#man I barely had to embellish the diamond scene at all

[ladynonsense]

A Royal Disgrace (TRR/PM Crossover) Part 10

This is just about it, folks. Only the epilogue to come after this. It’s been fun.

Catch up on my masterlist

Pairings: Damien x Liam, Drake x Riley, Liam x Riley

Rating: NSFW 🍋

Summary: Damien’s no good, very bad day continues. Nadia has her big art show opening. Riley makes a decision. Largely lifted from Perfect Match chapter 1 and TRR book 2 chapter 16, because I am unoriginal I wanted to connect this back to canon.

Words: 4700 (sorry...got away from me)

Tag List: @hustacks @hopefulmoonobject @brightpinkpeppercorn @choiceslife @perriewinklenerdie @pixieferry @nazariobae @zaffrenotes @ritachacha @h3llostrang3r @blackcoffee85 @wannabemc2 @sleepwalkingelite @debramcg1106 @furiousherringoperatortoad @bobasheebaby @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat @jlouise88

Damien drove home in a daze, climbed the stairs to his apartment feeling like he was wading through wet cement. Just keep moving, moving, don’t think, just put one foot in front of the other.

He opened the door of his apartment and was immediately and violently shoved back out by small soft hands with pretty pink nails. The door slammed in his face. He stood, blinking, staring at the closed door. Mara, still stationed outside his door, gave an indifferent shrug.

A minute later it reopened, Riley standing in the doorway still wearing his t-shirt and his gym shorts now too, drawstring pulled to within an inch of its life to hold them up on her slender frame. It finally dawned on him that she had arrived in an elaborate ball gown and abandoned all her luggage at the hotel room he’d forbidden her to return to. She wasn’t wearing his clothes to be cute, she was just desperate and sad and stranded here like his prisoner.

And he kept staring at her clothes, because if he kept his eyes down he wouldn’t have to look at her puffy red eyes and her tear-streaked face.

His mouth started moving without his permission. “I...Riley...please…”

“I guess I can’t keep you out of your own home, you miserable asshole.” She moved aside, letting him pass, her furious stare burning into his back as he moved past him.

Drake sat on the couch, his expression inscrutable. He raised his hand in greeting, not letting his eyes meet Damien’s. Damien hesitated, standing in the kitchen, unsure where to go or what to do.

“Well?” He looked back to see Riley leaning against the door, arms crossed over her chest, tears streaming down her face and rage written all over her features.

Damien took a deep breath and let it out, trying to find the courage to face her. When it wouldn’t come, he grabbed a glass and a bottle of rum. Glancing between Riley and Drake once more, he added two more glasses.

Riley accepted the drink silently as Drake came over to join them and collect his own. Damien threw his back in one shot and started pouring again.

“Damien…”

“Yeah,” he croaked, clearing his throat awkwardly. “So I’m guessing you heard the recording.”

“Imagine my surprise when I answer a blocked call thinking maybe, just maybe Liam had decided to bend the rules and actually contact me over the phone. And then I hear him...and you.” She slammed her drink down on the counter and Damien saw a crack appear in the glass, not quite enough for it to shatter.

He looked anywhere but her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Oh, I want to know everything.”

“No, you don’t.” He found himself feeling very aware of Drake’s presence. His size. Part of him hoped he was going to get his ass kicked; maybe it would hurt less.

“Tell me.”

Damien forced himself to look at her, the numbness wearing off, tears starting to well in his own eyes. He worried he might vomit, which might have the unpleasant effect of sobering him up before he could numb himself again. He fought the urge back. “I...fell for Liam.”

She laughed bitterly. “You fell for him? You literally just met him.”

“Isn’t that exactly what happened to you? One romantic night and you abandoned your whole life for him? All I did was fuck him.” Bad. Bad. Regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.

She slapped him then, and he welcomed the hot sting of pain on his face. “Fuck you, Damien. It wasn’t enough for you to break my heart, you had to steal the love of my life too? Why couldn’t you just let me have him?”

Drake downed his drink and retreated to the couch. Riley stared after him, a deep sadness settling on her pretty face, replacing the naked rage that had been there a moment before. Damien lowered his voice so only she could hear. “He thought...I thought...maybe you had moved on to someone else.”

The look on her face broke his heart. The realization that she’d been caught...the same horrible sickening feeling he’d felt back at the hotel when Bastien confronted him with the recording.

Words started pouring out of his mouth again, desperate to ease her obvious panic. “He knows, Riley, but he isn’t angry. He’s hurt, and he’s sad, and he’s scared, and he doesn’t know what to think because neither of you will acknowledge what he knows. And he loves you, still, I know he does. The only reason I’m in his life at all is because he needed me to help and protect you, and all I’ll ever be to him is a distraction.” He was running out of breath, the words coming too fast for him to filter. A distraction: that was the truth, the cold realization settling over him even as the word left his mouth.

He could try to pretend that Liam was just a distraction for him too, and maybe he was. But mostly he was an obsession. Something that had wound its way through his thoughts, leaving its mark everywhere. All roads led to Liam, every train of thought arriving quickly at memories of his kiss, the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin. It hurt to think of him but he couldn’t stop. He needed to relish the anguish of it, couldn’t let it go, not yet.

Riley was crying again, apparently running out of things to say. Damien took a deep breath and spoke again. “Do you really want to know everything?”

She nodded, whimpering. “Yes. I have to. Please.”

“We hooked up. More than once. I know it’s bullshit to say ‘it just happened’ but that’s the best explanation I have. We were drinking and he opened up to me and he was so fucking sad and I just...I wanted to kiss him and he wanted to kiss me and it felt good and we didn’t stop. I knew it would hurt you but you were hurting him and I rationalized it and...fuck, I’m sorry, I know it doesn’t make it right.”

She looked mournfully at Drake, who seemed to be trying to disappear into the sofa. “I need to talk to Liam.”

--------------------------------------------

The next two days passed in a blur, Damien drinking too much and working too little. Mara announced the day after the recording surfaced that it was time for Riley and Drake to rejoin the rest of court, and off they went. Damien learned from the Cordonian gossip sites that he frequented now that Liam’s engagement to Madeleine had been called off.

As soon as news broke of the cancelled engagement, after a press conference where Liam and Madeleine were all smiles and tact as usual, showing more warmth towards each other than ever before now that they didn’t have to pretend to be in love, the general consensus was that Liam had left her for Riley. But the fact that Madeleine was quietly named the Duchess of Krona on the same day did not go unnoticed by some outlets.

What the hell happened to her parents? Whatever it was, it was kept absolutely quiet, only small independent news blogs even bothering to look into it. No news of arrests or discipline. They just vanished, as far as Damien could tell.

The recording, mercifully, did not surface in the media. He knew he had Liam to thank for that, but didn’t dare spend too much time contemplating what he may have had to compromise to appease whoever had made it. Not knowing whether it might surface again, or how it had been handled, made him crazy. An unknowable, uncontrollable variable. All he could do was trust that Liam had more to lose than he did, and was taking care of it.

Damien was still deep in his own wallowing when Kai texted him.

K: Don’t forget Nadia’s art show tonight. She will literally kill you if you bail.

He groaned; he definitely had forgotten.

D: I can’t. If I have to hang around with pretentious rich art people all night I will scream.

K: We’ll tell people it’s edgy performance art. You’re coming.

D: Please

K: See you at 8

He arrived at the show later that night, forcing himself to shave and get dressed for the first time in days. The gallery was absolutely packed, which shouldn’t have been a surprise. Even he could tell that Nadia’s art was exceptional.

An unfamiliar blond man sidled up to the refreshment table next to him. “Hey! Are you Damien? I think I’ve seen your picture around my girlfriend’s apartment.”

He blinked at him, confused. “That’s...um...oh. You must be Steve.”

“Yeah, that’s me!” His enthusiasm was unnerving. “So you and Nadia have been friends a long time?”

“That’s right,” he answered, studying Steve’s face for signs of jealousy or obsession or just garden-variety creepiness. “We met when I was investigating her stalker.”

“Oh, wow.” He looked genuinely impressed, not worried or intimidated. Damien was unconvinced. “That’s great! She’s so lucky to have people looking out for her.”

“...Right. Speaking of which, I’m gonna go look for her.”

“Nice meeting you, Damien!”

“You too, Steve.”

Through the crowd he spotted Kai and Nadia. He plastered on his ‘supportive best friend’ smile and approached them, just catching the tail end of Nadia’s hard pitch for some matchmaking service.

“Don’t tell me Nadia has got you drinking this ‘matchmaking service’ Kool-Aid too, Kai. You of all people don’t need some fancy matchmaking service.” A server passed by and he swapped out his empty champagne glass for a fresh one, ready to settle into a comfortable buzz for the evening.

Kai greeted him with a glowing smile, and he immediately felt better about this whole outing. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But you can’t argue with the results. Steve seems like a catch.”

“Yeah, I talked to Mr. Perfect on the way in. Haven’t found any flaws or dark secrets yet. But give me time.”

Nadia punched his arm viciously. “Really, D? We’ve known you for like, four years. I thought you would’ve dropped the tough, cynical act by now.”

He scoffed. “I’m a private investigator. I catch liars and cheaters for a living. ‘Cynical’ is basically my job.”

Nadia scowled and turned her back on him, focusing on Kai. “Don’t listen to him, Kai. He’s like the Grinch when it comes to love. Eros is the best matchmaking service ever! I’ll schedule you an appointment for a consultation!”

Damien grinned. Bickering with Nadia was his natural element. “Yeah! A vague secretive company providing little to no contact information...What could go wrong? Just keep your guard up, Kai...Maybe bring pepper spray, or hold your keys like a claw.”

Nadia waved him off. “Ignore him. It’ll be amazing! I know you’re gonna find someone perfect for you!”

Was Kai giving him a teasing look, or was that just his natural smile? “Can’t wait!”

Nadia excused herself to talk to some art critic, leaving him standing alone with Kai. He sipped at his champagne silently, pretending to study a nearby painting.

“So…” Kai began awkwardly, “How are you holdin’ up, buddy?”

He sighed, considering whether he really wanted to open up to Kai. But if not him...there was no one else to talk to. “I haven’t heard from Liam.”

Kai frowned, moving closer so they could speak in hushed voices. “Nothing?”

“Nothing. He’s just...gone.”

“Is he still in New York?”

“I think so. I staked out the hotel for a few hours before I came here and saw some other members of the Cordonian court and King’s Guard come and go. No Liam though.”

Kai frowned, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “Damien...you can’t stake out your ex.”

“I’m not...he’s not my ex, we weren’t dating, but he’s a client, and I’d be irresponsible to just…”

“He fired you, D. It’s over.”

He nodded slowly, considering Kai’s words. It’s over. It’s over.

“How can I just let this go?”

“You won’t. You never let anything go. But maybe for your own good you should step away from this particular mystery for a while. I know I gave you shit but it’s obvious he got under your skin. Do yourself a favor and focus on something else for a while.”

Damien laughed ruefully. “I must be in bad shape for Kai Park to be my voice of reason.”

Kai laughed in return, shoving his shoulder. “Get out of here. I don’t need your negativity.”

“No problem. I should go get busy investigating this shady matchmaking service before they sell you into sex slavery.”

“Oh my god, Damien.”

“Stranger things have happened. See you around, Kai.”

“Yeah. See you around.”

--------------------------------------------

The wind gently tossed Riley’s hair as she looked out over the water, gazing at the skyline. The dress Maxwell and Bertrand had chosen for her glittered, reflecting the city lights. Everything was so beautiful, but it felt wrong, the air between herself and Liam filled with secrets and unspoken pain. She sighed, trying to relax and enjoy the evening. “I’ll never get tired of this view.”

