Crushing on Royalty (The Cuttings #1) [To Be Reconstructed]

8 | Roller Coaster Ride

Oh, my God.

I knew I shouldn't have been so hysterical with my invective mouth, but really. Who wouldn't be shocked to know that the DOWAGER DUCHESS OF ROSSINGTON wanted me to marry her grandson?

Tell me! Because I was in shambles right now to possibly think clearly. I was so dumbfounded that I was actually gaping like a fish after I had said that crap was a holy thing.

Now I stood there, looking absolutely disheveled with completely no makeup on.

The dowager only stared at me loftily, eyeing me up and down like I was some horseflesh at an auction.

"I do hope, Miss Blakely," she said with a delicate sniff, "that you learn how to control the words you say before you speak them up. As my future granddaughter and Marchioness of Sterling, I would like to see some respect when you are in front of your elders and your soon-to-be peers."

I stared at her, unable to believe all of what she was saying.

Frederick came in time perfectly, rescuing my stricken features and speechlessness. He shut his phone, placed it on a table, and came toward me. His hands gripped my shoulders. "Are you...quite all right?" he asked in that accent again.

I swear, I was on the verge of laughing hysterically. Of course, I wasn't "quite all right!" But I couldn't speak. God. This was horrible.

Frederick turned to his grandmother. "Grandmama," he chided, "you can't just go and tell Keller that she's going to be engaged. Look at her! She's practically gobsmacked!"

"Hmmm. She does look kind of green," his grandmother admonished, searching my face from afar with her icy blue eyes. "But she'll get used to it. I choose her to be the next marchioness, not some ninny you just choose at some ridiculous pub every evening in here and in England!"

Frederick was about to say something again, when his grandmother barked, "Cease, Frederick!"

"But I didn't --"

"Hush, boy," she ordered, waving her cane in the air, making Michael duck perfectly with a completely blank expression on his face. I should have known more. There was something in his silver eyes that was dark and deep. I couldn't tell what that implied, but hell, I was dumbstruck here.

The dowager strode toward me while Michael walked to the fireplace, his forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You," his grandmother pointed at me with her hand again, "are perfect. You seem like the chit who has a lot of fire and spirit. I like that."

When she'd said the words, it had seemed like she was actually satisfied, but she didn't smile. She was all...glower and cold animosity and power. "I am sure you and my grandson will get along very well -- eventually."

I gulped, staring at Frederick in horror. "Frederick?" I whispered, horrified.

Yeah, Frederick was hot and all, and he was the All-Around Nice Guy of San Ricardo, but me marrying him? Ew! I thought he was starting his moves on Viv or something!

Geez, this was even worse than I thought.

"No, you ninnyhead," the dowager ground out, tapping her cane. I heard Frederick pull in a breath. I looked down on the ground slowly.

The end if the dowager's cane landed squarely on top of his shoe. That was painful.

"...marry him. Well? Speak up, young lady!"

"What?" I asked, snapping my head to face her with wide eyes. "I didn't hear you."

She gave a long exhale through her nose, glaring at me. "It is 'I beg your pardon,' Miss Blakely. And what I said is that it is not Frederick whom you will marry! He is not on the verge of disinheritance, Michael is. Michael is the marquess. Have I made myself very clear inside your head?"