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“Thank you.” Amelia looked down at the older woman with the same softness as before. “You are too kind, Mrs. Cooper.”
The woman grabbed Amelia’s hands to hold them, her thumbs running over the backs of her fingers. “Where is your ring?” she asked, aghast, reaching up to clutch her double string of pearls.
I had to wonder if the first nosy old bat had told her about Amelia’s lack of an engagement ring or if that was all these women cared about.
Either way, I refused to be the talk of this party because my woman wasn’t wearing my ring. I much preferred the women talk about how I’d swept her off her feet while the men talked about how much stronger the Manwarrings were going to be now with the Astrids and how I had taken her from Dubois.
No one was going to be saying that I was cheap or hard up. That would lead to speculation about financial trouble. And that was unacceptable.
“Oh, darling.” I placed my hand on her lower back, for the first time noticing it was completely bare.
Her skin was impossibly soft and warm, and far too much of it was exposed.
The dress she wore had a plunging back that stopped just above the curve of her ass.
I gritted my teeth and held my smile. “That’s right, I’m so sorry. I forgot I had picked it up from the jeweler earlier.” I looked back at the older woman. “I had to get it sized.”
She nodded like it was perfectly reasonable for a man not to know his intended’s ring size. Like every woman here didn’t have a file at Tiffany’s with her size and style preferences.
I pulled the signature blue box from my breast pocket and opened it for her. Nestled in the white satin lining was a simple platinum band with a five-carat, emerald-cut diamond. It was stunning, elegant, and timeless.
I had to admit I’d been surprised when I found out this was where her personal tastes lay. I had seen the gaudy thing Marksen had made her wear. Since the Dubois family ring would go to his older brother’s wife, I’d assumed she’d picked out the one she’d worn and was a “more is more” type.
After seeing her in her wedding dress, I was positive that was the case, preferring the expense to taste.
This ring said something a little different.
It was a little less Kardashian and a lot more Hepburn.
I had much to learn about this woman, and even more to teach her.
She looked down at the ring, her lips pursed slightly like she was trying not to let slip any response.
I knew, for a fact, this was the ring she wanted.
What I didn’t know was why she didn’t want to let me know I was right.
This stubborn little brat would learn her place soon enough.
The old woman reached up to grab my wrist and pull it down so she could have a better look.
“That’s stunning. The clarity is incredible,” she gushed.
I gently took back my hand, then lifted the ring from the box, which I tucked back in my pocket. Then I reached for Amelia’s hand and slid the ring on over her glove. It was a little tight with the fabric, but the silk let it slide on easily enough. Then I leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek like a good future husband should.
“It’s so pretty,” the older woman said.
“Isn’t it?” Amelia admired the ring, and I had this strange, light feeling in my gut. Like I was proud to have her wearing my ring and pleased that she liked it. “I picked it out a few months ago at Tiffany’s.” She looked down at the other woman conspiratorially. “Isn’t it so nice when men can follow directions?”
The older woman laughed, and I gritted my teeth, not enjoying being the butt of her little jokes. I was going to have to teach her some respect soon enough.
“If you will excuse us,” I said as I grabbed Amelia’s arm and pulled her away from the elderly woman.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She opened her eyes wide to look innocent and blinked up at me.
“You should know better. Your dress is too revealing. You’re actively trying to belittle me. I’m going to be your husband. You’re mine. Act like it!”