Liam stood close enough that the smooth fabric of his coat brushed against the bare skin of her arm. “Neither will I,” he said, and she looked up to realize he was focused on her instead of the skyline. A warm blush spread across her cheeks, but she forced herself to hold his gaze, smiling.

“So is this the last stop of the evening?”

He sighed, his smile faltering. “It’s not, actually, but before we continue...I think we need to talk.”

Her stomach dropped. He was absolutely right. But no part of her relished the idea of hashing out their issues. She nodded, already feeling a slight tremble settle into her jaw.

Breathe in. Breathe out. You can get through this.

Liam sat on a bench overlooking the water, motioning for her to join him. She sat next to him, careful to give him room. He felt miles away. “So…” he began, letting out a deep exhale, “I heard you received an upsetting phone call.”

She swallowed hard, nodding. “I did.”

“I don’t know what explanation I can offer for myself…”

“Are you OK?”

He snapped his gaze back to her, startled by the question. “What do you mean?”

“The recording...why did it exist? Is someone using it to hurt you?”

“Oh…” he placed his hand gently over hers, his thumb tracing over her knuckles. “I have it under control. I made a compromise that I don’t love, but I’m confident that’s the last we’ll hear of it.”

She smiled, relieved. “I’m glad.”

“I thought you’d be angrier. You have every right to be.”

Riley shrugged. “I was. And I mean...I am. What you did was wrong, but I can’t help but feel I was just as wrong.”

Liam nodded, studying her face carefully. “I knew what he had meant to you. I should have kept my distance, out of respect for you. Running to someone else was a foolish way to handle my own hurt and confusion.” He spoke in his usual clear, confident voice, but there was a slight tremble at the edges of it.

“Oh, Liam.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. “Stop. You’re allowed to fuck up. I wish you had come to me when you found at that I’d been seeing Drake. But I can’t blame you for reacting badly to my betrayal. I kept telling myself it was nothing, that we were friends and he was just helping me through a hard time...he kept saying he didn’t want to hurt you...I don’t know why I let it go so far.”

Liam’s face was buried in the crook of her neck, and she could feel his hot tears on her skin. “He was there for you when I couldn’t be.”

“He was. And I used him. I led him on, wondering if maybe he was who I belonged with after all. But that was just fear talking...fear of what being with you would mean. The responsibility. The scrutiny.”

“I know,” he whispered. “It’s a lot to ask.”

She pulled away from him, holding him at arm’s length to look him in the eye. “No. All of that...it’s part of the privilege of being with you. How could I ever ask for more?”

He laughed, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the tears from his face. “You mean that? You still want to be with me, after everything? You’re not in love with Drake?”

She winced a little at his name, still raw from breaking things off with him that morning. “I’m in love with you, Liam. It’s always been you.”

They wrapped themselves around each other, squeezing tight, silently enjoying the closeness and the cleared air. After some time, Liam pulled away, smiling. “Like I said, we have one more stop to make tonight.” He took her hand and guided her to a small foot ferry. It was empty, save for the captain and one crew member who waved at them as they approached. “After you, my lady.”

Riley chuckled. “You know, for a guy who doesn’t like boats, you sure have a lot of them…”

He was beaming now, squeezing her hand in his. “I may be coming around.”

They boarded the boat and the crewmen pushed them off. As it slid through the water, Riley realized they were heading for the base of the Statue of Liberty.

“I knew it!” she exclaimed. A short ride later, the boat docked at the base and they disembarked. They strolled a few paces before stopping to enjoy the view. “She really is something, isn’t she?”

Liam nodded. “She is.” They stood for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, seized by the dramatic view of the statue against the stars twinkling in the night sky.

Riley was brought back to the moment by the caress of a light breeze whispering through the branches of a nearby tree. Liam turned to face her.

“Riley, do you remember the Coronation?”

Her face fell. “How could I forget?”

His face had become serious, his gaze intense. “I was going to propose to you that night, in front of the entire court. Not doing so will remain the deepest regret of my life.”

A gust of wind rustled her hair, and Liam reached out to brush a strand out of her eyes. She noticed the beginning of a smile on his lips and her heart skipped a beat.

“Still, perhaps it’s destiny that it happened this way. That my arrangement with Madeleine fell apart just as we returned to New York...as we came full circle.” He reached into his pocket, fidgeting with something she couldn’t see.

“Riley, you’ve opened my eyes...it has been a true honor to witness your strength in the face of every challenge you have overcome. It’s a strength which lends me courage. I know that I will be a better man for having you by my side.

“All I want in this world is to dedicate my life to being the best man and king that I can be...for you.” He sunk to one knee, his eyes locked on hers. There was an intensity in his gaze, something both vulnerable and passionate. He reached out and grasped her hand.

“Lady Riley Brooks, queen of my heart, I have yearned to say these four words for a very, very long time…”

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart racing a mile a minute. “Liam…”

“Will you marry me?”

He revealed the ring box tucked into his hands, opening it with an ardent smile. Riley looked down at the ring, the moonlight gleaming against its facets.

“Oh, Liam...yes! A thousand times yes!” Tears welled up in her eyes once more as he carefully slipped the ring onto her finger. The wind picked up as he rose, staring deep into her eyes for a moment, his expression utterly unreadable save for his smile, more brilliant than she’d ever seen before.

“Riley…” He breathed her name as he swept her off the ground and spun her through the air. “I have never been happier than I am in this moment!”

He kissed her, holding her body tight against his. She wrapped her legs around him, sinking into his embrace. After what felt like a blissful eternity, they stopped for breath. He let her slip down to the ground, his arms still around her, his forehead resting against hers.

“Liam…” she whispered. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” He sighed happily. “When I think about everything it took to bring us to this moment… I can’t help but be amazed by you. I have no doubts in my mind that you are not only the right choice for me, but the right choice to be Queen of Cordonia. There is no one I would rather have by my side.”

Riley couldn’t stop smiling, her cheeks starting to ache from her wide grin. “That’s good, because I’m certainly not about to give you up now. And I can’t wait to see what kind of life we’re able to build together.”

“Neither can I. But for now...I did have one final stop in mind for tonight’s adventure, if you’re interested. I arranged for a private excursion to the top of the Statue of Liberty. I thought it would be nice to spend the evening alone together...to enjoy our private moment before we share the news with the world. Just the two of us...”

“Mmm, just the two of us, huh? Well, I can’t pass up an opportunity like this, can I?”

He gave a wicked smile. “I had hoped you wouldn’t be able to.” He led her toward the entrance to the statue, where they began the long ascent.

When they emerged hand-in-hand onto the topmost observation deck, Liam pulled her close for a sweet kiss before releasing her and turning his gaze toward the skyline. “It’s breathtaking.”

“Yeah, it really is.”

“Riley...there’s one more thing I wanted to say to you tonight. Especially in light of our new...circumstances. He reached for her hand, his fingers toying with her ring.

“What is it?”

He took a deep breath, looking her straight in the eye. “You will always have a home in Cordonia, for as long as I am king. And I will never let anyone threaten that...or you...ever again. I promise you.”

She nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Liam.”

He studied her intently, something like reverence in his expression. He somehow looked handsome and regal and vulnerable and loveable all at once, and her heart swelled with longing for him. She leaned into him, and their lips were immediately drawn together in an electric kiss.

Suddenly, Liam pulled back. “I have never wanted you more…” He cupped her face in his hands and her eyes connected with his, which grew closer as he moved to kiss her. The hair on the back of her neck raised when his lips found hers, and she smiled against them. “Riley…”

“Oh, Liam…”

His tongue traced a line on her lower lip, sending shivers down her spine. She placed a hand on his chest to steady herself. In the next moment, he thrusted her up against the window. The cold of the glass contrasted sharply with the heat of his body.

She let out a soft moan. “I want you.”

“As ever, your wish is my command.”

He used one hand to brace himself against the glass while the other traced a line from his jawbone to her neck to her chest. He kissed her hungrily.

She buttoned his jacket, her fingers working the buttons as she kissed his ear and neck. Liam moaned, leaning into her. After pushing his jacket off his shoulders, she moved on to his shirt, soon discarding both on the ground at their feet. Her hands explored the bare skin of his chest as he unzipped her dress, letting it pool on the ground as her fingers travelled to the waistline of his pants.

Liam grabbed her by the hips and spun her around, pinning her against the window, his body pressed against her back. He toyed with the elastic of her lace panties for a moment before delving down, slipping his fingers between her folds and rubbing small circles against her. She moaned shamelessly.

“Yes?” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her.

“Yes…” She melted into him, grinding her hips against him as his hand firmly pressed against her. “I mean, no…I’m not quite done with you.”

She turned and knelt at his feet, unbuckling his belt as she pressed soft kisses to his abdomen. She slid his pants down his legs, her fingers trailing over his firm thighs as she went. He gasped as she wrapped her fingers around his length, admiring it. “It feels like it’s been forever…”

“Too long,” he agreed, reaching down to gently stroke her hair. “But we’re together now. Openly. Nothing standing between us.”

“Mmmm…” she wrapped her lips around him, enjoying the taste of him as her tongue gently circled his tip. She paused, looking up at him, studying his face.

“What is it?”

“It’s kinda hot, you know.”

“This? I noticed.”

“No…” she felt herself blushing again. “You with...him. Could he do the things that I do for you?” She took him in her mouth again, all the way to the back of her throat, making him groan with pleasure.

“He...he has his charms. But he has one flaw I just couldn’t get past.”

“What’s that?” She continued working him with her hand, teasingly slow.

“He’s not you.”

He pulled her to her feet, his hands grasping at her hair as he kissed her deeply. When they broke apart, breathless, he laughed softly. “It’s weird to admit but...you and Drake together...that’s pretty hot too.”

She looked away, suddenly shy. “Yes, well..it never happened.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Never?”

“Never. He wouldn’t...not until I picked him.”

Liam frowned. “And you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“Is he...OK?”

Riley shrugged, trying not to feel the emotions he was bringing up in her. “He will be. He’s your best friend. He’ll always support you...even when it hurts.”

Liam kissed her again, for longer this time, kissing her until she forgot about every other man in the world. He broke away to grab his jacket, laying it out over the cold floor. Riley laughed.

“You really never have paid a dry cleaning bill in your life, have you.”

His brow furrowed, perplexed. “I have laundry service at the palace.”

“Of course you do.” She sat on the edge of his jacket, pulling him down on top of her as she slid backwards to the ground. “And for the record...you could’ve invited me to join.”

His eyes went wide as he pulled up in surprise. “Excuse me?”

She grinned. “You heard me.”

Now he was blushing, a chuckle escaping his lips. “I don’t think I could handle the two of you at once.”

“I don’t think you could either…” She grasped his hips and pulled him against her, both of them groaning as he slid deep inside her, “...but I would’ve loved to see you try.”

Their cries echoed through the space as he thrust into her with all the passion he’d been trying and mostly failing to hold back for the past months of the ill-fated engagement tour. Her body arched off the ground, meeting his intensity with every movement.

She screamed his name as she came hard, electricity buzzing through her body with every touch of his lips against her skin as he gasped and grunted through his own orgasm. He collapsed onto the ground next to her, laughing.

“I’m glad you came up here with me tonight.”

[laurasimonsdaughter]

The Counterfeit Marquise

A literary fairy tale published in 1697, presumably by Charles Perrault and François-Timoléon De Choisy (who spent a considerable amount of his life in drag, just like the protagonists of this story).

Translated by Ranjit Bolt, featured in Warner’s Wonder tales: six stories of enchantment (1996).

Cw: gender disphoria.

