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It’s not that crowds make me uncomfortable, exactly. It’s just that I feel like I don’t belong here. Sure, my family has royal lineage. We have lands and titles and an official royal invitation to the Christmas Ball.
But my gown is rented. I don’t have sapphires dripping down my neck, and I only know the names of most people here because I’ve studied pictures of them. Just like the staff.
But the worst part is that every time Count Gregory speaks, his eyes snaking down my body in a way that makes me feel ill, all I can do is think of my sister.
She’s marrying him.
The beautiful, elegant ballerina is marrying a creepy old Count who can’t keep his eyes to himself.
It just… It makes me feel sick. Clearly.
The restroom door opens, and my childhood best friend walks through. Rhoda is tall and graceful, with hair like spun gold. She’s wearing a cobalt gown that makes her deep-blue eyes sparkle.
“Ada.” She smiles, spreading her arms. “I saw you rushing in here a few minutes ago. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” I answer, standing up to give my friend a quick squeeze. I haven’t seen Rhoda in about a year. Ever since we graduated from college, we’ve tried to stay in touch—but life tends to get in the way. We’ve drifted apart.
I pull away, shaking my head. “You look amazing.”
“Got rid of my dorky aesthetic once I graduated college,” she laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. A massive diamond engagement ring glitters on her finger. Wait…Rhoda’s engaged?
I gasp. “Rhoda!”
“Oh, this?” She looks at her finger, smiling.
“Who is he?”
She holds out her hand as I lean over her ring, watching how the light catches every facet cut into the stone. When I look up, Rhoda smiles. “It’s the Duke of Harbor. We’re having an engagement party next week. You should have received the invitation already.”
“The Duke of Harbor?” I frown, pulling away. “He’s nearly seventy years old.”
“Ain’t nothin’ but a number,” she says, laughing, but the light doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sixty-two,” she adds. “Hardly almost seventy.”
My chest clenches. A lump grows in my throat. It hurts to swallow past it. “Congratulations.”
Rhoda gives me a tight smile, nodding. “Thank you. It’s a good match. My family is pleased.”
A good match.
I nod. “And you?”
“Me, what?”
“Are you pleased?” I ask, tilting my head.
Rhoda’s cheeks grow red and she ducks her head to the side, pulling out a bullet of lipstick from her clutch. “He’s kind to me. And he cares about animals.”
“Will you be able to finish your PhD? He’s from another generation, Rhoda. He might not approve of you staying in school after the marriage.”
Rhoda shrugs. “He’ll have to. I only have a year left before I defend my dissertation.”
Forcing a smile, I sling my arm around Rhoda’s waist. “I’m happy for you,” I lie.
The truth is, I’m not happy for her. I feel sick. She’s just like my sister—marrying an older man just to make her family happy. Is this what our world has come to? Court life dictates a lot of our actions, but we’re not living in the Middle Ages. I thought we’d moved past arranged marriages and good matches.
Swallowing down bile—I will not throw up again—I fluff my hair in the mirror. “My sister’s supposed to marry Count Gregory.”
Rhoda’s hand pauses, the lipstick hovering near her lips. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and a veil of sadness covers her face. “Oh.”
