Page 128 of Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast

Chairs scraped. Grandma’s cane crashed to the floor. Veronica rose as well, keeping a hand on her chest. The pianist hit several wrong notes before yanking her hands from the keys. The room’s attention shifted on us like some horrific spotlight.

My temperature skyrocketed. All at once, I was twelve years old again, standing in front of the lunchroom as Clarissa Whiteman slammed my tray to the floor for something I’d said. Food had sprayed everywhere, and ketchup had splattered my new white shoes.

My face was impossibly hot. I braced myself on the chair that had caused the chaos in the first place, its owner apologizing profusely.

I smiled at the middle-aged man in his tux, telling him it was okay, before turning my attention back to the Hawthornes. Mrs. Hawthorne and Veronica sank into their seats, eying Duncan and me warily.

Duncan tilted toward his grandma with his hands outstretched. “Are you okay?”

Grandma Hawthorne nodded at him and then shot a dark glance in my direction.

“Are you this clumsy in everything you do, Miss Astor?”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

Worse, though, was that the woman had sounded exactly like Duncan used to: condescending and questioning my sanity.

No wonder he’d behaved the way he did for so long, if this was what he’d had to put up with during his formative years.

The more I stood here, the more I disliked his family. Embarrassment struck my cheeks. I was put on the spot, and the insult of being “clumsy” wasn’t the only one being lashed in my direction.

After the lunch tray incident in junior high, I’d run crying from the room and called my mom to be picked up. Mom had. She’d taken me out for ice cream and given me the best advice:

“Never let anyone else tell you what you’re worth,” she said. “If you know in and of yourself that you’re special, no one else can take that from you.”

I wasn’t twelve anymore. And that advice had gotten me through more than one tough situation.

It came in handy now.

Never mind what these horrible people thought of me. I was special. I was amazing. And it didn’t matter if they recognized that or not, because I knew it—and that was enough.

Duncan slid the chair into the table and took my face in his hands. He trailed his thumbs across my cheeks.

“What about you? Are you okay?”

“It was an accident,” I said, warmed by his kindness and attention. “My foot caught on the chair.”

His grandma spoke so loudly, everyone in the close vicinity turned toward us. “See that your foot goes where it should next time. You nearly broke my nose.”

Duncan stroked my cheek a final time, his warm eyes concerned and full of apology. I nodded to him, letting him know I was all right.

He then turned and knelt by his grandma’s chair. “She wouldn’t have broken your nose, Grandmother.”

Grandma’s glower shifted to him. “I thought I told you to make something of your life, yet here I see you holding hands with your clumsy assistant. What do you mean by all of this? Are you trying to kill me, too, just like you killed your grandfather?”

My mouth dropped.

She didn’t.

Veronica inhaled and sank back into her chair. Beverly Hawthorne did the same. She placed a hand on her mother-in-law’s arm, but Grandma shooed her away.

“Grandmother,” Duncan said with a plea. “Not here.”

“You’re a disgrace,” his mom piped in beside her mother-in-law. Apparently, she didn’t like being dismissed any more than I did. And she was about to take it out on her son.

Mrs. Hawthorne folded her arms.

“You’re behaving like a boy instead of a man, bringing a woman here who only wants you for your money.”

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