christine never liked flashy things. How many times did we catch her digging in the dirt and helping the royal gardener back when we were kids, huh?”
“Too many to count,” Atticus replied, his tone distant. Go ahead and reminisce, asshole. Memories are all you’re ever meant to get.
“What else does Christine like?” I asked. It still didn’t sit right with me that Atticus was acting like he knew everything.
“She liked her Art History TA. He was a bit too flirtatious for my liking. He was mysteriously terminated in the middle of the semester, though.”
I turned my head to look at Atticus, his statement ringing in my ears for a moment as I processed it. “Are you saying you knew where she was this entire time?” I asked, forcing my tone to stay even.
