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There’s no wow, it’s nice to finally see you, how are you? Or what are you taking in school? What have you been up to in the last four years?
I’d say I’m shocked, but this is exactly why I left. It’s always business with them. Part of me wonders if they weren’t royalty, would things be different?
That’s not to say we have no good memories together, because we do, but they’re few and far between.
“What would you like to discuss?” I ask, noting how I sound different to myself.
My father takes a sip of tea, eyeing me like he’s happy with the transformation of my “American” appearance.
“You look amazing, dear.” My mother fills in the silence, always the one to avoid conflict with compliments.
“It’s not really my style, but thanks,” I tell her bluntly. If they thought I was coming back without a voice, they were so very wrong.
“It is how Jacques wants you. He likes the old Camille best, the sophisticated one who will be ready to become his wife and bear his children. Not the wild girl you were in America,” my father retaliates, making bile rise in my throat.
Bear his children? There’s not a universe in which that man is touching me. I don’t care if I’m legally his wife. He can find a mistress for all I care. I’m just here to protect my country and my man.
“I don’t quite care what Jacques likes,” I mutter, earning a glare from my father.
“Oh, I am so happy my little girl is finally getting married. I’ve dreamed of planning your wedding since you were born.” My mother gleams, interrupting the tension as she sets her teacup on the table.
“The seamstress will be here in twenty minutes to alter the dress I’ve picked out for you. After that, you have meetings with our head of public relations to figure out how to announce your arrival to the country, and then you need a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow at eleven a.m. is the big day. The wedding will be here in the great hall. You should take a peek at it when you get the chance,” she prattles on, losing me with every word she says.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Tears want to burst from deep within me, but there’s no time for crying apparently.
“Where are my brothers?” I interrupt her because if I am home, that would be the one positive to all of this.
“Simon and Antoine are meeting with Jacques to make sure the wedding contract is all set. Mathéo is at a fundraiser event. You’ll see them all tomorrow at the wedding,” my father supplies. “I must go now. I have a meeting to attend to. Thank you for returning. Your country will thank you for it.” His words pull on my heartstrings, knowing exactly where to hit me the hardest.
“Now that he’s gone, let us talk, just ladies.” My mother scoots closer, leaning toward me over the table. “Do you know what happens between a lady and a man once they’re wedded?”
Is she serious right now?
A laugh bubbles out of my throat because of course my mother never gave me that talk growing up. I had the conversation with my maid. The staff here taught me more than either of my parents did.
“I’m not a virgin, Mother, don’t you worry.” And I’m not screwing Jacques either, I add mentally.
My mother coughs at my comment, dabbing her lips with a napkin as her cheeks pinken. “The dress I got you is lovely. It’s a traditional silk gown w—”
“I don’t care, Mother,” I shout, startling her. “I don’t want any of this. The dress, Jacques, or to look like this. I’m here for my country and to protect the person I love. Let’s get that settled right now.”
She straightens in her seat, the tucking of her bottom lip beneath her teeth telling me she’s not happy.
“I don’t know where we went wrong raising such an ungrateful child. You should be shouting from the rooftops about this. Jacques is a good man, far better than you deserve after what you’ve done to us.”
Her hateful words are like a slap across my face, stinging as they seep into me. Except they don’t fill me with sadness, rather anger. But I won’t give her that either. She doesn’t deserve any part of me.
Instead, I stand and smooth my blazer down. “It’s great to be home.” I give her my fakest smile and curtsy. “I’ll be in my room. Tell the seamstress to meet me there.”
I leave with that, not sparing her a second glance as I slam the door and run to my old room on the second floor.
My hand claps on the silver handle once I get there, pushing the double doors open. My old room comes into view. Pale gray walls, white porcelain floors, a four-poster bed with white sheets and white pillows. My white vanity and a shelf of classic books I’ve never touched in my life but my mother insisted needed to be there still stand in the corner.
I close the door behind me and walk to the shelf, pick up a book by Charlotte Brontë, and whip it against the wall. I do the same with another classic, throwing every single book at the wall until they lie in a heap on the ground.
I don’t realize I’m crying until a tear drips down my chin. My knees finally give out, and I slowly sink to the cold floor, curling up into a ball as sobs rack my body. With my eyes closed, I think of Ryker, but it only makes me cry harder. I wonder how he reacted… or maybe he didn’t even care? Maybe he’s glad I left, making our agreement that much easier to end.
