Page 68 of His Beloved Princess
"Continue to tell yourself that." He stood and moved to the door, opening it for me. "If you have nothing else, I have to prepare for the press conference."
Before I could stop myself, the words flew out of me, putting me in an unenviable position. Yet I could only blame my idiotic mouth for being unable to stay shut.
"I'll do it," I muttered, my voice slightly wavering. "I'll make an official statement for the public."
"Are you sure?"Andreas raised his eyebrows in surprise, which was proof I’d caught him off-guard. He didn't expect me to suggest it. He definitely didn't want to push me into it either, but I couldn't take it back. A part of me wanted to do it like it was my duty to fulfill.
"Yes, I'm sure," was my response, even when I wasn't sure at all. But I couldn't back down if I ever dreamed of becoming Mrs. Thorn. In a situation like this, I had to be strong and do what was necessary. Bastian always cared for me; it was my turn to take care of him.
33
A Press Conference
Electra
"Fuck, you look like a mourning widow," Rosalind pointed out, standing next to me in front of the silver mirror. I rolled my eyes at her, adjusting the lacy collar of my black dress.
"Sorry for this, Electra, but I have to agree with Miss Bitchy here," Peter said apologetically, checking my appearance. "You look like you're going to announce his death."
"Oh, c'mon," I sighed, hiding my pale face behind my cold, sweaty palms. I was dying from nervousness. The outfit was the last thing on my mind.
"You need to look calm, collected, and a little more appealing," Rose continued, wrinkling her nose. I watched her from between my fingers, almost groaning in frustration.
I had to admit that the tight black dress with lacy sleeves and a high neckline would be good if I attended a funeral, yet it matched my feelings perfectly. Bastian's condition hadn’t improved, and much to my horror, the doctors were more often talking to us about possible brain damage and its consequences. They stopped giving him sedatives, hoping he would wake up, but it hadn't happened. He was officially in a coma, and no one knew how to help him.
"I'm none of thosethings, Miss Adeline," I whispered, straightening my spine. "Bastian may never open his eyes again. I'm sorry for not looking like an advertisement for a fun fair."
"You don't need to be looking like he's already dead either," she hissed, turning on her heels, leaving me in a small dressing room with a frowning Peter.
"Change that dress, Electra," he suggested gently, placing his hands on my shoulders and squeezing them in a supportive way. "You should present hope, not grief."
"How?" I breathed, tears falling from my eyes at least for the millionth time. "Heisdying."
I burst into tears, loud sobs escaping from my mouth. Peter instantly hugged me from behind and pressed me against his chest, holding me tightly while the pain, sorrow, and fear were trying to tear me apart.
"Don't lose faith, please," he begged, doing his best to calm me down, but it wasn't much use. In the back of my mind, I started to think maybe I needed medication. Every minute was getting harder to live through; days seemed longer and darker. I didn't see an end to this nightmare. The vortex of horrible things sucked me into their spiral, and I was drained from fighting it and from believing I would see a rainbow after the storm.
"Leave me alone, Pete," I whispered, wriggling to get out of his hold. He let me go, but he clearly disagreed with my demand.
"No." He shook his head resolutely, turning me around to face him. "You're not—"
"I need to be alone," I interrupted, stepping back from his massive frame. I knew he meant it well, and his embrace was comforting, but I needed to find the strength to face the world alone.
"Are you sure?" he asked, scowling down at me with concern swirling in his eyes.
"Yes." I nodded, quickly checking my watch. "I still have ten minutes. I'll be okay."
Myreassurance didn't change the expression on his face, but after a few seconds of quiet hesitation, he finally left.
Releasing a deep breath, I raised my head and connected my eyes with the zombie in the mirror. I wiped my wet cheeks and covered my ghostlike skin with another layer of makeup. It was the best I could do to hide the fact that I was barely functioning after the news we received about Bastian's condition.
Tracing my gaze up and down my body, I must admit that Rosalind and Peter were right. Releasing the tension by crying helped me see reality clearer, and I was tempted to slap myself for agreeing with Miss I-know-better, but she had a point. I looked like I had given up, and I couldn't allow people who depended on Bastian to believe he was losing the most important fight—the fight for his life.
The entire holding and everyone involved would be in trouble if I failed. I couldn't let that happen. Bastian worked too hard for his success, and I couldn't allow it to be destroyed by our accident. I had to persuade the public that he was stable and improving, even when I disagreed with that lie.
It was Andreas’ strategy, and his family was united behind it. I wasn't in a position to oppose their decision. They approved the statement for the press, and my job was to sell it. I just hoped I didn't look like I crawled out of my own grave. It certainly wouldn't help me to give the impression of a loving girlfriend who was happy about her boyfriend getting better.
"Are you ready?" Andreas asked from the door, and I winced in shock. I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't hear him walk in.
