Unchosen Crown

SOMETHING TO REMEMBER

The narrow streets of London were a labyrinth of grayish bricks, their mossy joints evoking centuries past. A biting wind blew, making dry leaves dance in whirlwinds at the feet of Oliver and Sofia. She walked beside him, her cheeks and nose rosy from the cold, but her blue eyes sparkled warmly as she talked incessantly. Her breath formed clouds of vapor that dissipated in the cold morning air.

"Matteo hates winter," Sofia said, her clear voice breaking the silence. "He hides behind me as if he weren't three times my size."

"Oh, I know that drama well," replied Oliver, rubbing his cold hands together. He could already mentally savor the warmth of a hot drink. "Lana used to curl up at my feet, under the covers."

"Lana?" Sofia's eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"Yeah, I didn't tell you? Lana is my dog," Oliver explained, watching her nod. "A six-year-old golden retriever living in Kensington."

"They tend to be clingy, don't they?" Sofia said, a nostalgic smile lighting up her face. "It's the best thing."

As they approached the coffee shop, the aroma of freshly baked bread and freshly ground coffee enveloped them in a comforting embrace. Sofia chatted animatedly about trivialities, her company strangely pleasant on that icy winter morning.

They settled at one of the modest tables in the establishment, the steaming cups offering a welcome relief to the cold that penetrated their bones. As they talked, Oliver noticed Sofia's eyes darting restlessly over his face, as if she were gathering the courage to say something. She picked up the knife and began cutting the lemon pie, each movement revealing the tension in her expression.

"I heard you haven't visited any more suitors," she observed, her voice tinged with something that almost sounded like hope. Her eyes seemed to want to decipher a code in Oliver's gaze, but he looked away, letting them get lost in the ceramics of the plate.

"It seems she has everything decided, doesn't it?" Oliver said, the sarcasm evident in his words. He kept his eyes away from hers; Sofia seemed to read people better than anyone reads a book, and he was far from being a light read.

"And you?" Her question came as a challenge, laden with a palpable determination that made Oliver shudder inside.

"Sofia," he let out a sigh, rolling the words in his mouth before releasing them. "I don't know what you think about this situation, but for me, things are a bit more complicated than a simple signature on a paper and a marriage of convenience."

A brief silence settled, broken only by the sound of the fork touching the plate.

"Oh," she said after a while, her expression opening in understanding. "You already have someone, don't you?"

"I..." Oliver froze, each unspoken syllable floating in the space between them, but his response hid in the silence. Impatient, Sofia rolled her eyes to the ceiling and laughed softly.

"Please, Oliver, your face says it all," she sighed, aware that denying it would be useless. "Who is she?"

Oliver took a sip of coffee, a pause that gave his thoughts a chance to reorganize.

"She..." he began, allowing himself a smile. "She's not exactly noble, if you know what I mean."

"That shouldn't be a problem in this century," Sofia said, with the nonchalance of someone tossing their hair over their shoulders, but her eyes didn't stop scrutinizing Oliver's expression.

"My grandmother would vehemently disagree," he replied, keeping the tone light, almost playful, to ward off the truth that, for them, time seemed to have stopped in the era of masquerade balls. "Besides, there are other complications that prevent us from being together."