The Marquis de Banneville had been married barely six months to a beautiful and highly intelligent young heiress when he was killed in battle at Saint-Denis. His widow was profoundly affected. They had still been very much in love and no domestic quarrels had disturbed their happiness. She did not allow herself an excess of grief. With none of the usual lamentations, she withdrew to one of her country houses to weep at her leisure, without constraint or ostentation. But no sooner had she arrived than it was pointed out to her, on the basis of irrefutable evidence, that she was carrying a child. At first she rejoiced at the prospect of seeing a little replica of the man she had loved so much. She was careful to preserve her husband’s precious remains, and took every possible step to keep his memory alive. Her pregnancy was very easy, but as her time drew near she was tormented by a host of anxieties. She pictured a soldier’s gruesome death in its full horror. She imagined the same fate for the child she was expecting and, unable to reconcile herself to such a distressing idea, prayed a thousand times to heaven to send her a daughter who, by virtue of her sex, would be spared so cruel a fate. She did more: she made up her mind that, if nature did not answer her wishes, she would correct her. She took all the necessary precautions and made the midwife promise to announce to the world the birth of a girl, even if it was a boy.

Thanks to these measures the business was effected smoothly. Money settles everything. The marquise was absolute mistress in her château and word soon spread that she had given birth to a girl, though the child was actually a boy. It was taken to the curé who, in good faith, christened it Marianne. The wet nurse was also won over. She brought little Marianne up and subsequently became her governess. She was taught everything a girl of noble birth should know: dancing; music; the harpsichord. She grasped everything with such precocity her mother had no choice but to have her taught languages, history, even modern philosophy. There was no danger of so many subjects becoming confused in a mind where everything was arranged with such remarkable orderliness. And what was extraordinary, not to say delightful, was that so fine a mind should be found in the body of an angel. At twelve her figure was already formed. True, she had been a little constricted from infancy with an iron corset, to widen her hips and lift her bosom. But this had been a complete success and (though I shall not describe her until her first journey to Paris) she was already a very beautiful girl. She lived in blissful ignorance, quite unaware that she was not a girl. She was known in the province as la belle Marianne. All the minor gentry roundabout came to pay court to her, believing she was a rich heiress. She listened to them all and answered their gallantries with great wit and frankness. My heart, she said to her mother one day, isn’t made for provincials. If I receive them kindly it’s because I want to please people.

Be careful, my child, said the marquise: you’re talking like a coquette.

Ah, maman, she answered, let them come. Let them love me as much as they like. Why should you worry as long as I don’t love them?

The marquise was delighted to hear this, and gave her complete licence with these young men who, in any case, never strayed beyond the bounds of decorum. She knew the truth and so feared no consequences. La belle Marianne would study till noon and spend the rest of the day at her toilette.

After devoting the whole morning to my mind, she would say gaily, It’s only right to give the afternoon to my eyes, my mouth, all this little body of mine.

Indeed, she did not begin dressing till four. Her suitors would usually have gathered by then, and would take pleasure in watching her toilette. Her chambermaids would do her hair, but she would always add some new embellishment herself. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in great curls. The fire in her eyes and the freshness of her complexion were quite dazzling, and all this beauty was animated and enhanced by the thousand charming remarks that poured continually from the prettiest mouth in the world. All the young men around her adored her, nor did she miss any opportunity to increase that adoration. She would herself, with exquisite grace, put pendants in her ears – either of pearls, rubies or diamonds – all of which suited her to perfection. She wore beauty spots, preferably so tiny that one could barely see them with the naked eye and, if her complexion had not been so delicate and fine, could not have seen them at all. When putting them on she made a great show of consulting now one suitor, now another, as to which would suit her best. Her mother was overjoyed and kept congratulating herself on her ingenuity. He is twelve years old, she would say to herself under her breath. Soon I should have had to think about sending him to the Military Academy, and in two years he would have followed his poor father. Whereupon, transported with affection, she would go and kiss her darling daughter, and would let her indulge in all the coquetries that she would have condemned in anyone else’s child.

This is how matters stood when the Marquise de Banneville was obliged to go to Paris to deal with a lawsuit that one of her neighbours had taken out against her. Naturally she took her daughter with her, and soon realised that a pretty young girl can be useful when it comes to making petitions. The first person she went to see was her old friend the Comtesse d’Alettef,11 to ask for her advice and her protection for her daughter. The comtesse was struck by Marianne’s beauty and so enjoyed kissing her that she did so several times. She took on herself the task of chaperoning her, and looked after her when her mother was busy with her suit, promising to keep her amused. Marianne could not have fallen into better hands. The comtesse was born to enjoy life. She had managed to separate herself from an inconvenient husband. Not that he lacked qualities (he loved pleasure as much as she did) but since they could not agree in their choice of pleasures, they had the good sense not to get in one another’s way and each followed their own inclinations. The comtesse, though not young any more, was beautiful. But the desire for lovers had given way to the desire for money, and gambling was now her chief passion. She took Marianne everywhere, and everywhere she was received with delight.

Meanwhile, the Marquise de Banneville slept easily. She was well aware of the comtesse’s somewhat dubious reputation, and would never have trusted her with a real daughter. But quite apart from the fact that Marianne had been brought up with a strong sense of virtue, the marquise wanted a little amusement and so left her to her own devices, merely telling her that she was entering a scene very different from that of the provinces; that she would encounter passionate, devoted lovers at every turn; that she must not believe them too readily; that if she felt herself giving way she was to come and tell her everything; and that in future she would look on her as a friend rather than a daughter, and give her such advice as she herself might take.

Marianne, whom people were starting to call the little marquise, promised her mother that she would disclose all her feelings to her and, relying on past experience, believed herself a match for the gallantry of the French court. This was a bold undertaking thirty years ago. Magnificent dresses were made for her; all the newest fashions tried on her. The comtesse, who presided over all this, saw to it that her hair was dressed by Mlle de Canillac. She had only some child’s earrings and a few jewels; her mother gave her all hers, which were of poor workmanship, and managed at relatively little expense to have two pairs of diamond pendants made for her ears, and five or six crisping pins for her hair. These were all the ornaments she needed. The comtesse would send her carriage for her immediately after dinner and take her to the theatre, the opera, or the gaming houses. She was universally admired. Wives and daughters never tired of caressing her, and the loveliest of them heard her beauty praised without a hint of jealousy. A certain hidden charm, which they felt but did not understand, attracted them to her and forced them to pay homage where homage was due. Everyone succumbed to her spell and her wit, which was even more irresistible than her beauty, won her more certain and lasting conquests. The first thing that captivated them was the dazzling whiteness of her complexion. The bloom in her cheeks, forever appearing and reappearing, never ceased to amaze them. Her eyes were blue and as lively as one could wish; they flashed from beneath two heavy lids that made their glances more tender and languishing. Her face was oval-shaped and her scarlet lips, which protruded slightly, would break – even when she spoke with the utmost seriousness – into a dozen delightful creases, and into a dozen even more delightful when she laughed. This exterior – so charming in itself – was enhanced by all that a good education can add to an excellent nature. There was a radiance, a modesty in the little marquise’s countenance that inspired respect. She had a sense of occasion: she always wore a cap when she went to church, never a beauty spot – avoiding the ostentation cultivated by most women. At Mass, she would say, One prays to God; at balls one dances; and one must do both with total commitment.

She had been leading a most agreeable life for three months when Carnival came round. All the princes and officers had returned from camp, and everywhere entertainments were being held again. Everyone was giving parties and there was a great ball at the Palais Royal. The comtesse, who was too old to show her face on such occasions, decided to go masked and took the little marquise with her. She was dressed as a shepherdess in an extremely simple but becoming costume. Her hair, which hung down to her waist, was tied up in great curls with pink ribbons – no pearls, no diamonds, only a beautiful cap. She had dressed herself, but even so all eyes were fixed on her. That night her beauty was triumphant.

The handsome Prince Sionad was there, dressed as a woman – a rival to the fair sex who, in the opinion of connoisseurs, took first prize for beauty. On arriving at the ball the comtesse decided to go and sit behind the lovely Sionad. Chère princesse, she said as she drew near and introduced the little marquise, here is a young shepherdess you should find worth looking at. Marianne approached respectfully and wanted to kiss the hem of the prince’s dress (or should I say the princess’s) but he lifted her up, embraced her tenderly and cried delightedly: What a lovely girl! What fine features! What a smile! What delicacy! And if I’m not mistaken, she is as clever as she is beautiful.

The little marquise had responded only with a bashful smile when a young prince came up and claimed her for a dance. At first all eyes were fixed on him, owing to his rank. But when people saw her answering his questions without awkwardness or embarrassment; saw what a feel she had for the music; how gracefully she moved; her little jumps in time; her smiles, subtle without being malicious and the fresh glow that vigorous exercise brought to her face, total silence, as at a concert, descended on the hall. The violinists found to their delight that they could hear themselves play, and everyone seemed intent on watching and wondering at her. The dance ended with applause, little of it for the prince, popular though he was.

The acclaim that the little marquise had received at the Palais Royal ball greatly increased the comtesse’s affection and concern for her. She could no longer do without her and she offered her rooms in her house, so that she could enjoy her company at her leisure. But on no account would her mother agree to this. The little marquise was almost fourteen and, if the secret of her birth was to be kept, it was vital that no one should be on intimate terms with her except her governess, who got her up and saw her into bed. She was still quite ignorant of her situation and, though she had many admirers, felt nothing for them. She cared for nothing and no one but herself and her appearance. People spoke to her of nothing else. She drank down this delicious praise in long draughts and thought herself the most beautiful person in the world; the more so since her mirror swore to her every day that the praise was justified.

One day she was at the theatre, in the first tier, when she noticed a beautiful young man in the next box. He wore a scarlet doublet embroidered with gold and silver, but what fascinated her were his dazzling diamond earrings and three or four beauty spots. She watched him intently and found his countenance so sweet and amiable that she could not contain herself, and said to the comtesse: Madame, look at that young man! Isn’t he handsome! Indeed, said the comtesse, but he is too conscious of his looks, and that is not becoming in a man. He might as well dress as a girl.

The performance went on and they said nothing more, but the little marquise often turned her head, no longer able to concentrate on the play, which was The Feign’d Alcibiades. Some days later she was at the theatre again in the third tier. The same young man, who drew such attention to himself with his extraordinary adornments, was in the second tier. He watched the little marquise at his leisure, as fascinated by her as she had been by him on the previous occasion, but less restrained. He kept turning his back on the actors, unable to take his eyes off her and she, for her part, responded in a manner less than consistent with the dictates of modesty. She felt in this exchange of looks something she had never experienced before: a certain joy at once subtle and profound, which passes from the eyes to the heart and constitutes the only real happiness in life. At last the play ended and, while they waited for the afterpiece, the beautiful young man left his box and went to ask the little marquise’s name. The porters, who saw her often, were happy to oblige him; they even told him where she lived. He now saw that she was of noble birth and decided, if possible, to make her acquaintance, even if he went no further. He resolved (love being ingenious) to enter her box by accident.

Ah, madame, he cried, I beg your pardon: I thought this was my box. The Marquise de Banneville loved intrigue and made the most of this one. Monsieur, she said to him with great frankness, we are indeed fortunate in your mistake: a man as handsome as you is welcome anywhere.

She hoped in this way to detain him so that she could look at him at her leisure; examine him and his adornments; please her daughter (whose feelings she had already detected) and, in a word, have some harmless amusement. He hesitated before deciding to remain in the box without taking a seat at the front. They asked him a hundred questions, to which he replied very wittily. His manner and tone of voice had an undeniable charm. The little marquise asked him why he wore pendants in his ears. He replied that he always had: his ears had been pierced when he was a child. As for the rest, they must excuse these little embellishments, normally only suitable for the fair sex, on the grounds of youth.

Everything suits you, monsieur, said the little marquise with a blush. You can wear beauty spots and bracelets as far as we’re concerned. You wouldn’t be the first. These days young men are always doing themselves up like girls. The conversation never flagged. When the afterpiece was over he conducted the ladies to their coach and had his follow it as far as the marquise’s house where, not daring to enter, he sent a page to present his compliments.

