"Her hand is not up for grabs, and if you really want to give it a shot, then grow a pair and ask her yourself. Or you can run on home to Mama Delacroix and tell her to stop being such a bitch about her daughter's life." His fists raise again. "She's not fucking cattle to be bartered or traded or sold or won, listing off her qualities like you're describing a pedigree dog. Fine. We can duel right here and now. Nut up or shut up."