Page 53 of Hawthorne

“I am in charge of organising it.”

Dear Lord. She’ll make my life a living hell, that's for sure.

“No.”

It’s not enough that it'll be my first Christmas all alone, I’ll have to be working under her orders.

“It’s non-negotiable.”

“Why are you adamant in doing this?” Vincent questions, seemingly aggravated.

“Oh, I’ll invite Eleanor. She’ll be delighted to see you again.”

She’s avoiding the subject…and who isEleanor?

“No. We broke up years ago and for a good reason. Let’s just leave it at that.”

She huffs but doesn’t seem to push the subject “I also came here for another reason. Word has come to me that the king’s wife is three months pregnant.”

“That’s amazing.”

I can hear the happiness in his voice from here. But why? That means he won’t be king. Does that make him happy?

“No, it isn’t. It means you continue to just be a duke,” she whines before starting on a full-on ramble. “And that’s more of a reason for us to establish our influence in the court. Our partyhas to be perfect and the biggest so far. Also, seeing you with Eleanor again will give everyone the idea that you’re settling down and will probably get married soon, securing your legacy—with heirs!”

My hand flies out to my mouth, trying to contain any involuntary sound that might come out. Her words race through my brain, registering the information.

Him getting married and having an heir. That’s what his mother wants to secure for him: a legacy.

It makes sense, and it’s exactly what’s expected of him, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t pierce right through my heart.

The last couple of days have made me forget the reality of Vincent’s life and our…situation.

It’s only lust and desire. Fleeting. Not for the long haul—at all.

So why does it bother me so much just thinking about it? No matter how true it is and how seeped it is into my brain, it always bothers me. It always deflates me.

It’s a fact—an important one that will define everything in the end—that tends to disappear from my mind whenever he’s around me, clouding my common sense.

“Mother, please. If I am not to be king, let me do things my way. You and Father have prepared me for this ever since I learned how to walk. Do have a little faith in me.”

“Alright. Alright, my dear.”

“Camilla?” Mariah’s low voice catches my attention. “What are you doing?” She quirks an eyebrow at my body plastered against the wall, right next to the division where the duke and his mother are.

“I was resting for a couple of minutes,” I lie. “I barely slept last night. I am facing the aftermath of a restless night.”

That is slightly more truthful.

“Want me to take over you for a couple of hours while you nap?” she asks, concerned.

This girl is too good and too innocent.

“No, the duchess is here,” I admit. “Maybe after she leaves. Thank you so much.”

“Oh, yeah!” She shudders. “That woman terrifies me,” she whispers as we head to the kitchen. “I envy your courage.”

I smile in understanding but don’t answer her. One thing Aunt Lizzie taught me from the start is that people can be cruel, and it doesn’t matter where they come from. We may never know a person completely, fully.

---