During the days that followed they saw him everywhere: in church; in the park; at the opera and the theatre. He was always unassuming, always respectful. He would bow low to the little marquise, not daring to approach or speak to her. He seemed to have but one object, and wasted no time in attaining it. Finally, after three weeks, the Marquise de Banneville’s brother (who was a state councillor) called and suggested that she receive a visitor – his good friend and neighbour, the Marquis de Bercour. He assured her that he was an excellent man and brought him round immediately after lunch. The marquis was the handsomest man in the world; his hair was black and arranged in thick, natural-looking curls. It was cut in line with the ears so that his diamond earrings could be seen. On this particular day he had attached to each of these a pearl. He also wore two or three beauty spots (no more) to emphasise his fine complexion.

Ah, brother, said the marquise, is this the Marquis de Bercour? Yes, madame, replied the marquis, and he cannot live any longer without seeing the loveliest girl in the world.

As he said this he turned towards the little marquise, who was beside herself with joy. They sat and talked, exchanging news, discussing amusements and new books. The little marquise was a versatile conversationalist, and they were soon at ease with one another. The old councillor was the first to leave, the marquis the last, having remained as long as he felt he could.

After this he never missed an opportunity of paying court to the girl he loved, and always made sure that everything was perfect. When the good weather came and they went out walking to Vincennes or in the Bois, they would find a magnificent collation, which seemed to have been brought there by magic, at a place specially chosen in the shade of some trees. One day there would be violins; the next oboes. The marquis had apparently given no instructions, yet it was obvious that he had arranged everything. Nevertheless, it took several days to guess who had given the little marquise a magnificent present. One morning a carrier brought a chest to her house which he said was from the Comtesse Alettef. She opened it eagerly and was delighted to find in it gloves, scents, pomades, perfumed oils, gold boxes, little toilet cases, more than a dozen snuff boxes in different styles, and countless other treasures. The little marquise wanted to thank the comtesse, who had no idea what she was talking about. She found out in the end, but reproached herself more than once for not having guessed at once.

These little attentions advanced the marquis’s cause considerably. The little marquise greatly appreciated them. Madame, she said to her mother with admirable honesty, I no longer know where I am. Once I wanted to be beautiful in everyone’s eyes; now the only person I want to find me beautiful is the marquis. I used to love balls, plays, receptions, places where there was a lot of noise. Now I’m tired of all that. My only pleasure in life is to be alone and think about the man I love. He’s coming soon, I whisper to myself. Perhaps he’ll tell me he loves me. Yes, madame, he hasn’t said that yet; hasn’t spoken those wonderful words: I love you, though his eyes and his actions have told me so a hundred times. Then, my child, replied the marquise, I’m very sorry for you. You were happy before you saw the marquis. You enjoyed everyone’s company; everyone loved you and you loved only yourself, your own person, your beauty. You were wholly consumed with the desire to please, and please you did. Why change such a delightful life? Take my advice, my dear child: let your sole concern be to profit from the advantages nature has given you. Be beautiful: you have experienced that joy; is there any other to touch it? To draw everyone’s gaze; to win all hearts; to delight people wherever one goes; to hear oneself praised continually, and not by flatterers; to be loved by all and love only oneself: that, my child, is the height of happiness, and you can enjoy it for a long time. You are a queen, don’t make yourself a slave: you must resist at the outset a passion that is carrying you away in spite of yourself. Now you command, but soon you will obey. Men are fickle: the marquis loves you today – tomorrow he will love someone else.

Stop loving me! said the little marquise. Love someone else! And she burst into tears.

Her mother, who loved her dearly, tried to console her and succeeded by telling her that the marquis was coming. There was a lot at stake and this incipient passion caused her considerable alarm. Where will it lead? she asked herself. To what bizarre conclusion. If the marquis declares himself – if he plucks up courage and asks for certain favours – she will refuse him nothing. But then, she reflected, the little marquise has been well trained; she is sensible; at most she will grant such trifling favours as will leave them in ignorance – an ignorance essential to their happiness.

They were talking like this when someone came to tell them that the marquis had sent them a dozen partridges, and that he was at the door, not daring to enter as he had just returned from hunting.

Send him in! cried the little marquise. We want to see him in his hunting clothes. He entered a moment later, all apologies for powder marks, sun burn and a dishevelled wig. No, no, said the little marquise. I assure you, we like you better dressed informally like this than in all your finery. If that is so, madame, he replied, next time you will see me dressed as a stoker.

He remained standing, as though about to leave. They made him sit and the marquise, kind soul, told them to sit together while she went to her study to write. The chambermaids knew what was what and withdrew to the dressing-room, leaving the lovers alone together. They were silent for a while. The little marquise, still flustered after her talk with her mother, scarcely dared raise her eyes, and the marquis, even more embarrassed, looked at her and sighed. There was something tender in this silence. The looks they exchanged, the sighs they could not contain, were for them a form of language – a language lovers often use – and their mutual embarrassment seemed to them a sign of love. The little marquise was the first to awake from this reverie.

You’re dreaming, marquis, she said. What of? Hunting? Ah, beautiful marquise, said the marquis, how lucky hunters are! They are not in love. What do you mean? she rejoined. Is being in love really so terrible? Madame, he replied, it is the greatest happiness in life. But unrequited love is the greatest misfortune. I am in love and it is not requited. I am in love with the most beautiful girl in the world. Venus herself would not dare put herself before her. I love her and she does not love me. She has no feelings. She sees me, she listens to me, and she remains cruelly silent. She even turns her eyes away from mine. How heartless! How can I doubt my fate? As he spoke these last words, the marquis knelt down before the little marquise and kissed her hands – nor did she object. Her eyes were lowered and let fall great tears.

Beautiful marquise, he said, you’re crying. You’re crying and I know the reason for your tears. My love is irksome to you. Ah, marquis, she answered with a heavy sigh, one can cry for joy as well as pain. I’ve never been so happy. She said no more and, stretching out her arms to her beloved marquis, granted him the favours she would have denied all the kings of the earth. Caresses were all the protestations of love they needed. The marquis found in the little marquise’s lips a compliance that her eyes had hidden from him, and this conversation would have lasted longer if the marquise had not emerged from her study. She found them laughing and crying at the same time, and wondered whether such tears had ever needed drying.

The marquis immediately rose to leave, but the marquise said to him pleasantly: Monsieur, won’t you stay and dine on the partridges you brought? He needed little persuading. What he desired more than anything else in the world was to be on familiar terms in this house. He stayed, even though he was dressed in hunting clothes, and had the exquisite pleasure of seeing the girl he loved eat. It is one of life’s chief delights. To watch at close quarters a pink mouth that, as it opens, reveals gums of coral and teeth of alabaster; that opens and closes with the rapidity that accompanies all the actions of youth; to see a beautiful face animated by an often repeated pleasure, and to be experiencing the same pleasure at the same time – this is a privilege love grants to few.

After that happy day the marquis made sure he dined there every night. It was a regular affair and the little marquise’s suitors, who had had no cause to be jealous of one another, took it as settled. She had made her choice and they all admitted that beauty and vanity, however powerful, are no defence against love. The Comte d’****, one of her most ardent admirers, had a keen sense that his passion was being made light of. He was handsome, well built, brave, a soldier: he could not allow the little marquise to give herself to the Marquis de Bercour, whom he considered vastly inferior in every respect to himself. He decided to pick a quarrel with him and so disgrace him, thinking him too effeminate to dare cross swords with him. However, to his great surprise, at the first word he uttered when they met at the Porte des Tuileries, the marquis drew his sword and thrust at him with gusto. After a hard-fought duel they were parted by mutual friends.

This adventure pleased the little marquise. It gave her lover a war-like air, though she trembled for him nevertheless. She saw clearly that her beauty and her preference for him would constantly be exposing him to such encounters, and she said to him one day: Marquis, we must put an end to jealousy once and for all; we must silence gossip. We love one another and always will. We must bind ourselves to one another with ties that only death can break.

Ah, beautiful marquise, he said, what are you thinking of? Does our happiness bore you? Marriage, as a rule, puts an end to pleasure. Let us remain as we are. For my part, I am content with your favours and will never ask you for anything more. But I am not content, said the little marquise. I can see clearly that there is something missing in our happiness, and perhaps we will find it when you belong to me entirely, and I to you. It would not be right, replied the marquis, for you to throw in your lot with a younger son who has spent the bulk of his fortune and whom you still know only by appearances, which are often deceptive.

But that’s just what I love about it, she interrupted. I’m so happy that I have enough money for us both, and to have the chance of showing you that I love you and you alone.

They had reached this point when the Marquise de Banneville interrupted them. She had been closeted with her agents, and thought she would refresh herself with some lively young company, but she found them in a deeply serious mood. The marquis had been greatly put out by the little marquise’s proposal. Ostensibly it was very much to his advantage, but he had secret objections to it, which he considered insurmountable. The little marquise, for her part, was a little annoyed at having taken such a bold step in vain, but she soon recovered, deciding that the marquis had refused out of respect for her – or that he wished to prove the depth of his feelings for her. This thought made her decide to speak to her mother about it, and she did so the following day.

No one was ever more astonished than the Marquise de Banneville when her daughter spoke to her of marriage. She was sixteen and no longer a child. Her eyes had not been opened to her situation, and her mother hoped they never would be. She was careful not to agree to the match, but to reveal the truth would have been a painful solution both for her daughter and the marquis. She resolved to do so only as a last resort. Meanwhile she would prevent, or at least postpone, the marriage. The marquis was in agreement with her on this, but the little marquise – passionate creature that she was – begged, entreated, wept, used every means to persuade her mother. She never doubted her lover, since he did not dare oppose her with the same firmness. Finally she pushed her mother to the point where she said these words to her: My dear child, you leave me no choice: against my better judgement I must reveal to you something that I would have given my life to conceal from you. I loved your poor father and when I lost him so tragically, in dread of your meeting the same fate, I prayed with all my heart for a daughter. I was not so fortunate: I gave birth to a son and I have brought him up as a daughter. His sweetness, his inclinations, his beauty, all assisted my plan. I have a son and the whole world believes I have a daughter. Ah, madame! cried the little marquise, is it possible that I …? Yes, my child, said her mother embracing her, you are a boy. I can see how painful this news must be for you. Habit has given you a different nature. You are used to a life very different from the one you might have led. I wanted you to be happy and would never have revealed the sad truth to you if your obstinacy over the marquis had not forced me to. You see now what you were about to do? How, but for me, you would have exposed yourself to public ridicule?

The little marquise did not answer. Instead she merely wept and in vain her mother said to her: But my child, go on living as you were. Be the beautiful little marquise still – loved, adored by all who see her. Love your beautiful marquis if you like, but do not think of marrying him. Alas! cried the little marquise through her tears, he has asked for nothing more. He flies into a rage when I mention marriage. Ah! Could it be that he knows my secret? If I thought that, dear mother, I would go and hide myself in the furthest corner of the earth. Could he know it? In floods of tears now, she added: Alas, poor little marquise, what will you do? Will you dare show your face again and act the beauty? But what have you said? What have you done? What name can one give the favours you have granted the marquis? Blush! Blush, unhappy girl! Ah, nature you are blind: why did you not warn me of my duty? Alas! I acted in good faith, but now I see the truth and I must behave quite differently in future. I must not think about the man I love – I must do what is right.

She was uttering these words with determination when it was announced that the marquis was at the door of the antechamber. He entered with a happy air and was amazed to see both mother and daughter with lowered eyes and in tears. The mother did not wait for him to speak but rose and went to her room. He took courage and said: What’s the matter, beautiful marquise? If something is distressing you, won’t you share it with your friends? What? You won’t even look at me! Am I the cause of this weeping? Am I to blame without knowing it?

