Page 8 of Undecided Heiress

I push past him and catch a glimpse of her emerald gown turning down a hallway. “Anna!” I shout, running after her. I trip and fall on the long, ornate rug with a thud. Her footsteps halt, and a moment later, the hem of her dress comes into view. “I’m sorry. I can’t marry her.”

As I push myself up to my knees, she sits beside me on hers. “If we want to preserve the story, you have to. Someone warned me it could change our reality. At first, I thought maybe it meant I needed to stop the wedding. But… I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not a side character or even a character the author mentions in passing. I don’t exist.”

I pull to my feet and help her up, not letting go of her hands. “Anna, this is all make believe; a fantasy. When we wake up, I need to be sure you’re still in our world. Story be damned.” Bringing her palm to my lips, I speak against her soft skin. “It may be a dream, but I can’t lose you.”

“No matter what happens, it’s just that—a dream. When we wake up, we’ll have that dinner you promised. None of this is real, even if the book is.”

I’m too scared to risk it. Rushed footsteps approach, and with no knowledge of when or if I’ll see her again, I cup the back of her neck and bring her lips to mine. It’s unlike the other kisses we’ve shared, almost as if it’s… No. This isn’t goodbye. We may not be real, but I refuse to believe this is the end.

She’s mine.

Anna pulls away from me as three men appear behind her, and she whispers, “I’m sorry, Prince James.” They help her to her feet, and in an instant, my heart breaks into a thousand pieces, tossed onto the damn rug I tripped on. “You have to marry Eliza.”

Thinking back to the original dream, I was only meant to marry Eliza so that my fictional brother wouldn’t inherit the throne.

What if this isn’t my story? What if it’s his?

Anna

“What was that about?” my mother seethes. “I thought we were stopping the wedding so that you two could marry.”

The carriage ride home has been a solid twenty minutes of her ranting and raving about how I’ve failed her as a daughter and how no man will have me after what happened at the wedding. I pity all the women who lived in this era; why are we glorifying it in books and movies? If my books are correct—and they probably aren’t—her logic is extremely flawed. If I were truly her daughter, having once been engaged to a prince would be leverage to marry a lord, duke, or any other desirable match.

It’s not as if anyone knows what happened on that piano.

While I was asleep, James must’ve made himself busy setting everything up before I woke up, somehow convincing every character in the book that Eliza was destined to be his wife. Based on how he acted when I saw him, I don’t believe that to be the case; someone else could be in here, pulling the strings.

And then, there‘s the ominous warning from Kathryn…

Fiction and reality are mixing in a way I’m no longer comfortable with. “Mama, remind me, when was the wedding announced?”

Before she can answer, the carriage stops, and someone speaks to the coachmen for a moment. Both of us sit silently and flinch as the door flings open, and a man demands, “Miss Anna, you must come with us at once.”

“Under whose authority?” my mother growls, and I’m enjoying the feistiness that she doesn't usually have in the book.

“Prince James’s request.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I grumble under my breath, careful no one may overhear. “We’ll take our own carriage,” I offer, but he holds the door wider. “Or… not?”

“Where my daughter goes, I go,” Mama insists, stepping out before me.

A coachman helps her get out, but in an instant, the door slams shut, and I hear a “yah” from the servant driving the carriage. I fall back further into my seat as the carriage moves and bumps quickly away from her. I make out her faint scream, but it quickly dissipates the further we ride away.

“Slow down!” I shout to the driver, holding on to the door of the carriage to remain seated.

The roads are rough, and if I’m not careful, my tits will bounce right out of my dress. It isn’t as if I could tell them, and he doesn’t slow the carriage until we reach the castle. By which point, I’m a dishevelled mess—nowhere near presentable for royalty. As I step out of the carriage, I don’t make it more than a step before James takes me in his arms, our lips crashing into each other as if I haven’t seen him in months.

I shouldn’t enjoy this quick rendezvous, but I can’t help myself. It’s feverish, and if he had his way, I’d be naked right here. The thought has my pussy wet with excitement. Giving in, I sigh against him as his tongue sweeps across mine. It’s foolish; he’s real, and when we wake up, he’ll expect this hot tryst of ours to continue. It was all fun and games when it was only a dream.

This is something else entirely.

The ground shakes beneath us, the same as it did the first time we were in this dream. A rumble comes from his chest as he speaks against my lips, “What do we do now?”

I pull back, hands braced on his chest and rush out, “This is our fault. It happens when we change the story.”

James takes my hand and ushers me inside as the quake subsides. He doesn’t stop, dragging me through the castle until we reach a bedroom. It clicks shut, and he locks us inside. “No one should find us here.”

“You think a bedroom is the best idea?” I cross my arms over my chest, but it only hoists my breasts higher in the corset, so I quickly pull them down, resting my hands on my hips instead.

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