It's a fact that you can't help who you fall in love with. And for Rosaline Davenport and him, it definitely shouldn't have been each other.
Because, sometimes, love stories have blood on them.
[warning: this is the mother of all slow-burns]
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【 02.
Two
Nazar 】
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[ Nazar • sight ]
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CAMERA FLASHES BEGIN to engulf her vision, and Rosaline Davenport shields her eyes from the blinding light, one hand flying to her face whilst the other digs its fingers into her father's guiding arm. The only thing that protects his flesh from being scarred is the sleeve of the shirt and the heavy coat he’s wearing, blocking Rose’s manicured nails from biting into his skin and leaving red indents there.
It’s not that cold, not when Rose is used to harsh England winters and constant downpour, but she feels the slight shivers that seize her body every ten seconds or so.
She’s appalled, to say the least. Whilst it remains true that her father used to be the mayor and has long since ascended to the status of congressman, Rose has never truly understood how widely known the Davenport name is. She thinks she has some sort of clue now, though.
With all the media coverage this New Year’s Eve event seems to be receiving, Rose figures politicians in the States are the equivalent of the Royals back in the United Kingdom. She remembers always stumbling across some headline about them when she was there—once it was news of one of the family members giving birth to their first child while she was seated in the cafeteria of her University and staring at the television screen mounted on the wall out of boredom.
Another time, it was about what kind of dress a particular royal member wore and what exact shade of blue it was. Rose found it so ridiculous that, to this day, she can clearly remember it happened during one of her shifts in the hospital, where she was serving out her internship and had caught a glimpse of the article’s bold heading while one of the visitors read the morning paper in the lobby.
It is insane—but she has experienced no such thing in her twenty-five years of life. And maybe Rose can admit there’s a small part of her that revels in all this attention, that finds a secret thrill in the way at least half of the cameras present at the entrance of the seven-star hotel seem to be aimed in her direction.
She’s the one whose name used to be passed around in murmurs, the one whose existence was beginning to be questioned, the infamous child of Charles and Isabelle Davenport who was rumoured to be shipped to a boarding school in England, away from the watchful eyes of the media.
But here she is now—Rosaline Davenport is finally here, after eighteen years of being invisible in another continent, coming to life in front of Chicago’s rich and elite in that classic Davenport style.
