When Queen Isabelle offers me a deal to fake an engagement with the Crown Prince, my first instinct is to laugh. I must be hallucinating-blame it on the tea. But as her words sink in, I realize the potential boost this could bring to my tech company...
"Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray." Rumi
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Three days until New Year's, and the mansion felt like a gilded cage. Its opulence pressed in on me, making the silence even heavier. I hadn't seen Alex since we arrived, and the grandiosity of the mansion did nothing to alleviate the tension. I'd spent most of my time in the gardens, which were meticulously maintained.
I dug my hands into the soil, sprinkling fertilizer around the flower beds. Claire, the maid assigned to me, had offered several protests. "You don't need to be working the earth," she said, but gardening was something I couldn't resist. It was the one thing I'd shared with my birth mom and later with my adoptive mom. Here, among the flowers, there was at least a sliver of comfort.
"Dinner is ready," Claire said, interrupting my solitude.
Another night of strained silence awaited. The dining room was a showcase of wealth: a long table, towering candelabras, and portraits of strangers gazing down with an air of disapproval. Alex and I sat at opposite ends of the table, the space between us stretching as far as the room itself. The lavish surroundings only heightened the awkwardness of our situation.
The staff moved silently, placing dishes before us. I glanced at the soup in front of me, steam rising in thin spirals. My stomach was in knots, and the sight of the food did nothing to ease the discomfort. Every clink of cutlery and rustle of the staff seemed exaggerated in the oppressive silence.
Alex kept his attention fixed on his plate. I could see him from the corner of my eye, his movements precise and mechanical. He wasn't looking at me, and I wasn't looking at him. The space between us felt like a chasm filled with all the things we weren't saying.
"Is everything to your satisfaction?" a staff member asked, but neither of us answered. The question hung in the air, an unspoken acknowledgment of our disconnection.
I forced myself to taste the soup, but the blandness matched the lack of conversation. Alex's fork clattered against his plate, each sound sharp in the quiet room. The only noise was the occasional murmur from the staff and the distant crackle of the fire. I managed a small, strained smile when I nodded to them.
Alex pushed his plate away, his gaze fixed straight ahead. The firelight flickered across his face, and the silence stretched between us like a thick fog.
"I'm surprised we haven't had any snow," Alex said, breaking the silence.
I stared at the wall, his comment feeling almost absurd. I pushed my plate away, my appetite lost to the unease of the evening. I glanced at the portraits, their painted eyes seeming to scrutinize our awkward silence.
"Days of not speaking to me, and now you want to talk about the weather?" I said, my frustration leaking out. The intensity of my anger caught me off guard. "Seriously?"
