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August scanned the room. “Perhaps they were talking about Lord Nathan. You know my mother. Always scheming something. I’ll ask her later.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t quite convinced. Something looked off between them, and I wanted to get to the bottom of it. “All the emerald green is giving me a headache,” I said softly. Certainly the music would be done soon?
“It matches your ring.”
I scoffed. “The ring Victoria picked out?” I stopped being bitter about it a few days ago but still felt the weight of it on my hand.
August stopped dancing and looked at me. “Victoria didn’t pick it out,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I did.”
My own eyes widened in surprise. “You did? When? How? And why did you leave it on my nightstand?”
The music faded to an end, the talented musicians noting that we were done dancing, and August waited for the polite applause to stop before dragging me off the floor and toward the side of the ballroom away from everyone else. “I picked it out at a shop downtown. Not a well-known jewelry store…but the woman selling it to me was very nice. Eager for the sale, too. She said…” He paused and a faint blush covered his cheeks. “She said emeralds stand for truth and love. I suppose I always want to be truthful with you, and I do love you. At the time, I was hoping the damn magic rock would make you tell me why you left three years ago.”
“Oh, August,” I said while placing my hand on his chest. “It is beautiful.” My eyes looked down at the ring, the way it glimmered delicately under the chandeliers. “And that’s a lovely sentiment.”
“I wanted to give you a proper proposal, not one orchestrated by my mother. But I was worried you’d say no, so I left it on your nightstand.”
“You can ask me now,” I said softly. I knew what my answer would be. Despite the war in my heart and the reservations I had about living life in the public eye, I saw a future with him.
“I’m afraid I can’t ask you,” he replied. “You see, Christine, if I asked, that would imply you had any say in this. But it’s not my mother, this Crown, or your so-called crimes that draw us together. It’s…fate. As obscure and obsolete of a construct as that is, you’ve been mine since the day you were born. You’ve had my heart since that night you moved in. We have been meant to belong together for as long as I can remember. It’s too late to stop now. It’s too late to ask.”
My eyes shimmered with tears, and I lifted up in my heels to softly kiss his lips, not caring if the photographers caught us, not caring that there would be whispers. “I love you,” I said.
“I love you, too, Christine Abernathy.”
He wrapped his arm around my lower back and looked over my head, his eyes dimming at whatever or whoever he saw. I wasn’t ready for the moment to end.
“May I have this dance?”
I spun around and nearly collided with Atticus. He was standing so close that the smell of his cologne filled my nose. The raw power rolling off of him made me feel weak in the knees, and some dark part of me enjoyed standing between him and August, soaking up their affection and intensity.
“I suppose I can share her for a dance,” August replied tersely.
Atticus held his hand out for me to take, and I gingerly placed my manicured fingertips in his palm. “So kind of you, Your Majesty.” Everyone watched as he guided me to the dance floor, and unlike August, Atticus didn’t wait for the music to start. He placed my hand on his shoulder and held the attention of the room by moving me effortlessly. Controlling me.
Where August guided my steps, Atticus commanded them.
“Such a lovely dress you’re wearing, Lady Abernathy,” he said while tilting his chin up. Somehow, Atticus managed to intimidate onlookers while looking at me.
I gave him a bashful smile. “My stylist was a ruthless bastard. I had quite an interesting dress fitting.”
He spun me around and crushed me to his chest, inhaling deeply before nuzzling my neck, consequences be damned. “Your stylist has impeccable taste.”
I tried to pull away, not because I wanted to, but because I could feel everyone’s judgment at my back. But his splayed hands over my spine held firm, not letting me move even an inch away. “If this were our engagement party, I’d play Eric Whitacre; you always liked that composer.”
My lips parted in surprise. “I’m surprised you remember.”
“Don’t you know by now, Little Monster?” He kissed my cheek. “I know everything about you.”
A shiver traveled up my spine as he moved me toward the edge of the dance floor. “Everything?”
“And more,” he replied. “I know your fears. Your heart’s demands. I know how you take your coffee, darling. And I know that when push comes to shove, you always rise above. They have no idea just how ruthless you are.”
“And you do?”
He spun me once more and pressed my back against his chest. His hand landed on my hips, and we swayed to the music. I had to shut my eyes to avoid the intrusive stares of onlookers. “We’re monsters, baby.”
As if commanded by his words, a loud explosion went off. Licks of fire caressed my exposed skin, and Atticus fell forward, blocking most of the debris and heat from singing me. He let out a short cry of pain and a grunt while people everywhere started screaming in shrill octaves.
