Page 124 of Hawthorne

“I just–” I pause, not knowing what to say. “Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm, and I know something’s wrong. “Are things alright for tonight?”

“I wanted to tell you the flowers came out wrong. Your mother had ordered red, and only white came.”

His gaze flew down to his hands, and he answers, “No. It’s correct. She changed her mind last minute. It’s white she wants.”

“Oh…”

Why is he so cold and distant? After last night, I thought...

I finally opened my heart to him and admitted my feelings, knowing full well how easily he could destroy me. And instead of proving me wrong, it seems as if he’s doing just that.

“Is that all?” he asks, grabbing his pen.

A frown etches onto my face, and his gaze quickly moves away from me. He can’t even look me in the eyes for long. It could be the stress getting to him, but that has happened in the past, and it never affected the way he interacts with me.

Something’s not right…

“Yes,” I answer, trying to sound as emotionless as possible.

Straightening my back, I stand and head for the door. My eyes burn, and my throat constricts, but I will not give him the satisfaction of a tear. I am strong, and Mrs Hawthorne taught me better than to let a man control my life.

And just like she taught me, my body goes into autopilot mode, taking care of everything for the gala. Once everything is set up and guests start to arrive, I disappear into my room.

I was going to attend out of courtesy and respect for Vincent, but after the way he treated me, the last thing I want is to be present and be dealt nothing but cold shoulders.

Do not let emotions rule your decisions.Elizabeth’s words ring in my head, giving me a new surge of strength to endure whatever is meant to happen tonight.

With newfound courage, I get ready. Minimum but classical makeup adorns my face. Then, I choose an elegant golden gown to go with it. It clings to my chest with delicate and thick straps falling from my shoulders onto my arms. The bottom is A-shaped, hugging my hips until it flows to the ground.

I look good, amazing even. But I feel anything but.

Nonetheless, I leave my room with a straightened, stiff back and high chin.

The gala is beautiful and so well done, and even though I wasn’t responsible for anything specific, I am glad I was able to help make it happen.

Faces are all I see, some I have become accustomed to, others not so much. The main hall is full, classical musing playing in the back and the lights dimmed just a notch, giving it the right ambience.

“You look beautiful, Camilla,” a husky voice whispers, but it’s not the one I was expecting.

Turning around, I come face to face with Vincent’s younger brother.

“Edgar.” I smile at him, knowing it doesn’t reach my eyes.

“What’s troubling you, my dear?” He frowns, concern covering his features.

“Nothing,” I try to reassure him.

“Well, whatever is making you sad, it’s time to let it go. Tonight, we party.” He offers me his arm, and I gladly take it.

Edgar is cunning, and I am almost sure he knows what’s troubling me. Usually, he convinces me to talk it out and gives me good advice. This time, he seems to be avoiding the subject, and I don't know if, for once, I should be relieved he let me be or concerned that it's so serious he’s willing to let it go.

He pulls me to the dancefloor, and I don’t protest. Dancing is not my forté, but Edgar’s the type of person it’s hard to say no to. He’s open, funny, and charming—the total opposite of his brother. I like to think we’ve become good friends and that he’s someone I can trust in the middle of all of the fake façades that run around this court.

He guides me, twirling and dipping me for three long songs, making me laugh quite a few times. A few people stop and lookat us with smiles on their faces, probably wanting to be or look as carefree as we do.

It’s fleeting, only for a few minutes, but that’s what Edgar conveys. Blitheness

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