The little marquise dissolved in tears. No! No! she cried. No! That could never be, and if it were so I would not feel as I do. Nature is wise and there is a reason for everything she does.

The marquis had no idea what all this meant. He was asking for an explanation when the marquise, who had recovered a little, left her room and came to her daughter’s aid. Look at her, she said to the marquis. As you see, she is quite beside herself. I am to blame. I tried to stop her but she would have her fortune told, and they said she would never marry the man she loved. That has upset her, Monsieur le Marquis, and you know why.

For my part, madame, he replied, I am not at all upset. Let her remain always as she is. I ask only to see her. I shall be more than happy if she will consider me her best friend.

With this the conversation ended. Emotions had been stirred, and would take time to settle. But they settled so completely that after eight days there was no sign of any upheaval. The marquis’s presence, his charm, his caresses, obliterated from the little marquise’s mind everything her mother had told her. She no longer believed any of it, or rather did not wish to believe. Pleasure triumphed over reflection. She lived as she had done before with her lover and felt her passion increase with such violence that thoughts of a lasting union returned to torment her. Yes, she said to herself, he cannot go back on his word now. He will never desert me. She had resolved to speak of it again, when her mother fell ill. Her illness was so grave that after three days all hope of a cure was abandoned. She made her will and sent for her brother, the councillor, whom she appointed the little marquise’s guardian. He was her uncle and her heir, since all the property came from the mother. She confided to him the truth about her daughter’s birth, begging him to take it seriously and to let her lead a life of innocent pleasure that would harm no one and which, since it precluded her marrying, would guarantee his children a rich inheritance.

The good councillor was delighted at this news and saw his sister die without shedding a tear. The income of thirty thousand francs that she left the little marquise seemed certain to pass to his children, and he had only to encourage his niece’s infatuation for the marquis. He did so with great success, telling her that he would be like a father to her and had no wish to be her guardian except in name.

This sympathetic behaviour consoled the little marquise somewhat – and she was certainly distraught – but the sight of her beloved marquis consoled her even more. She saw that she was absolute mistress of her fate, and her sole aim was to share it with the man she loved. Six months of official mourning passed, after which pleasures of all kinds once again filled her life. She went often to balls, the theatre, the opera, and always in the same company. The marquis never left her side and all her other suitors, seeing that it was a settled affair, had withdrawn. They lived happily and would perhaps have thought of nothing else, if malicious tongues could have left them in peace. Everywhere, people were saying that, while the little marquise was beautiful, since her mother’s death she had lost all sense of decorum: she was seen everywhere with the marquis; he was practically living in her house; he dined there every day and never left before midnight. Her best friends found grounds for censure in this: they sent her anonymous letters and warned her uncle, who spoke to her about it. Finally, things went so far that the little marquise went back to her first idea and decided to marry the marquis. She put this to him forcefully; he resisted likewise, only agreeing on condition that the marriage would be a purely public affair, and that they would live together like brother and sister. This, he said, was how they must always love one another. The little marquise readily agreed. She often remembered what her mother had told her. She spoke of it to her uncle, who began by outlining all the pitfalls of marriage and ended by giving his consent. He saw that, by this means, the income of thirty thousand francs was sure to pass to his family. There was no danger of his niece having children by the Marquis de Bercour whereas, if she did not marry him, her notion that she was a girl might change with time and with her beauty, which was sure to fade. So a wedding day was fixed on, bridal clothes made and the ceremony held at the good uncle’s house. (As guardian he undertook to give the wedding feast.)

The little marquise had never looked as beautiful as she did that day. She wore a dress of black velours completely covered in gems, pink ribbons in her hair and diamond pendants in her ears. The Comtesse d’Alettef, who would always love her, went with her to the church, where the marquis was waiting. He wore a black velours cloak decked with gold braid, his hair was in curls, his face powdered, there were diamond pendants in his ears and beauty spots on his face. In short, he was adorned in such a way that his best friends could not excuse such vanity. The couple were united for ever and everyone showered them with blessings. The banquet was magnificent, the king’s music and the violons were there. At last the hour came and relatives and friends put the couple together in a nuptial bed and embraced them, the men laughing, a few good old aunts weeping.

It was then that the little marquise was astonished to find how cold and insensitive her lover was. He stayed at one end of the bed, sighing and weeping. She approached him tentatively. He did not seem to notice her. Finally, no longer able to endure so painful a state of affairs, she said: What have I done to you, marquis? Don’t you love me any more? Answer me or I shall die, and it will be your fault.

Alas, madame, said the marquis, didn’t I tell you? We were living together happily – you loved me – and now you will hate me. I have deceived you. Come here and see.

So saying he took her hand and placed it on the most beautiful bosom in the world. You see, he said, dissolving in tears, you see I am useless to you: I am a woman like you.

Who could describe here the little marquise’s surprise and delight? At this moment she had no doubt that she was a boy and, throwing herself into the arms of her beloved marquis, she gave him the same surprise, the same delight. They soon made their peace, wondered at their fate – a fate that had brought matters on to such a happy conclusion – and exchanged a thousand vows of undying love.

As for me, said the little marquise, I am too used to being a girl, and I want to remain one all my life. How could I bring myself to wear a man’s hat?

And I, said the marquis, have used a sword more than once without disgracing myself. I’ll tell you about my adventures some day. Let’s continue as we are, then. Beautiful marquise, enjoy all the pleasures of your sex, and I shall enjoy all the freedom of mine.

The day after the wedding they received the usual compliments and, eight days later, left for the provinces, where they still live in one of their châteaux. The uncle should visit them there: he would find, to his surprise, that a beautiful child has resulted from their marriage – one to put paid to his hopes of a rich inheritance.

[sly-merlin]

Wonderwall- the onerous love | l.jeno || Teaser

Pairing : prince!jeno x princess!reader. Lee jaein - Lee jeno's twin!

Genre : fluff, angst , modern royalty! Arrange marriage au, Strangers to ??? Smut? Would think abt it bt if it's there, I'd make sure it's nt connected to any scene and easily skippable.

Word count : ~ 5k? Certainty of surpassing the projected word count. YES THE TEASER IS LONG.

Prompt :: I never meant to hurt you.

A/n : this is a modern royalty piece written as a part of candy heart Collab by dear @127-mile .

Taglist : @/ncteaxhoe @/hunjins. Send ask/dm/comment if u wish!

Release date : lover's day. Edit : on 15/16 bcs i got sick

Summary : y/n was supposed to be married to Lee jaein, the oldest prince and the heir to the throne. Her heart didn't yearn for him but she knew that one day, it would definitely. Thoughts and suppressed unknown feelings were all she had while preparing to be a queen of the small kingdom. The day ending her wait never comes, the news of death does.

Bind by the customs and duties, how she would find peace when she's married off to the twin brother of the man who's portrait she had cherished for two years.

Was Lee jeno ready to replace his brother?

Was she ready to give her piece of heart to someone who was never meant to have it?

( italics are memories)

Apparently, the progression into the twenty-first century is not good enough of an excuse for absolving the old practices.

Royals are born in traditions, they live with them and die too. Royals bend for none. So do their customs.

This, the rationale you were raised with, had never been the object of contention in your family. Royalty was a crown in itself and you had lived wearing it and you’d die carrying it. There was no escape and not that you sought any.

The only phenomenon you had been taught to bow to was nature and that was the very reason why you were standing in front of your exotically dark finished, extraordinarily carved ivory wood dressing mirror, fitted in a beautiful masterpiece crafted from the finest silk and satin. To make your wedding dress royal worthy, precious gemstones that were hardly visible on white and a white gold diamond embellished the hand stitched zari embroidered piece. The cathedral train and boat neck were doing nothing but complimenting the details.

It looked ethereal.

You looked like the prettiest bride.

But the way the emerald drop necklace sat on your bare neck, it felt like a noose. All that glitters is not gold, as taught by your grandfather, has always acted as the driving force for the deferential life you lived but in the current moment, the proverb has hit you right in the gut, the reason being the strict interpretation of the words in your situation. You were adorned in glitters and gold. Always had been. Nothing of the heaviness of the dress or jewellery was new yet it was weighing tons, as if you were robbed of the metallic senses you grew up with. The corset, strangling your rib cage, wasn't letting you breathe.

"Sit y/n."

Following your mother's command, you sat down on the cushioned vanity chair and the spare cloth was sidelined by the maids. Looking through the mirror, you watched her fingers caressing the queen's emerald crown. Gently picking it up from the maroon velvet case, her hands reached atop your head. A maid tucked some strands of your hair behind your ear for comfortable access.

The crown, once placed on your hair, was shifted with minimum force for required adjustments.

The new addition weighs you down even more as your shoulders slump in indescribable defeat.

You always knew the day would come.

Then why this unknown feeling was so irrepressible.

Is this what the wedding jitters were called?

Or was it something else?

Were you even allowed to feel anything?

What would your mother say if she identified the cause of your frequent disconnection with reality.

Your own mirror seemed to be mocking you.

or was it the portrait that stared you down?

Three years ago

"Why does this portrait have to be here? Do you want me to replicate it for the wedding night gift?"

Eighteen year old you has shouted her lungs out at her mother upon seeing a random canvas in your room. Well, it was not random. It was jaein's. Prince jaein's! The man you were destined to marry. You had no problem with the man himself, given that you were aware of your marriage arrangements. But why you had to be reminded of something everyday that you were going to face anyway. It was not like the absence of the portrait would have ended the fixed fate. You never intended to do so. After all, you loved your status and the respect it gave you. Having an affair or marrying a civilian had never ever crossed your mind. The mere thought of leaving everything behind was simply scary and being the oldest daughter of the king, you were obliged not to taint the honour of your father's crown.

You were not an ordinary citizen so your life wasn't just yours and you were never concerned about that either. But why should you be seeing the face of a man daily when you'd not be able to communicate with him?

"Have some authority in your voice while speaking. The maids are still here to witness your imprudent behaviour. And you know it's a tradition to have the portrait of the prince to be placed in the bride's chambers. Don't forget you chose him yourself. Let him occupy some space in your room and maybe in your heart too."

You had obliged. Throughout your home graduation, you had spent every day and night with the smiley portrait of the handsome prince. Occasionally, you'd find yourself immersed in his dark brown eyes, his boyish features pulling you in to touch the dried paint with a faint hope that maybe he'd come alive. You used to laugh at yourself for such petty thoughts. Sometimes you'd think if your portrait had managed to lure him just as his did to you.

Were you perhaps falling for a pair of eyes, devoid of any emotion.

No, you weren't.

He was just a portrait but with a future.

With you.

As you got busy with educating yourself with the responsibilities you'd be faced with as the wife of the oldest son, you found yourself immersing in the world you were yet to become a part of.

One year ago.

"Prince jaein expired last night in a helicopter clash. The public is requested to participate in a week-long mourning."

For that day, you forgot how to even breathe. The news that had flashed in every device of your chambers had forced you to lock yourself in your room for that night. Blankly staring at the man sized painted photo, you made no attempt at hiding the grief you felt for the man you had never met. Nothing but a mutual expectation of a union had stringed you both into each other's heart. No affections. No romance. No longing.

But something was there.

The Ending of one has ripped the stitches from both sides.

At the end of the next day, the portrait was removed and the space was left empty again.

After a month, a new painting had entered your peaceful abode. Amusingly, replacements were not hard to find! Even of humans.

Head tilted, you found yourself staring into the same pair of eyes. The similarity with the previous one was almost dangerous. They were the same yet distinct.

Under the foot of the canvas were the signatures, another reminder of the new future you were getting thrown into.

Lee jeno,

The prince.

"You look beautiful y/n. Be mindful of your steps while walking. You cannot afford to lower the prestige of the family." She ordered in a stoic manner.

Biting your lip, you couldn't stop yourself from asking the one question.

