Between our hands

Chapter 68: Under the World's Gaze

The warmth of the day enveloped the site of the ongoing royal projects, and the air vibrated with palpable tension. The work was progressing, a testament to the country’s determination to rebuild after years of crisis. As Maëlle and Samy moved through the various sections of the tour, they were greeted by an unexpected crowd. The flashes of cameras crackled, curious murmurs rose, and soon, a sea of journalists surrounded them.

It was a surprise. Maëlle, though prepared for official interactions and royal protocols, had not anticipated the magnitude of the international attention this project would attract. She knew the reconstruction initiatives in partnership with the monarchy were crucial, but the media coverage they generated far exceeded her expectations. Journalists of various nationalities, wielding microphones emblazoned with prestigious TV logos, asked questions loudly, trying to catch her eye.

Maëlle’s face remained serene, but inside, she was on guard. Every gesture, every word could be analyzed and dissected by this horde of reporters. She glanced at Samy. Always by her side, he offered her a discreet smile, a simple gesture that brought a bit of comfort amidst the tide of inquisitive stares. Their hands brushed inadvertently, a light contact but one laden with meaning for both of them. It was their secret, a silent promise of mutual support.

However, the subtlety of these gestures did not escape the journalists. Their gazes grew more attentive, scrutinizing every interaction between them. The brushes of their hands, the exchanged glances, the fleeting smiles, all seemed to spark murmurs of speculation among the reporters, some of whom jotted down hasty notes.

“How is it that international journalists are here, in a country that’s usually little covered by the media?” Maëlle asked, addressing a journalist who seemed less aggressive than the others. He had salt-and-pepper hair, thin glasses, and held a notebook rather than a camera, standing out amid the surrounding technological frenzy.

The journalist offered an understanding, almost indulgent smile. “You underestimate the impact of what’s happening here. Your story is captivating the entire world. It’s rare to see a royal family emerge from such a remote and modest region to play such a pivotal role in stabilizing a crisis-stricken country. People are curious. They want to know how a family of French origin, with a humble history, can change the fate of a nation. Your involvement inevitably draws the world’s spotlight.”

Maëlle listened attentively. This transformation, this rapid shift to an increasingly public and influential role, had been swift, almost dizzying. She realized then that her story, that of her family, transcended borders and fascinated far beyond what she had imagined. This revelation touched her more deeply than she had expected. She was no longer simply a woman searching for answers; she was becoming a public figure, a symbol of hope for a country in reconstruction. This awareness, heavy with responsibility, crossed her mind.

Beside her, Samy, ever watchful, caught her gaze. A simple smile, a slight nod. He didn’t need to speak for her to understand: he was there, every step of the way, ready to support her. Maëlle briefly squeezed his hand, a discreet yet emotionally charged gesture. Their bond, still kept secret, was beginning to become visible, and even the furthest journalists seemed to perceive this budding closeness.

As they tried to continue their tour of the construction sites, the journalists pressed forward, becoming more insistent. Questions flew from all directions, sometimes drowning out serious discussions with the project managers. “Miss, any comment on the ongoing reforms?” one asked. “Your relationship with your bodyguard seems particularly close, what can you tell us about that?” added another.

Maëlle remained calm, but the commotion began to disrupt the visit’s proceedings. The journalists, unable to moderate themselves, made communication with the local teams difficult, and Maëlle, despite her efforts, struggled to follow the engineers’ and managers’ explanations.

Samy, whose patience was beginning to wear thin, stepped forward firmly. “You need to make less noise; we are here to work, not to answer your personal questions.” His voice was calm but carried authority. However, the journalists, instead of complying with his request, chuckled. Their curious gazes turned to amusement. “Hey, relax, we’re just doing our job!” one of them quipped sarcastically.

Maëlle, sensing the atmosphere growing tense, gently placed a hand on Samy’s arm. “Let them be,” she whispered. But Samy could no longer contain his frustration. “You need to respect what we’re doing here!” he exclaimed, finally raising his voice. “This isn’t a distraction; it’s the future of this country you’re covering, so act more professionally.”

A tense silence fell. Samy’s tone had struck a chord, and the journalists, surprised by his firmness, finally calmed down. The effect was immediate, and Maëlle, taking advantage of the quiet, turned to Samy with an amused yet tender look. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you lose your patience like that,” she whispered with a smile. “It’s almost adorable.”

Samy, soothed by Maëlle’s teasing, cracked a smile, letting the tension within him subside. The journalists, despite the restored order, observed this interaction with renewed interest, noting every gesture, every expression.

As they resumed their walk through the sites, Maëlle couldn’t help but notice the scrutinizing gazes. She felt the attention weighing on them, and this time, there was no avoiding the questions.

Finally, a voice rose from the crowd of journalists. “Miss, could you tell us about your relationship with the guard? You seem very close.”

Maëlle smiled. She knew this question would resurface. Glancing at Samy with a knowing look, she decided to play it with humor. “Oh, Samy? He’s mainly here to remind me where I left my keys.” Laughter rippled through the crowd of journalists, who seemed to appreciate the lighthearted response.

Another, more daring, pressed on: “And what about your hands being held so often? Is that a symbolic gesture?”

Maëlle didn’t let herself get rattled. “Oh, that? It’s just to make sure he doesn’t get lost in all these corridors. He has a tendency to wander!”

The journalists laughed heartily, but Maëlle, while playing with levity, knew it was time to steer the conversation back. “More seriously, I’m delighted that you’re here to cover the progress of our projects. The improvements we’re implementing are crucial for this country’s future.”

The inquisitive gazes softened, and the questions began to focus on the technical aspects of the projects. Maëlle, satisfied with this shift, regained control of the situation.

However, in the background, a small figure was making its way through the crowd. A little girl, dressed in a pink dress, approached Maëlle, timidly tugging on her skirt. “Is the tall man your husband?” she asked with disarming innocence.

Maëlle, amused by the question, gently leaned toward her. “I’ll let you in on a secret, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?” The little girl nodded enthusiastically, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Samy is my sweetheart, but it’s a secret,” Maëlle whispered with a playful wink.

The girl burst out laughing, delighted by the confidence. As she walked away, a mischievous smile on her lips, Maëlle straightened up, meeting Samy’s amused gaze. They continued their tour, ignoring the journalists who resumed asking intrusive questions.