Til Death

32. Frances

FRANCES

Wearing a hoodie over his nice clothes, somewhere in the world was probably giving Crawley a stroke. All that work and money just to hide it. Frances stopped caring. It was worth it to see Ignacio's smile. Ignacio smiled like a kid, all dimples, teeth and gums without regard for other people's judgement. 

Ignacio grabbed Frances's arm, giving it a squeeze so he'd be sure Frances was paying attention to Blake and Daniel strolling down the blue carpet. It'd be more difficult for Frances to stop watching him. Every expression felt new and different. Every word came as a surprise. Frances was simply fascinated. He wanted to show everything to Ignacio and then gauge his reaction.

"They're not asking the right questions," Ignacio grumbled, scowling at the press. It was all frantic and bright lights on this side while just beyond a rope, people were serenely strolling down a blue carpet while flecks of snow drifted from the clouds. Two different worlds. All their questions related to the wedding. Pretty standard stuff about décor and all the things that gave Frances hives.

"What should they be asking?" Frances asked.

"The RIGHT questions. Something more romantic. Who cares about wedding colors? The real story is them, at least it should be."

An idea popped into Frances's head and he grinned, taking Ignacio's hand off his arm and exchanging it for his hand. "Let's go. I know what we can do."

"Dangerous," Ignacio egged him on and there was bit more pep in Frances's step as he led Ignacio through the throng of reporters towards the very end. A younger woman, the only person wearing a Santa hat was basically hiding in the corner, hyperventilating or doing breathing exercises or something.

"She's the one," Frances decided and let Ignacio go to walk up to the reporter. "Excuse me, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Totally prepared. No worries—" Her voice caught in her throat as she met Frances's eyes. Magic for Frances felt like striking a match, causing his magic to burst and then burn inside his veins as if blood was still fresh on his tongue. His eyes flashing red, his words came out like slow running honey and he watched this girl's eyes go cloudy and her face slacked.

"I have a question you can ask the prince and Blake Winslow... ask Blake first 'What was the moment where you realized you wanted to marry the prince?' Don't let them get away with a vague answer."

"I'll ask them," the reporter echoed his accent at first, until she blinked out of her stupor. "Yes. That's good. I'll ask them that..." she whispered, nodding to herself and facing the guests walking the carpet again.

"How's that question?" Frances turned around, checking for Ignacio's approval. He found Ignacio to already be staring at him, lips parted in half surprise and half awe. It was a look that suggested he'd like to know the answer for himself from Frances to him.

Ignacio eventually choked out, "Um, yes. That will do nicely."

They still waited for Daniel and Blake to come through the line of reporters, wearing plastic smiles that only Frances and Ignacio could recognize. Blake seemed better prepared this time around. Not overwhelmed by every camera flash or question.

Until Frances's star reporter.

The fake princely façade crumbled as the romantic microscope narrowed in on Blake, he was caught off guard enough to talk less like a robot with recorded answers, but with a genuine blush and with Daniel dreamily staring at him. The distance between the fiancés lessened and Frances felt like it was a job well done.