Page 4 of Will You (Not) Marry Me

“Then you’ll put the last nail in the coffin of our family’s reputation, Eva,” said Andrea, sounding as if someone really had died. “We’ll be known for going back on our word. It will be an insult to Prince Finn and his family, his country. You know public opinion about our family hasn’t been the best the last few years.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“And what about losing trade deals and international resources?” Andrea countered tersely. “You always were interested in the more political side of the monarchy. Negotiations for future projects have already started after the engagement was agreed upon. It was the perfect jumping-off point for our two nations to talk it out. A common thread. If this gets called off, all of that is in jeopardy, so if you say no, then let that be on your conscience.”

The out-and-out guilt-tripping was the final straw for Eva. Making her think that disaster for Skärov would be all her fault and not theirs… An acidic taste hung in the back of her throat, and she thought she might actually be sick.

“Get out,” she said, standing and pointing to the door. If she listened to another word, she was going to snap. The anger was building up in her like a pressure cooker, and she genuinely thought she might explode.

Andrea opened her mouth to say something else, but Eva beat her to it.

“Out!”

Never in her life had she dared talk to either of her parents that way. Never mind that she was an adult now; the idea of respect had been drummed into her since before she could walk. But Andrea said nothing at her daughter’s tone. She simply rose from the couch in one fluid movement. She made to step forward, to maybe hug Eva goodbye, but Eva stepped back as far as she could, finger still pointed towards the door. Andrea nodded once, her eyes downcast, and left.

It took all of Eva’s willpower to not start throwing things around the room.

CHAPTER2

EVA

“You can’t be serious? Eva? Come on!” Abbie let all her questions roll into one another as she stalked around the apartment cleaning, which she only did when she was anxious. Eva watched from her position on the sofa as Abbie paced back and forth with a rag in one hand and a spray bottle in the other.

Abbie had returned home to find Eva staring blankly at the wall and, after coaxing the full story from her, was now in a rage. Considering Abbie was a tiny Korean-American woman, reaching five foot nothing without her platform boots and dressed in a mismatch of tie-dye and ripped denim that only a painter could pull off, the effect of her rage was always at odds with her stature. Especially since today, she had pink acrylic paint somehow smeared on her ear.

Eva ate her leftover Chinese food in glum silence. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to do.

Abbie threw her cleaning supplies in the sink with a clatter. “Your mom is psychotic if she thinks this is okay.”

“Yeah, well,” Eva said, holding a forkful of rice, “in her mind, it is. According to her and everyone else at home, this is the perfect solution.”

“Yeah, but your momchoseto be royalty. You didn’t. You were just born there.”

Abbie was right. Eva knew that. But what Abbie didn’t understand was that she’d been having this same argument with her family foryears. Logic didn’t matter. The fact that Eva felt suffocated in those palace halls didn’t matter. She had never wanted to be just another face in the royal portraits, in the press photographs. She wanted to be the one taking photographs, the sort of beautiful, artistic shots that would get hung in galleries or printed in high-end fashion magazines. But that didn’t matter to them. The fact that she was so muchhappierin New York certainly didn’t matter either. All that mattered was upholding the reputation and institution of their royal household for the sake of Skärov. Appearances were everything. Now her idiot brother was ruining it all, and somehow it had fallen on her shoulders to fix it.

“I’m not really being given any choice,” Eva said quietly. “They’ll drag me back there kicking and screaming and shove a wedding dress over my head.”

“It isn’t the fifteen hundreds! They can’t just marry you off. What next? Are they going to start burning witches?”

“Welcome to European royalty,” Eva said dryly. “Our lives revolve around rules we set for ourselves in the fifteen hundreds. Or before, even. We’re the definition of old-fashioned.”

Abbie snorted and picked her rag back out of the sink, then started scrubbing at the already spotless countertop. Eva had felt slightly numb ever since her mother had waltzed out of the apartment. All the fight had drained out of her with a lackluster puff of air.

Not fair, was all Eva could think.This isn’t fair.

It sounded petulant and childish even in her own head. But it was true. This wasn’t fair at all. And it wasn’t like she was a total brat, scorning her family’s wishes and blundering around doing whatever she wanted.Sheat least was willing to make sacrifices to keep up appearances even if her brother wasn’t. She hadn’t gone and got herself covered in tattoos and piercings like she really wanted. On the rare occasion someonedidhappen to know who she was, she was nothing but polite and happy to chat and take a photo if they asked. Eva had tried so hard to balance whatshewanted with not smearing Skärov’s reputation, painfully aware of the responsibility she’d been born into even if she didn’t want it. She tried so hard that it made her head hurt. But no one seemed to care how hard she tried.

Dwelling on it, that’s when the anger started. The pit of hot rage bloomed in her chest, taking her breath away and rushing down her limbs until Eva felt like she was on fire.

She wasn’t being childish; she was being rational. Why was it her responsibility to go and clean up after Magnus? She hadn’t even lived in the same country as him for four years! Eva felt the tears start to run down her cheeks.

Abbie stopped her cleaning spree as she noted the change in her friend’s demeanor. “You okay?”

Eva took a deep breath, and then the words just started pouring out of her.

“I was having such a great day,” she said, wiping her cheeks. “I did that shoot all on my own. I made that money all on my own. I might even have another job with them lined up. But because my brother doesn’t have a speck of self-control in his whole body, I’m the one that’s going to get married off to some guy I’ve never met! They could have asked me to go and kiss some babies or visit a hospital or something, build up some positive press, but apparently I have to completely derail my life. And they didn’t even ask, Abbie…”

That’s when her voice choked, and the words ran out. Abbie sat by her on the couch, pulling her into a hug while still holding her spray bottle.

---