Felicia's vise-like grip on Micah's arm left no doubt who "thief" referred to.
"Thief," she repeated (to no one in particular).
Micah could not help but smile wryly. 'I guess a man does meet his destiny while trying to avoid it,' he mused as he waited for his accuser to justify herself.
She did not disappoint.
"Thief," she explained (again, to no one in particular).
It was at this point in Micah's life that he finally understood why some men found the lack of intelligence in women unattractive. It could, at times like this, pose quite the barrier to effective communication. "Ms," he began with strained civility as he tried (unsuccessfully) to shake her off, "you call me a thief, but what did I steal?"
Felicia rolled her eyes at what sounded like a pointless lie to her. It was a small thing, but more than enough to aggravate Micah. He didn't know what it was, but these rich brats just loved treating others like imbeciles.
'Jokes on you,' Micah thought, 'I've not stolen anything.' Indeed, he could proudly say he had not stolen anything in his life if his life only began after the age of sixteen.
"Ma'am, I ask that you substantiate your accusation with proof other than personal dislike." His injured pride was pacified when he noticed how his confidence seemed to give Felicia pause.
In reality, she was considering how she had no hands free to point at the proof—one was clutching her shopping haul and the other one was clutching her rival in love. 'If I can pin this on him and show the world who he is,' she thought, 'Adeline will never look at him with anything but disgust in her eyes!'
So, of course, Felicia was not letting go. Instead, she jerked her head to the side and pointed at the "evidence" with her nose.
The "evidence" was a prominently displayed tiara. Its central positioning in the showcase made no secret of its value. Light assaulted this masterpiece on all sides, as if the Blanchards did not want even one customer to leave the shop without noticing it. For good reason too. Regardless of the value of its materials (which was a lot), it was really quite lovely—cunningly wrought to mimic waves tipped with diamond drops that would sway when worn.
Lovely indeed, but not exactly incriminating.
It was Micah's turn to look at Felicia like she's a dolt. This time, Avery joined in. He arched an elegant eyebrow and deadpanned, "Yes, that is a tiara."
Feeling cornered, Felicia snapped, "That is a tiara that belongs to Adeline."
Now, Micah was truly offended. It's one thing to call him a thief. It's quite another to call him stupid. He had already spent so much "investing" in his relationship with Adeline. Why would he risk not just his sunk cost but his final goal—when it's already in sight and oh so close—over a goddamn tiara? Once married to Adeline, he could have all the tiaras he wanted.
Not that he, uh, wanted any.
Micah was so fixated over this slight that he overlooked the obvious. The diligent sales associate—a pretty brunette who, according to her name tag, went by Shirley—asked, "Ms Felicia, may we see Ms Adeline's proof of ownership?" Her tone was gentle, as if she was cajoling a particularly dumb and irritable toddler.
"No, not at the moment."
"Then," Avery concluded, "you have no proof."
Felicia turned to him, appalled. "Of course I do. This tiara is part of a matching set that belonged to the late Duchess Eleanor. She had gotten it from the estate sale of Elly Gwyn."
"That's still no proof at all," replied Avery. Micah wished he had the same confidence. Felicia's words were making him hesitate.
Adeline did collect the jewelry of dead celebrities, and Elly Gwyn was a well-known actress. She was famed more for her eight marriages to six men than her accomplishments on screen, but fame was fame. As to how Duchess Eleanor factored into the story… 'Well,' Micah reasoned, 'it's entirely possible that morbid inclinations can be inherited like titles.'
"It's true that I don't have evidence now, but whatever I've said so far is easily verifiable. The earrings and brooch from this set are surely still at Kellynich Castle. There's no reason for something so priceless to be in a shop like this."
Micah hated to admit it, but that's a fair assessment. He felt his stomach sink, and when he side-eyed Bezalel he could see that the older man was thinking of the same thing.
Micah wasn't stupid enough to steal from Adeline. That didn't mean no one else was. Weeks ago, someone had begged him for a temporary job at the castle. He did not really want to agree, but he had little reason to refuse. The Wellands were indeed short on manpower as they prepared for the wedding and the asker was something of a friend in need.
'Fuck you, Caleb Blanchard,' Micah cursed. He should've listened to his gut instincts when they reminded him that the youngest son of the youngest Blanchard triplet was a slimy piece of shit with sticky fingers. Caleb had promised that this time would be different, and Micah was beginning to see the similarities between himself and a woman who kept going back to an abusive ex because he said he'd change.
Felicia might be what the kids today would call a yandere, but she was (probably) not wrong.
Micah sighed, wondering how he could get Avery to back down. The more confident he was now, the harder it'd be to swallow his words later. It's not going to be an easy feat. Micah knew how difficult it was to get someone to walk away from provocations.
And right now Felicia was being provocative in all the wrong ways.
"Why," she demanded, "are you helping outsiders steal from your own family?"
"Listen," Avery answered as he walked close—threateningly close—to her and cracked a smile that showed his pointy canines, "listen, you silly wench. Listen carefully. It'll do you good to remember that your darling Adeline is not yet Duchess of Kellynich. It'll also do you good to remember even a spare like me has rights. One of those rights is the right to give Grandmama's tiara to the love of my life without being called a traitor."