Ruthless Noble by Alley Ciz
CHAPTER 15
It amazesme that two of the biggest assholes I’ve had the misfortune of having to deal with on a daily basis are the spawn of such lovely mothers. I know I can be a bitch, but it’s more a defense mechanism than anything else. I swear, if anyone had to pair a child with their parent based on their narcissistic personalities, Duke and Jasper would get first pick as Natalie’s offspring before me.
That said, the more time I’ve been spending with them, the deeper I’ve gotten to see beneath the shells they project to the world, the more I’m learning it’s mostly that—a facade to hide behind.
Duke is still on his knees, looking like Kay’s Labrador Herkie when we’re eating something he wants but shouldn’t have. The more I think about it, comparing Duke to an overactive puppy begging for attention is pretty accurate.
“Nice try.” I pat him on the head, smothering my amusement at how it fits with the internal comparison.
“Speaking of…” Mrs. Delacourte starts, moving toward her husband and extending the flat of her palm to him. With a smile that has a hint of patronizing to it, he reaches inside his suit jacket and pulls a small box from his pocket before handing it off to his beaming wife.
My heart jumps into my throat, and I pat along the couch for the small clutch I packed for myself, settling my nerves with the knowledge that my inhaler is close by.
“Duke, sweetheart.” Mrs. Delacourte motions for him.
The goofy joy slips from Duke’s face, and that clogged-throat feeling only intensifies for me when a furrow forms between his brows as he slides his gaze from me to his mom and back again.
Slowly he pushes to stand. When his eyes fall to me again, he smiles, but this time it seems false. Unease shoots up my spine and has me shifting in my seat.
Around the room, the six parents watch the scene with various expressions while I work on not throwing up. I have no idea where this sudden bout of nerves is coming from or why it’s coming at all, but I can’t deny the sense of foreboding hanging above me like a piano suspended from fraying ropes.
Duke’s footsteps are slow and heavy, the drag of his shined dress shoes audible along the floor’s aged hardwood.
“I thought we agreed this would be private.” His hands are too large for me to make out what he takes from his mom before he’s standing in front of me again.
“We did, but seize the moment, sweetheart.”
Tingles race down my arms, goose bumps springing up despite the warm sweater material of my dress.
A creak of leather has me searching for the source of the sound, my gaze landing on a broody Jasper. His brows are drawn in a harsh line, his eyes churning with an intensity that only seems to emphasize their unique pearly color. His knees are spread, his elbows resting on his thighs, his hands clasped together.
He should be the picture of casual observance—except I can see how his knuckles are turning white because he’s squeezing his hands together, and the deepening of that chin dimple tells me he’s clenching his jaw. That weird pang stabs at my heart.
“Do it right, Duke,” Mrs. Delacourte instructs with a subtle nod, widening eyes, and a slight hitch to her brows. Duke stares at her a second longer, his throat moving with a hard swallow as his mom curls a hand around his dad’s upper arm, tucking herself in close and reaching to link her free hand with his.
“I really don’t think now’s the right time.”
“Nonsense, Duke. We’re here.” She gestures to herself and Governor Delacourte. “Samantha’s parents are here.” She points to Natalie and Mitchell. “Your best friend is here.” She nods to Jasper. “What better time is there than right now?”
Expectation settles like a heavy weight on my chest, and I fiddle with the clasp of my bag, debating if I need my inhaler or not. I’ve been doing better managing my anxiety, but that feeling like everyone else knows what’s going on except me has it flaring as that itchy uncertainty forms beneath my skin.
The sound of Duke clearing his throat—twice—has my attention snapping back to him, his mouth pinched to the side, a hand raking through his hair and mussing up the styled strands. He mutters a curse under his breath when he realizes his mistake.
It’s so minute I’m not sure if anyone else picks up on it, but this close, I catch the way Duke dips his chin just so and uses his peripherals to chance a glance at Jasper. What the hell could his mom want that would have him checking on Jasper?
With a breath deep enough to lift his shoulders and strain against the fine material of his custom-tailored suit jacket, Duke steps a foot behind him and lowers himself down to one knee. There’s a grace to his movements I attribute to his athleticism that’s distracting enough for it to take a second longer before the meaning behind his position hits.
He’s down…on one knee.
Blue eyes rise to mine, but I can’t focus on them. Instead, I concentrate on how his tie is now off-center, that tiny space between the knotted blue silk and starched white collar my salvation, my island in the turbulent sea my reality continues to be.
