Page 45 of The Dandelion Princess
I won’t tell Alix. I can’t. After long hours of reflection, I arrive at the conclusion that it appalls me, what we’ve done—what I’ve done. I dragged Alix along when I got my first bra. We played pin-the-tiara on the eligible bachelor when we tried to guess whoMama had lined up to be Alma’s future husband. When Tom wanted to propose, he came toAmmafirst and then to me.
She doesn’t know how long I was in love with her brother, but she does know every boy I’ve ever kissed. If it had been Mikkel in the woods, I would have already dragged Alix off to my car, where I would have ranked his performance on a well-established scale between Tobias, the Unexpectedly Capable Stanford Beatnik, and Cameron, the Handsy Junior Diplomat.
I can’t lie to Alix, but neither can I bring myself to look at her. This is the hard truth. Marc and I are connected by invisible threads of kinship and history running back and forth in a water-tight weave, and the kiss is already snagging those irreplaceable strands.
Breakfast is served in a small courtyard where heating towers provide an umbrella of warmth and a long table is set up in the center. It’s decorated with crisp white linens and careless wildflower bunches that have me wondering how early some servant was up, raking through the meadows for the delicate arrangements.
The wedding party straggles in, bleary-eyed but conspicuously chic. A princess, aware of the professional photographer prowling on the perimeter, has to be careful about how she publicly interacts with wealth, but Yasmin’s hair is in effortless disarray and money drips from her wool blanket, patched tweed jacket, and vintage cowboy boots.
Alix butters a roll and hands half to Tom. He hands her the jar of preserves, their exchange deft and wordless. “I want reviews,” she says. “Did you all sleep well? Marc?”
I glance up to find her brother looking at me.
“Marc,” Alix snaps her fingers.
“I stayed near the fire pit all night.”
She makes a sound of annoyance at the back of her throat. “Is that where the wi-fi was strongest? You’re going to give yourselfan aneurysm if you keep going at this pace.” She pats Tom’s hand. “A wise man turns his life into a temple and finds better things to worship than work.”
Marc’s gaze drifts to me with a look that steals my breath, looking away only when a servant leans over his shoulder and speaks in a low voice. Marc strides away, and when he returns, I almost tumble off my chair. The spectacle of glamor rounding the high hedge on his arm is wearing the shortest miniskirt I’ve ever seen in my life. Long black hair moves like strands of glass and her baby-smooth skin appears to be experiencing sun for the very first time.
I bolt to my feet and Alix grabs my wrist, her voice coming out in a breathy squeak. “Ella. Is that Lee Jang Mi?”
I nod and look around the table, waiting for these dummies to get it. A member of the Seongan girl group BLUSH is standing in the garden. This beauty ambassador for Chloe. This pop queen. This singer of such iconic lyrics as “Blow up my phone like dynamite. Blow up my life, let’s do it right” with accompanying iconic body roll.
She greets Alix with a soft bow and elegant hands, the epitome of Seongan formality under Marc’s approving eye. Though I want to lean into the delightful fandom of it all, my heart stops. She’s here because of Marc.
This was always going to happen. Someday, a girl would come into Marc’s life who suited him in every way. Someday is today.
I want to run out of the garden and have a good cry, but a lifetime of wrestling tender feelings into submission serves me well. I send a message of silent gratitude to my mother. My face clears of everything more complicated than how much I am BLUSH’s number one fan and I rake my unruly curls over one shoulder, smiling widely.
Marc watches me. “Lee Jang Mi, meet your most die-hard fan, Her Royal Highness Princess Ella of Sondmark.”
Her expression is one of gentle curiosity.
“Just Ella,” I correct. “I’m so excited to meet you that I might die. I really might. Am I dead?”
The goddess looks to Marc for a translation. He speaks to her in Seongan, a string of syllables too fast for me to parse out with my limited vocabulary. Besides, his hotness is extremely distracting. “My pleasure to meet you,” he coaches her.
“My pleasure,” Jang Mi murmurs, mangling it, giving Marc an adorable look of confusion.
I curl my fingers in, the nails biting into the soft flesh of my palm, but Alix grips my fist, too overwhelmed to notice. “Would you like to join us for breakfast?”
Jang Mi halts over her words, drawing an invisible string connecting her to Marc. “We have business.”
Marc leads her back through the break in the hedge, and Jang Mi turns her head to look at me, slipping her hand through the crook of Marc’s elbow. I frown, thinking of a famous Sondish expression from the Cold War. “When you meet a Vorburgian on the street, punch him in the mouth. He’ll know why.” Some things you understand without the need for words. Jang Mi wants me to know about her relationship with Marc.Stay clear. This is mine.
Alix rocks me side to side. “Did you know a member of BLUSH was coming?” she asks. “Marc is killing it with his surprises these days.”
I reach for a blanket, covering my sudden wish to burst into tears in the dousing weight of wool.
“And did you see that miniskirt?” She laughs, taking a strawberry cut in the shape of a heart from Tom.
I nod. “The dating scandal isn’t the only thing that has legs.”
15
Little Creature
