Page 63 of Coronation
On stage, the actors are talking, and around us, on the other blankets, the play’s audience is listening. Even with all that, cast in shadow as we are, it’s easy to forget them all. It’s possible to believe this is an ordinary date, and that we’re ordinary people who might fall in love.
I can breathe.
“Zelda.” The way he says my name… Nobody has ever said my name like that.
Nobody has ever taken me on a date like this, one that’s sweet and simple and so thoughtful.
Nobody has ever made me wonder if the stars aligned and everything was happening exactly as it should be.
Nobody has ever hurt me so deeply, in so little time.
Our lips are only inches away when I turn, my hands falling to my lap as I stare unseeingly at the brightly lit stage. In the corner of my vision, I see Ben turning away, too. “I’m sorry,” he says again, so quietly that I almost miss it.
I don’t respond.
Twenty-Seven
Benedict
“Never have Ik-known a man who could fail upward quite as well as you do, brother.”
“Give me that.” I snatch the magazine away from Leopold, tossing it onto the coffee table before us.
Damien, who is situated in my favorite, well-worn armchair, grins at our youngest brother. “She’s even more gorgeous in person. It’s unbelievable. I’ve never been more jealous in my life.”
I shoot him a filthy look, but busy myself with reaching for the last slice of pizza, otherwise ignoring the pair of them. Leo, the academic of the family, spends most of his time in Port Briar, but braves the city several times a month for the sake of family business and to see myself and Damien. More often than not, our time together is spent sitting side by side in silence, eating whatever shit food we can get our hands on, and watching sports. These evenings are a rare, sorely needed spot of normalcy in my schedule. Lately, however, they’ve grown even less frequent with so much of my time taken up by Zelda.
It’s hard to pretend that I’m at all bothered by this when I all but run out the door on the days I’m scheduled to see her.
The woman in question gazes out at us from the cover of the tabloid I just snatched from Leo’s hands, beneath the bright yellow headline:Flowers for a King. The image was taken a few weeks ago, when I brought her to the park for the play. As PR expected, it wasn’t long before we were spotted, and a nearby audience member snapped the picture in question with her phone.
She looks stunning, half shrouded in evening shadows and stretched out on a checkered blanket beside me. I remember the moment it was taken perfectly, can recall with painful detail the feeling of her fingers brushing mine, and the way my heart vaulted against my ribcage when I turned to look at her, only to find that her eyes were already on me. Even after an entire lifetime of carefully keeping myself in check, I still consider resisting the urge to kiss her senseless right then and there as my greatest act of restraint to date.
I’m finding it increasingly difficult not to get caught up in the fantasy of it all, and to remember that Zelda is an actor. However it may appear, she’s made it clear that my advances wouldn’t be welcome. She tolerates me, and that’s more than I could hope for, given the circumstances.
The way she’s looking at me, though… Christ.
It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I tell myself it’s for the best we keep things professional, that we barely know each other and have two very different lives, or that I’m too old for her. I could stare into a mirror and scream those words, and even then, I don’t think I would believe them.
“So it really is all for show, then?” asks Leo, sounding faintly bemused. He’s shown far more interest in this scheme than he typically does in any of the royal institution’s machinations. Not that I can fault him for his general lack of interest.We all had our roles to play to support Arthur, and if I was the snob, Leo was the idiot.
His question makes Damien snort. “He hasn’t filled you in on the whole story, then? Oh, brother, you are in for a treat.”
I look between them, grimacing. “Could we not?”
Predictably, Dam ignores this, beaming at Leo. “That visit to the movie set wasn’t the first time they met. About a month ago, our sweet-tempered Benny-boy needed to unwind a little, so I got him an invite toa house party.” He doesn’t need to elaborate, as god knows Leo has attended far more of them than I have. “A certain Miss Flowers happened to be in attendance that night.”
“You’re kidding,” Leo chuckles, his attention wholly on Damien.
“Not just one night, either.” Our elder brother looks beyond delighted to be party to this information. “He brought her to Fernmoor House afterward. Do you remember that property up in the North Country? Well, regardless, they spent the whole weekend together. Then, the great prick was called to open Parliament early on Sunday, andhe left her there.”
It’s all I can do not to wince at Leo’s horrified expression. “Don’t look at me like that. I sent a car for her. I’m not a complete ass,” I snap, glowering at Damien. Does he have to tell the story in the most unflattering way possible? It’s not as if I abandoned Zelda in the countryside without a way to get home, and I feel terrible enough on my own without throwing salt in the wound with my brother’s interpretation.
“So now,” Damien continues, obviously still committed to ignoring me. “The entire country is obsessed with her, Ben is obsessed with her, and the great prat has already blown his chance.”
I truly wish I could argue with that statement, but thereseems little to be gained in denying facts. Everything Damien has said is the truth, and my hating it won’t change a thing.
“You’re a bastard,” I spit instead, and both my brothers roar with laughter.