Duke remains silent, his hand rising between us. The bumps of his knuckles jut out as if they’re millimeters from bursting through his skin as he clutches the object in his hand.
Rubbing my hands over the tops of my thighs, I focus on how the weave of the crocheted detailing of my dress tickles my palms and not my mounting panic or the sweat I’m wiping off with each pass.
Long, tan fingers gradually unfurl, and there’s a distinct possibility that Tessa and I watch too many movies with how I feel like something is going to spring out at me.
Nothing does. There’s no creature waiting for its chance at freedom to attach itself to my face and suck out my soul.
No. The thing cradled in Duke’s palm is worse…much, much worse.
I think I’d rather face the hairy, prickly scales of some newly discovered mythical beast than the smooth black velvet of a ring box.
Shit just got real.
The ornate, handcrafted silver clasp sitting in the center shines like an omen. The rock forming in my gut directly correlates to the rock I’m sure is hidden inside. Except the longer I stare, the more it feels like it’s Pandora’s box rather than a jeweler’s box.
I think a part of me was hoping this was all a bad joke, that despite the engagement announcement hitting the papers, the lack of any other discussion meant maybe we could treat it as fake news.
Hell, even the bulk of my interactions with Duke haven’t changed. Jasper treats me more like a fiancé would their betrothed…sorta.
Movement out of the corner of my eye has my attention once again going to the Delacourtes. Governor Delacourte is patting a close to bursting Mrs. Delacourte’s arm.
Trepidation pulses off of Duke, and though I would say the friendship we’ve formed is tenuous at best, I scoot to the end of the couch and place my hand under his. Unless he went to his parents with the idea of our betrothal, we’re on the same side here.
With the slightest nod from me, Duke slips his thumbnail under the thin scalloped edge of the clasp and flips it open.
I swallow, anticipating the opening of the box to be loud and ominous like a door in a horror movie. It’s not. Just a distinct snick, and I’m nearly blinded by the bling nestled inside.
“It’s a family heirloom,” Mrs. Delacourte cries out, unable to contain herself anymore.
I drop my gaze to the ring again. It’s gorgeous. The design has a distinct vintage feel that makes it easy to believe it’s most likely several generations old.
“Do you like it?” Mrs. Delacourte asks in a squeaky rush.
“Of course she likes it,” Natalie jumps to answer, and I don’t bother correcting her or informing her I can speak for myself. Not that she would care if I did. She is the architect behind this insanity.
Duke adjusts his stance in front of me, his knee bumping my foot as he does. One would assume it’s because kneeling on a hard floor is hurting his knee, but the new angle allows him to keep Jasper in his sightline.
“Samantha, don’t be rude,” Natalie scolds, shifting to hover over my shoulder. “Give Duke your hand.”
Why does this feel so final?
I lift my left arm, curling my fingers into a tight fist then flexing them to their limits when I notice how my hand shakes. I wish I could blame it on a symptom of my asthma, but it’s not. It’s nerves, plain and simple. This entire situation is breaking me down in a way that’s making me lose parts of myself.
The fact that I can feel a similar tremble in Duke’s as he takes me by the wrist with one hand and positions the ring in front of my fourth finger with the other does nothing to assuage my consternation.
The rose gold band slides effortlessly to the base of my finger, the fit perfect, as if it’s been sized specifically for me.
I can’t deny the ring itself is breathtaking. The marquise diamond has to be close to three carats and is housed in a setting that lends a delicate elegance. The prongs at each point look almost heart-like, and the small diamonds spaced between the other rose gold balled prongs give the overall impression of a flower. Two half-carat teardrop diamonds bracket the center stone, and the piece is finished off with a row of diamonds down each side of the band.
I wiggle my fingers, watching the way the prisms of light dance off the gems. It’s exquisite but not me in the slightest.
“It’s perfect.” Mrs. Delacourte sighs. The adults in the room are all quick to agree. None of them notice the complete lack of excitement coming from the teenagers.
It isn’t until the thud of heavy footsteps beat a hasty retreat as Jasper storms out of the room that there’s any kind of less-than-pleased reaction from them, and that mostly comes from Mr. Noble.
“I—” I start only to stop. I what? What the hell am I supposed to say? It’s been made clear my opinion on the topic doesn’t matter.
“Are you okay, Savvy?” Mitchell asks when I start to rub at my chest.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. On the other hand, Duke looks a bit green as he rises and plops down beside me, both of us at a loss for words.
A part of me feels compelled to thank Duke for not actually asking me if I would marry him. Lord knows what I would have done if he did.