"Mom. Would I be able to do it?" The nervousness was melting through your words.

"Queen, y/n. Not mom. You are going to be one as well. Learn to not disrespect the title ever and certainly not in front of civilians."

You mentally scoffed at her professionalism that seemed to eclipse her responsibility as your mother.

Raising yourself from the chair, you turned to face your mother, a low smile gracing your lips.

"Shall we go y/n. King is waiting for you." She addressed you. Gulping down the embarrassment, you, towering over her with the length of your heels, replied courteously,

"Princess, your highness. And a queen to be. Respect for my title is the last thing I ask of you."

Without gauging her reaction, you picked your dress up with your fingers and trudged outside with grace.

To the man who was waiting for you.

To the man who was never meant to wait for you.

If u wish to be added to the taglist, please comment/send ask/dm me.

[vespiiqueen]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box of the last 10 people who reblogged something from you (if you want !! 💛💖)

Wow I rambled a lot with this but i can't add cuts bc I'm on mobile rn DHSISHSJ sorry :"))))

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1. Ik Ik "haha how cringe are you" of me to say, but honestly? Homestuck. Homestuck helped me in a time of need and when i so desperately wanted something to latch onto. Finally, I caved into my friends telling me to read it-- and it's been a blast!! The epilogues / hs^2 make me feel kinda sad though, because so much of what I loved about the original was yeeted through the nine circles of hell and into the trash. I love Y/ffany's (I call her Yippi tho) design, the art is really pretty at times, Harry is a major dork, I LIVE for seeing Vrissy bc honestly?? Her design is 10/10, very early 2000s emo style and I also live for that. Tavros is cute and a nerd and I think that's swell!

But in terms of story and how any of this happens, it makes me sad to see it happen. If Vriska could return as Vrissy, why not OTHER beta trolls? Where's my Eridan fish man, writers?? Give me the boy or perish by my fury.

2. Also super "haha how cringe are you" but,,, murder cats (Warriors), esp the early 2005-2015 amvs and stuff. I remember watching Flightfootwarrior's "I Will Not Bow" Scourge amv for HOurs and having no clue what was happening, but all these edgy kitties were KITTIES! It's introduced me to a lot of music I still listen to to this very day (Imagine Dragons, Young/the entirety of Hollywood Undead, Breaking Benjamin). And yknow what?? This new arc is absolute chaos, but in the good way.

I'm an "OG Fan". I prefer the first arc, The Prophecies Begin, to almost any of the other arcs. I just could never get into the other arcs-- not to say I haven't read them, I HAVE and the Fire Scene was probably one of my favorite moments beside grumpy Jaypaw, god complex Lionblaze, and fear the gods Hollypaw. I thought the build-up for it was SUPER satisfying. Gray Wing is my baby and I fully embellish in the Gray Wing is Silverpelt theory.

This new arc is definitely something new for the universe. While I didn't read aVoS (but I may do that if i can find the files for it), and so I don't know the major events of it other than what I've seen M.A.P.'s (Multi-Animator Projects, for clarification,,, bc unfortunately that term is also something disgusting). There's fucking cat possession and all the Clans questioning their belief system, yo. Shit be on fire.

Also the Imposter is 100% Ashfur, that's canon now, yeah??? Also im sorry but fuck Root x Bristle that's the dumbest shit I have ever seen. Give me Root x Shadow or face the wrath of my dragon plushies.

RiverClan is my Clan and my gov assigned warrior name is Fireshell 🌟🌟

3. As much as I hate the author,,,,, Harry Potter. It's been a major part of my life for as long as I can remember. I can never really remember why, but I've always just loved it- the movies, the books, the extra little merch that would pop up in my local Walmart. Of course my favorite character is Draco Malfoy. I could go on and on and ON about how I think his character arc was SHIT and JKR didn't have the balls to make him a confident gay man that was always implied through the text (at least, my lesbian ass thought it was implied but i may just be projecting, idk). I could ramble about Draco for HOURS and what I think his character SHOULD have been and how his parents are horrible (more specifically, Lucius bc Narcissa [?] Actually showed a few good moments), and a child should never have to pay for their parents sins.

Oh noo, Draco's a villain because he's a victim of major abuse and peer pressure? He's a villain because a literal child can be horrible and they'll always always always stay as a horrible little fiend?? Fuck that. He's a child.

Unlike manchild grease pan Snape, who was a racist piece of shit and shouldn't have became a fucking school teacher but it's okay because he was ~~~in love~~~. No, fuck you, he was a creep. James Potter n Co may have been a little posh bitch to you, Snape, but that's no fucking excuse to continue to bluntly be a little cunt all the way into adulthood. You're an adult who flatly changed your PATRONUS to imitate Lily's. You have no excuse. And Harry went and named his child after you LIKE JESUS CHRIST, DID RON'S SISTER NOT HAVE A SAY IN THE NAMES TOO?????

I also fully adore the idea that Muggles can run into Hogwarts and their patronus can 100% be a made up, fantasy creature. Imagine you learn the patronus spell and suddenly fucking ARCEUS comes from your wand. Imagine learning the spell and CHTULU (i did not spell that right but im so tired) comes from your wand-- an entire ass fucking Lovecraftian, Eldrith horror is just the embodiment of you. What if it was a fucking Homestuck character like Vriska? How fucking METAL would that be?? Hskajssowjjsjs get on it fandom.

4. Hee hee very evident by my url but Pokemon is another major thing of mine. While vespiquen isn't my favorite (that title goes to Hydreigon), it is definitely up there!

I've ALWAYS enjoyed the idea of Pokemon. You run around, training up these fight monsters and collecting them. I remember playing my sister's Ruby version on her flip-up Gameboy. I couldn't even read but I ran around catching god only knows how many of the same pokemon wherever she was. Apparently, I had fought for hours in the same area and leveled her Blaziken up to lvl 50 something and left her lvl 30s in the dust LMAO.

I got my first game when it was Pearl/Diamond. It was Pearl, and it still holds a very fond place in my heart. I could barely read, I could barely write-- I had named my Turtwig something along the lines of "MmorpHy" and my player boy "ZbsibJ". Yes I remember the names slightly. I really didn't get far-- I barely got to the first gym but I was just so happy to play it.

I eventually lost the game, as a 5 year old would do, but I can still vividly remember what was happening when the game arrived. I had just came back from the dentist and was quite tired from fighting the dentist bc I was super scared. Mom suddenly handed me a box and said it was mine-- my overseas (at that time) dad had bought me Pearl and my sister Diamond, because I lost my shit about it when he visited one time.

Well, tdlr, I played it for about five minutes while struggling to stay awake against the loopy gas they made me take. I fell asleep listening to Twinleaf Town's soundtrack. Every time I play a rom of Pearl and I get to where the player's house fades in and I hear that first tune of the song, I get a huge smile on my face and cry-- as.. Weird as it sounds.

A few years later, I had gotten Pokemon Black bc I liked Reshiram on the cover. Now, this one I could actually READ when playing, but I don't remember a lot of things about it. I probably lost this one too, as a 8/9 year old would do. I DO remember, I chose Snivy and my sister chose Tepig (hrmm there's a theme here of grass/fire goin on......) and vibing to the music. I was so amazed by the sprites moving, I just kept getting into encounters to see the sprites move (oh boy, no one tell younger 7-9 y/o me about Zelda......oh wait....)

Playing Pokemon NOW, as a 17 year old """gifted""" chick, I stil have very fond memories. I recently beat Pokemon Black again and GOD the OTS SLAPS. I fucking adore the soundtrack-- the track that plays when you battle a trainer, the low health dings being turned into a legit song that also slaps, the battle! gym leader themes-- and oh my gOd, the legendary theme is amazing? It really tells you just how glorious these pokemon are supposed to be. It's not intimidating like Groudon/Kyroge/Rayquaza's themes. It's not action packed like Palkia/Dialga's is, it's not filled with tension like Giratina/Arceus's is-- but it radiates the GLORY that the beasts portray. And I live for that. (Also, Kyurem's version is my favorite because it glitches in the beginning and that's rly cool)

P/D/P and BW/BW2's stories, imo, are some of the greatest ones. Yeahhh, US/USUM's is cool and I haven't played XY nor SwSh-- but the ones I can find memorable are PDP and BW/BW2. I love N. I love Barry. They're my sons. Ghetsis is fucking terrifying, Cyrus needs a hug. Giratina scared the piss out of me when I was younger, which was NOT helped by Giratina and The Sky Warrior.

I think my favorite movies are the gen 4 ones. The Rise of Darkrai having a tear-jerking theme for such a mysterious pokemon (i still tear up when i hear Ocarion), Giratina being spiteful is a mood and Shaymin was cute, Arceus being angry is also a mood. Yeah, Pokemon 4Ever made me cry my eyes out over Celebi, Mewtwo Returns made me again cry because Mewtwo accepting who he is, I remember how vastly different the BW movies are-

I just. I have a lot of memories with the series, even if Gamefreak and Nintendo kinda do the series dirty a lot (your top-grossing thing and you made That monstrosity for the Switch? How dare you.). It's comforting to be stressed and pull up my roms for the games and to play them. Mystery Dungeon is incredibly fun to play, Pokemon Ranger is really fun with the concept (Shadows of Almia continues to kick my ass to this very day and FUCK the Jungle Relic, I hate the Water Challenge fucking gyarados bullshit). I remember the pokemon I got for MD (I got Time, my sis got Darkness) was Mudkip, if that is any help.

I love my little fictional pixel monsters.

5. Yup, someone told tiny 7-9 y/o me about console games. The legend of Zelda. My first Zelda game was Twilight Princess on the Wii and BOY did I play the fucking SHIT out of that game.

Honestly, looking back and looking at playthroughs now-- I still love TP. Twilight Princess is still one of my top favorite Zelda games-- yes, even after playing OoT, Majora's Mask, Wind Waker, Skyward Sword, the anniversary four swords edition for the DS where you could play by yourself (Nintendo pls bring that back, I don't have friends to play it with ;-;), Phantom Hourglass- ect.

Something about Twilight Princess grabbed me by the head and yeeted me into the world. I can remember playing it for hours with little to no breaks. I, a tiny 9 y/o, had gotten the hang of the controllers and managed to get past the tutorial quite easily. And then, I was launched into the game and I wasn't stopping for NOTHING. Mom and Dad would have to force me to save and get off to go and eat dinner. THAT sucked.

I had done everything on my own up until the first temple, the forest temple. Not where/when you saved the dumb kid, but when you were saving the spirit's light. Theeeeeeennn I got stuck on the fucking Forest Temple for deadass six months straight. I'd play for hours, running around in circles, unable to figure out where to go, and because I didn't grasp the temple's purpose of being that way- I'd get angry and get off. It wasn't until dad looked up a walkthrough and talked me through what I was supposed to do that I learned how to get through temples.

I had gotten to the last little fight with Ganondorf before the Wii broke and i could no longer play. Despite the Wii being broke and we got rid of it, I was ADAMANT on keeping the game, and I kept that game for YEARS. It was an original copy out of a sealed box, and I eventually lost it when I left it accidentally at my now ex-friend's house.

She had a Wii and I went "hey I have a Wii game!" And I brought my Zelda over. Worst fucking choice of my goddamn life. Mom called me to come home and said I couldn't sleep over like the original plan was, and that was it. My ex-friend stashed my Zelda and I never saw it again. And, even if I wanted to-- I couldn't get it back, which makes me upset. We had a BAD falling out. She likely doesn't even remember it's there, or sold it to the local game junkie kid who buys ALL games.

But I still love the game. Midna was amazing, and I loved how snarky she was and she has a very cute design! The game's OST is fucking phenomenal. Midna's Desperate Hour makes me cry bc goddamn it really sells how serious that situation is. I love Hyrule Field's theme in this game. I love the Twilight Realm's song. Zant was fucking hilariously scary. Ganondorf's design in this game scared the piss out of me when I was younger.

