"Was that absolutely necessary?" Oliver gestured dramatically as he sneaked behind Sofia, who was occupying a gaudy, conspicuously comfortable golden chair next to him, fit for a period movie with a dubious budget. With a sigh, Sofia exhaled a restrained laugh, her words echoing through the adorned walls in a theatrical whisper.
"Oh, the elite simply loves extravagance that borders on the absurd." Sofia laughed softly, nearly choking on the pretentious wine as she tried to hide her amusement. They both remained there, mouths agape and eyebrows raised, watching a circus troupe whose ability to transform the Waldorf Astoria dining hall into a fantastically artistic spectacle was as impressive as it was questionable. There they were, representing none other than British nobility due to an unexpected and quite inconvenient mishap from the Queen.
"Do you have any idea how much this... eccentric performance costs?" Oliver murmured, grimacing as if he had tasted the concept of extravagance and found it unpleasant.
Sofia, always the voice of reason laced with sarcasm, sighed. "Exorbitant, no doubt," she agreed, "But Oliver, it's not like it's anything new for these people."
"It's absurd," protested Oliver, feeling a mix of fascination and horror as an acrobat, dressed in little more than bravery, performed a death-defying and indecent act just meters away from their shocked expressions. "This is more of a cardiac endurance test than entertainment."
"How about we escape for a bit?" Sofia proposed with a casualness that completely contrasted with the elegant chaos around. Oliver's panicked expression must have been a spectacle in itself.
"Escape? How?" he returned, incredulous.
With a smile worthy of a cinematic climax, Sofia reached over the table, intertwining her fingers with Oliver's in a complicity only the best partners share. "Simple. We have exactly sixty seconds to come up with a convincing excuse and leave before the Prime Minister approaches us with his theories about extraterrestrial life and the fuel crisis."
Oliver's furtive glance met the animated figure of the Prime Minister, the Right Honorable Lord Harrington, who — armed with his well-known conspiratorial theorems — waved at them with an enthusiasm that promised a long conversation.
"Damn, he's coming," Oliver whispered, forcing as natural a smile as possible towards the hurried Lord Harrington.
"Quick, make your best expression of discomfort," instructed Sofia, and Oliver, a master of dramatic art, contorted his face in a convincing display of discomfort.
With the skill of an actress about to take the stage, Sofia, firmly holding Oliver's hand in hers, positioned herself between him and the imminent arrival of Lord Harrington. The warm tone of her greeting sounded as genuine as possible.
"Ah, Lord Harrington," Sofia proceeded with a respectful voice. "What an honor to have you with us! However, I'm afraid we're facing a small setback." The distraction was evident, and Oliver, playing his part, tried to look as unwell as possible.
"Yes," he admitted, letting out a subtly theatrical groan. "I'm feeling a bit... indisposed."
The Prime Minister's expression registered sudden concern, a comical shift from his previous enthusiasm.
"Oh, but that's terrible," he exclaimed, placing a hand on his chest in a gesture of genuine sympathy. "We can't have our royal representative fall ill. Perhaps you two should retreat and rest."
"Your understanding is immensely appreciated," Sofia said gratefully. She then leaned subtly, her lips close to Oliver's ear, but loud enough for Lord Harrington to hear. "Let's just get some fresh air, perhaps a breeze will revive us."
YOU ARE READING
Unchosen Crown
RomanceUpon returning to England after the death of his father and the abdication of his older brother, Prince Oliver faces the greatest dilemma of his life: within six months, he must find a wife to maintain tradition and ensure the image of the monarchy...