Midna and this game's Link and Zelda are def my favorites. Yeah yeah, Sheik is cool and all I Guess but dhsushwishs Midna holds the special place in my heart. She was totally my gay awakening BUT

For other game antagonists, I adore Ghirahim-- let's go you funky little queer-coded villain. Skull Kid was great, I love the entire dynamic of him. Prankster lost soul stumbles upon Majora's Mask and the mask makes him act out due to powers-- which, I actually took very heavy inspiration from for one of my OCs. The moon falling to Hyrule was a fucking terrifying looming threat.

But the game series holds a place, and I've yet to be able to play BoTW-- although, I'm fairly certain I'll like it. The playthroughs I've watched of it are all fairly decent! I just. Gotta save up enough money to buy it haha.

Dang guess I gotta go watch a Twilight Princess playthrough again.

Honorable Mentions:

Avatar: the Last Airbender, specifically Book 3

my OCs definitely make me happy, they're my children and I'd ramble A LOT longer if given the chance WHEEZE

My friends, but I didn't add them here bc it's more fictional stuff, I presume

Baking. I love to bake cupcakes.

Painting is fun. I'm an artist and goddammit im going to use painting as an excuse to make a mess.

Fire. I rly like fire, down to a pyromaniac level. However, i hate the fires that happened to my home town, the Great Smokey Fires of 2016-- THAT pissed me off. How dare you burn mountain landscapes to the ground. Perish.

History. I'm a history nerd.

I'm also a science nerd.

But fuck math, I cannot comprehend math to save my life.

For some reason, I rly like learning how the human body works??? like did you know, organs are actually sticky when touched by a bare hand?? Did you?? How fucking cool is that.

Bakugan. I love Bakugan, esp the DS game. I love my Darkus Leonidas. Give me back the online world, you peasants-- I want my Darkus Dragonoid. (Also fuck all my friends from when I was in kindergarten- my theory that Alice was Masquerade was somewhat correct.)

[wildflowerrambles]

Wait

Author’s Note: Merry Christmas to all you lovelies!! I hope you all have a wonderful day! Here’s my happy to you guys - some Dacre. Because let’s be honest, I wish he was sitting under my Christmas tree. It’s a little angsty. Normal text is present time. Italics are flashbacks. I hope you enjoy!

Song Inspiration: Wait by Maroon 5 Pairing: Dacre Montgomery x Reader Word Count: 2,880 Warnings: implied drinking, a bit of angst

The blustering December wind whipped fiercely through the tall buildings of the city. I shrugged off my coat as I entered the venue, handing it to a man in uniform and muttering a quick, “Thanks, mate.”

The entrance area was rather spacious and elaborately decorated for the holidays. The lighting was dim but there were a multitude of fairy lights scattered about the space. I knew they must have been per your request; you adored the tiny lights. In each of the four corners stood a Christmas tree, warmly decorated with red and gold. Littered throughout the main area were tall tables for the mingling guests to stand around. I took a glass from one of the servers walking past before disappearing into the crowd.

I spotted you the moment I passed through the doors. You were across the room, chatting animatedly to a middle aged couple. The man was dressed in a professional black suit and tie, the lady hanging off his arm equally adorned in black lace. You tossed one side of your hair over your shoulder. Shortly after, a set of fingers reached forward to tap you on the shoulder and your face lit up when you turned to see a friend. You were radiating.

The dress you wore was fitted to the knee, tailored just right to fit your curves. It was a color I’d never seen you wear before - a deep crimson velvet, the smile on your lips stained to match it perfectly. A sparkling set of rhinestones wrapped around to embellish your waist.

Making my way further into the mass of people, your mother’s eyes were the first to catch mine. She cast an unpleasant look in my direction. I wasn’t surprised, but quickly averted my gaze elsewhere. Elsewhere was right back to you, who was still chatting as guests approached you. Your fingers tapped against the clear glass in your left hand, a nervous habit you often did without noticing. I smirked to myself but it suddenly fell when I became all too aware of your bare ring finger. A wave of nausea surged through my body.

My arms snaked around your shoulders as I watched you holding you hand in front of the Christmas tree once again. The shining stone sparkled brighter than any of the lights wrapping around the decorated fir. I pressed my lips to your temple. Your hands made their way to my forearms around you and your mouth released a happy sigh.

“Next year we’ll be celebrating with our own tree in our own home as the Montgomery’s,” you paused to look up at me, the smile spreading further across your lips, “I love you.”

I pressed another kiss to your forehead this time, “I love you.”

My mind was snapped back to reality when someone bumped into me as they walked past. He immediately apologized and I was didn’t hesitate with a, “S’all good, mate.”     When I redirected my attention back to you, a new sense of nausea hit me; your eyes had found me. And for just a moment there was that shimmer in your iris I had seen the day I met you and many more times following. But it was like your mind suddenly remembered what day it was and the shimmer faded.

I approached the desk with hesitation, not entirely sure of where I was supposed to be. You looked up from behind a computer screen, the light reflecting off your pupils as your lips curled into a pleasant grin.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” you glanced down at a clipboard, “Mr. Montgomery?”

I nodded.

“Wonderful. Right this way.”

You stood up and motioned for me to follow you down the hallway adjacent to the front desk. You were professionally dressed in a black and white pencil skirt and vibrant red blouse, your heels silenced by the carpeted floor. I suddenly felt a bit out of place in just slacks and a button up.

Slightly ahead of me, you flipped back the pages on the clipboard in your hands.

“You’re meeting with Mr. Mark,” you stated matter-of-factly, “You must be the new spokesperson for the water campaign.”

You glanced over your shoulder with a smile and I had to remind myself to respond, “Um, yeah. Yes, that’s me.”

“Well we are delighted to have you on board.” You walked a few more feet and stopped in front of the entryway to an office. I assumed it was my stop and the golden nameplate on the door confirmed my assumption.

“If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

You smiled one last time before disappearing in the direction we came. The first glance you gave me was still playing in my head. I had to take a moment to gather myself before entering the office. I was determined to see that smile again and to be the reason it was put there.

So the next meeting I had, I arrived a little earlier than necessary and sat in the lobby where your desk was at. I struck up a conversation in the hopes that you weren’t too busy and we chatted until it was time for my meeting. From that point forward, I arrived early, crossing my fingers that each time you would be free enough to talk. Finally mustering up enough courage, I asked you on a date to which you thankfully obliged.

Dinner was at a quaint little cafe. It was romantically lit with candles that flickered sporadically, casting dainty shadows across your face. This was where I learned about your favorite color, how much you loved curling up with a good book on a rainy night, how incredibly driven you were when it came to your future and your career. Aside from being a secretary, you were working endlessly behind the scenes on your own project: a holiday clothing line. Your face lit up as you talked about it and I thought to myself that I could sit for hours just listening to you speak. It was effortless.

You made your way towards me, hesitation evident with each step you took. You grinned softly.

“Hey,” standing slightly on your toes, your arms wrapped around my neck. My hand lingered in the small of your back, a touch that was all too familiar. “What are you doing here?”

“I just came to say ‘Congratulations.’ I know you’ve worked incredibly hard for this. And..” I took a deep breath, “you look stunning. As always.”

You smiled, looking down at your glass for a moment before back up to me. I noticed your thumb mindlessly continuing to trace the rim. “Thank you. Truly. I appreciate it.”

You visibly inhaled and it fell silent between us. Before either of us could speak again, your mother tapped on your shoulder.

“They're about to begin seating guests for dinner. I think it would be a good idea if you helped.”

“Thank you for being here,” you said lowly before proceeding in the direction your mother was guiding. When you were out of earshot, she turned back to me with frustration in her eyes. Opening her mouth, i cut her off before any words could be spoken.

“I’m not here to start anything. I just wanted to show her my support.” She sighed but never said anything.

Through a set of vast double doors was the area where dinner would be served. It had a tall, vaulted ceiling. In the center were several incredibly long tables embellished with candles and greenery. An enormous Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner of the room, decorated to match the color scheme in the entrance. It was like a dream; it was your dream. It aligned perfectly with your vision - a rough sketch I remember seeing many months ago.

A smile made its way across my lips as I approached the home office of your apartment. Faintly through the thin walls I could hear Christmas music playing, which was humorous since it was the beginning of spring. I knocked lightly before peaking my head around the door. You sat on your knees at the table in the middle of the room, concentrated. There were mannequins, fabrics, and a variety of other supplies scattered around the room.

“What are you working on?”

You looked up upon hearing my voice; your eyes lit up.

“I’m working on the layout for the venue. The launch party venue.”

I stood over you, admiring all your hard work. The sketching, the colors, you’d even made various notes and lists of what materials and decorations you wanted. I gave you a kiss on the cheek and then you turned and pressed your lips to mine.

“I wasn’t expecting you tonight, at least not this early.”

“A few things got cancelled so we were able to wrap up early,” I responded, gently placing my hand on top of yours to keep you from continuing, “Let’s have a relaxing evening. We haven’t seen each other much this week.”

I took your face in my hands, pressing my lips to yours. You eagerly reciprocated. Your hands continued to grasp my jacket as I pulled away. My hands fell to your shoulders and made their way down your arms until they reached your hands. I absentmindedly played with the diamond adorning your ring finger.

“Finish what you were working on and I’ll be waiting for you downstairs,” I smiled.

“I have to say,” you rested against the stair railing, “this isn’t how I pictured my night but I’m certainly not complaining.”

I stood at the stove, tossing spices carelessly into the hot pan. I continued to stir with a smirk. Your arms found their way around my torso, snuggling yourself into my back.

Finishing the glass in my hand and grabbing another, I made my way to the patio area outside. The air around me was visible as I released a lengthy sigh. My elbows found the cemented rails. I told myself I would stop by briefly and I had done that. I wasn’t on the guest list so I really should be leaving soon, I thought to myself. I stared down at the golden liquid in my glass, swirling it around.

Your hand held mine above your head and I spun you around until you finally faced me again. Our hands reconnected and we swayed to the music playing softly in the background. The living room was dark. Our feet were bare. The oversized tee you wore draped casually over your silhouette.

“I’m impressed,” you spoke in a low voice.

“Practice makes perfect, my dear,” I grinned, “I can’t be looking ridiculous when we dance in front of our family.”

Our family. In a few short months, we would be husband and wife. My heart fluttered every time I thought about it.

My thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Hey sweetie,” you glanced up as I entered the kitchen. I watched your pleasant expression droop when you noticed I had thrown on a jacket and grabbed my keys from the bar, “Oh. Are you leaving already?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “I’m sorry. I just got a call and I have to go meet with my agent.”

“But we were supposed to confirm dates for cake tastings, fittings for your tux, the florist...”

“I know.”

This was the third time this week that work had gotten in the way of wedding planning. When one of us was available, the other had something come up last minute. I pulled you into a hug, resting my chin on top of your head.

“I’m sorry, babe. I promise we’ll get to it.”

You exhaled as you peered up at me. You took my chin between your fingers, “Be careful please.”

I smirked and closed the space between our lips.

“I love you,” I kissed you once more before heading for the door. You smacked my behind before returning to your cooking.

“I love you!”

We did eventually get to most of it. Unfortunately, it was over the phone while you sat at the airport due to a layover and I was back home working. When you got back from your trip, that’s when you would deliver the news that you had been asked to relocate for work. And I would respond by announcing that I had landed a major role.

My lids closed momentarily when I sensed a presence next to me. When I opened them, you stood staring out over the scene below. My gaze followed yours. The patio extended to a large paved area with a flowing fountain as the focal point. Guests mingled about, laughing and carrying on lively conversations. Conversations very different from the last one we’d had.

When I walked through the front door, my house was deafeningly silent. Most of the lights were off with the exception of a lamp in the living room. You sat on the couch, still dressed in work attire. I could feel the tension already looming in the air.

“Hey,” I managed to get out though my tone cracked. You glanced up at me now, your brows drawing together as you smiled - a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“Hello,” you said softly.

I came to sit next to you. You looked down at your hands and I released a lengthy sigh. We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity before I saw your face scrunch up. Through the faint glow in the room, I saw a tear slide off your cheek and hit the ground. I looked up in an attempt to stop my own.

“What are we doing?” your voice was a whisper. I leaned over, pressing my lips to your shoulder. I let myself rest there for a second, hoping that you couldn’t feel my tears seeping through your shirt.

“I’m so proud of you,” I moved the hair hanging in your face to rest on your shoulder. I took your hands in mine which forced you to face me, but I couldn’t even will myself to look in your eyes; my gaze was focused on your hands. “I’m so incredibly proud of you. You are going to own New York and be so successful in whatever you do. Because you put your heart and soul into your passions and refuse to take no for an answer.”

I was able to glance at you for just a moment before my eyes fell to our hands again. I was such a coward. Your hands reached up to hold my face, your thumb tracing some invisible pattern on my cheek.

“And I am beyond proud of you,” you started, “You are finally getting the opportunity that you deserve, the opportunity that you have worked long and hard for. And you’re going to blow this gig out of the water. Directors are going to be begging to cast you.”

The pad of your thumb ghosted across my bottom lip and then your hand fell to rest in mine again.

“We’ve both worked really hard to get where we are. But if we’re completely honest with ourselves, we put our careers first,” your breathing hitched, “I can’t even be upset because I’m doing the exact same thing.”

I knew there were a million thoughts running through our minds, a million things we wanted to say, but neither of us could speak. We couldn’t even find the strength to look at each other. We simply sat with our gaze fixed on our fingers laced together. I saw you reach for the ring on your finger and I didn’t even try to hide the fact that I was crying anymore. I wiped away the tears already trailing down my cheeks. It was useless. Placing the ring inside my hand, you closed my fingertips around it and held them together tightly. Your voice was barely audible, “We’re not ready for this.”

You stood up and quietly made your way out the door. My head fell into my hands. I lost it.

Outside, you sat in your car unable to make yourself drive away. You gripped the steering wheel until your knuckles went white; your forehead rested against it, the same forehead that used to be kissed. As mascara tears continued to fall, you hit the steering wheel once. Twice. And a third time.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

“I’m s-”

“But I meant what I said earlier. I greatly appreciate that you showed up anyway,” you turned your head to face me, “even if it might have been against your better judgement.”

You snickered and I couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Gosh, how I had missed your beaming face. The way your eyes crinkled and how your cheeks wore a flustered blush so delicately.

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” my voice was low. I briskly swallowed the remainder of my drink. Licking my lips, I dropped my hands to my side and turned on my heels. Reaching for the handle, I hesitated when I heard you behind me.

“Dacre, wait.”

I froze. Your heels clicked a few times behind me. I looked over my shoulder when they stopped.

“We happen to have an extra place at the table. I would love for you to stay.”

[2whatcom-blog]

Frost Festivals, the Little Ice Age and Local weather Change

Lucina and I crossed the Millennium Bridge discussing a person who had damaged her coronary heart, and consuming candied peanuts, which smelled much better than they tasted. From the alternative aspect of the bridge, a aromatic plume of cinnamon sugar with hints of heat nuttiness drew us over the regular Thames. On the river's heart, a hearty man with a stainless-steel cart churned a vat of glistening brown syrup and scooped crystalized peanuts into rows of clear plastic cups. For a pound, he provided us the recent, piping scorching batch. It was our closing week as visiting college students in London, and this chill, clear day was a feast. As an English literature pupil, I used to be obligated to spend my days neck deep in medieval verse. Most days, nevertheless, "endless blisse" couldn't come quickly sufficient, and I opted to stroll the streets as a substitute, typically accompanied by a classmate like Lucina. That day together with her, as we took the South Financial institution stroll alongside the Thames, making our approach by Trafalgar and ultimately to Soho, London was extra alive to me than ever. It was per week from Christmas, and the streets had been bustling with buyers and brightened with lights, banners, and carolers. The work of the semester was almost over, and a nostalgia for my time there had begun to sink in. The modernity of London dazzled me, from its seamless transport system to its weird skyscrapers and numerous neighborhoods. Conversely, for all of the hanging options of improvement across the metropolis, there was at all times a stately native pub or moss-covered smash simply across the nook. Lakes had been noticed with swans and broached with womanly stone fountains, and canal narrowboats skimmed by inexperienced water and willow material. So, even when I hadn't been studying such historical texts, the town of London felt, because it should certainly to all guests, pervasively and tangibly previous. By way of all of it ran the Thames--as many have famous, previous and regular but ever surging, altering, like London itself. Transferring briskly, maybe nonetheless discussing love, Lucina and I handed below the Southwark Bridge and observed an engraved stone mural alongside the wall. It depicted the Thames, its waters unexpectedly a setting for snowflakes, males pulling boats on wheels, market stalls and ice-skaters. An inscription that danced alongside its size learn: Behold the Liquid Thames frozen o're, That recently Ships of mighty Burthen bore... And lay it by that ages but to come back May even see what issues upon the ice had been completed. I had by no means seen snow pile up in London and even witnessed anyone sporting actual winter boots. The one "winter wonderland" I had skilled in London was the alpine-themed amusement park that had sprung up for the season in Hyde Park. In reality, these friezes, by the artist Richard Kindersley, depict a practice now misplaced to London: the Thames frost festivals. Each twenty years or so from the 17th to the early 19th centuries, temperatures dropped low sufficient in London to trigger the River Thames to fully freeze over. And with the Thames frozen thick sufficient to stroll on, the depressing chilly was remodeled right into a trigger for spontaneous celebration. Take, for instance, the 1814 frost honest, the final of its sort. When the ice solidified that winter, folks flocked to the riverbanks and slowly gained the boldness to enterprise out. A thoroughfare dubbed "City Road" was established and lined with colorfully embellished retailers and cubicles. Trinkets had been bought at thrice the conventional worth. Ten printing presses had been there to doc the event. Books and toys had been bought; there was dancing, skating and music, and loads of beer, gin, gingerbread and roasted meat. There was even an elephant. After two days' price of revelry, the river started to thaw once more, and the gang thinned, escaping the hazard of the cracking ice. It was not all enjoyable and video games when the Thames froze. Its bustling ports turned unusable, and commerce stood nonetheless. In reality, folks made up for misplaced earnings by opening honest stalls. The ice did hundreds of kilos in damages to homes, retailers, boats and bridges. And worst of all, folks generally fell by the ice and drowned. Many froze to loss of life within the metropolis and in even higher numbers within the countryside. For a second, although, the folks of London took benefit of the chance afforded by a deadly phenomenon to create a public place infused with a uncommon magic. In her novel Orlando, Virginia Woolf describes the fantastic thing about a Thames frost honest. In 1608, the king orders the frozen river to be ready for his residents with "arbours, mazes, alleys, drinking booths," and conducts issues of state and struggle proper there on the ice below "plumes of ostrich feathers." In a phenomenal passage, Woolf writes: "Frozen roses fell in showers.... Coloured balloons hovered motionless in the air. Here and there burnt vast bonfires of cedar and oak wood, lavishly salted, so that the flames were of green, orange, and purple fire ... there could be seen, congealed at a depth of several feet, here a porpoise, there a flounder.... But it was at night that the carnival was at its merriest ... the nights were of perfect stillness; the moon and stars blazed with the hard fixity of diamonds, and to the fine music of flute and trumpet the courtiers danced." On this fantastical, timeless panorama, the protagonist Orlando meets the primary real love of his life, a Russian princess he calls Sasha. His surmounting adoration of her, as he strives for the proper poetry to explain her, mimics the frilly and chic development of the honest. Likewise, the improbability of their union is mirrored by the honest's surreal and uncommon prevalence, a scene of suspended time and actuality. In order that, when Sasha leaves Orlando, the ice that had been 20 ft thick for months instantly fissures, sweeping floes, folks and cats down the frigid river to their sure demise. Orlando stands on the financial institution, livid and heartbroken, watching all of it surge away. Although doubtless not as ornate or stately as Woolf's, there have been many festivals, every of which provided its personal improvements and diversions. Some fashionable pastimes from the 1607-Eight honest included throwing rocks at chickens, getting a shave from the barber, and bowling. Bull-baiting was recorded in 1688-9, a bloody sport during which canine are set in opposition to a tethered bull. Bull-baiting turned to bear-baiting in 1788-9, a century later. That honest additionally noticed a menagerie and puppet exhibits. The goings-on on the out of doors Christmas markets I visited in London weren't as riotous, however one thing of the spirit of the frost festivals appears to dwell on in them. So, what prompted the Thames to freeze so completely again then when at this time it barely a lot as snows in London? What allowed for the frost festivals, and why have not they--like lots of the metropolis's different relics--stuck round? For one, the frost festivals occurred throughout a interval of chilly climate known as the Little Ice Age. Within the interval from the 15th to the mid-19th centuries, the typical international temperature dropped by half a level Celsius. Some locations modified greater than others, notably the northern latitudes. The annual imply temperature in England was nearly full diploma C colder than it was within the following interval of 1920-60. Elsewhere, glaciers expanded and overtook villages. Along with the chilly and ice, illness and famines additionally claimed lives. Scientists don't absolutely perceive what prompted the Little Ice Age. Knowledge from tree and ice cores means that there was a drop in photo voltaic energy--incoming radiation from the solar. The solar's exercise, together with the radiation it provides off and the variety of sunspots, fluctuates periodically. It may have been volcanoes too. There may be proof that there have been extra volcano eruptions after 1200; the ash volcanoes spew into the air cools the earth by blocking out the solar. So, it might appear pure pattern in direction of warming after the 1900s accompanied by the warming impact of anthropogenic local weather change is what makes frost festivals in 2018 not possible. However that is not the entire story. The freezes actually had as a lot to do with fluctuations in Earth's local weather as they did with structure. The London Bridge you see today--the location of the previous frost fairs--is not the identical bridge you'd have seen as one of many honest's attendees. You'll have seen the unique Previous London Bridge, made up of virtually 20 slim arches and capped with properties, retailers and a bustling avenue. The various slim arches of the Previous London Bridge--compared with the three vast arches of the present London Bridge--help clarify why the Thames used to freeze over. The arches prompted the water to stream at a way more glacial tempo, and nonetheless water freezes simpler than flowing water. Moreover, when much less water made its approach up from the ocean, the lowered salt content material raised the water's freezing level. Typically ice floes would get caught within the arches and block the river totally. Talking when it comes to huge geological time, the methods during which Earth's local weather has traditionally regulated itself and the methods during which it has so dramatically shifted could make the idea of anthropogenic local weather change appear insignificant and pointless. Why trouble desirous about local weather change when one other ice age may pop in any day now? Why trouble desirous about local weather change if now we have no management over our broader planetary destiny? However the state of affairs surrounding the Thames frost festivals gives a compelling reimagining of scale, notably relating to how we contextualize human actions in relation to the cosmos. These Londoners had been trapped in a very chilly period. They had been, like all dwelling issues, on the mercy of the weather. And so, the festivals stand as a testomony to the human capability for pleasure, resilience and creativity in defiance of troubled instances. Nevertheless, the freezing of the Thames was a largely human-made environmental situation. I prefer to think about that if the folks of London had identified concerning the bridge's function within the freezing of the Thames, they'd have contemplating rebuilding. As a result of irrespective of how grand the honest was for these with the privilege to get pleasure from it, the town may have been altered in a approach that saved the lives and livelihoods of these worst affected by the freeze. Read the full article