Page 44 of The Cinderella Prince

If only everyone could just forget about me.

So long as people knew me, my existence filled them with pity. It wasn’t like I didn’t know it. And thinking back to all the sweet kisses Cedric had pressed upon my lips and all the words of kindness and support, it became clear to me that he pitied me, too.

It was Mama Viv’s doing that Cedric was so kind and gentle with me. But when he remembered the things he was giving up for me, he became aware of how little I was worth in comparison with a kingdom. He might never become a king, but his life would be filled with comforts of the sort I had never been able to imagine.

It was better for everyone that way.

I only wished he hadn’t been so nice to me when he thought I was a wreck. I was, but I liked to keep that to myself.

Without much choice in where all the paths were leading me, I continued toward home.

Cedric

The mattress swallowed me whole. It was far softer than I remembered. My body sank into its middle, and the duvetrested heavily over me. Eyes open, I barely moved. I barely breathed.

Nobody had come around except Sophia in the last three days. I had returned, met my parents briefly before their visit to the North, exchanged a few cold words with Alexander, and received several angry looks from my little brother, Maximilian. Sophia was the only one who appeared sad rather than angry with me.

Staff entered, checked up on me, and recited my agenda. Small appearances that I had neglected while on the run, others that were up in the air with the uncertainty of my return, and one that towered above them all. Élodie. My airline, as Tristan had put it.

My eyes stung even at the memory of his name.

Would he ever forgive me? Why should he? It wasn’t like he would have a chance to see me ever again. And I wouldn’t see him.

What could I do, though? Maybe I could let things settle for a bit and pull some strings when I had more bargaining power. I could get him his restaurant in New York through our contacts. I could give him all he needed for a good life. He wouldn’t need me.

A little before noon, I attended the opening ceremony of a new wing at the History Museum of Verdumont. It had been closed off for renovations and the new exhibition put together for the reopening focused on the history of world literature. At any other time, I would have been excited. Today, I couldn’t find it in me to care.

In the afternoon, my chauffeur pulled the car up by Le Jardin Étoilé, where journalists flocked. The arrival wasperfectly timed for them to see me step out of the car and walk up to the big terrace. I ran my fingers through my hair and checked the time. Right on cue, another car halted, and the door opened to let Élodie out.

The lenses turned away from me to her and followed her all the way up the few steps of the balcony until she joined me. The photographers went mad with the flashes, and questions came from all directions. We smiled our practiced smiles as I hugged Élodie.

“It is good to see you, Your Highness,” she said.

“And you,” I replied in a more casual tone. It wasn’t something that would fly with the Marchioness, but I didn’t care. She was my prison. She was my doom. She was the end of my life.

I looked at Élodie and saw the ending of everything that was ever good. I saw the beginning of a life of quiet misery.

“Shall we?” I asked, bending my arm for Élodie to take and leading her to the empty table in the middle of the balcony. I had pleaded with the staffers to put us inside and let us speak to one another, but Alexander had been very firm about this meeting taking place in front of the journalists.

“If Your Highness wishes,” Élodie said. She was so perfect, so smooth, so flat. She didn’t show a single emotion. Her chin was lifted a little high, and her eyes were clear green, locked onto the empty table.

The people sitting around other tables had been hand-picked by the palace. Nothing was ever spontaneous, and everything was always a photo op.

“I was so worried over your absence,” Élodie said without a trace of worry in her tone.

“Mm.” I pulled a chair for her and sat on her left side. We turned slightly to face one another, the positioning of our chairs around the table signaling nothing remotely close to rivalry or antagonism. Everything was friendly, almost romantic. Red wine was served first, and I spared a silent thought for Antinous. “So kind of you,” I told Élodie. Her golden, sun-kissed hair was smooth and brushed so that not a single hair was out of place. “I was glad to hear that my brother entertained you.”

Had I thought it possible, I would have said that Élodie blushed. “His Highness is kind,” she said. “And very entertaining.”

“Please,” I interrupted. “We know why we are here, Élodie. Call me by my name. And call Maximilian by his. This etiquette has no place between us.”

Élodie didn’t miss a beat. “If that’s what you wish, Cedric.”

“It is,” I insisted. The perpetual snapping of shutters faded out. It came like waves of the ocean. At every smile and every change of pose, the tide brought it higher, and then it retreated when we stopped being interesting. “I hope my younger brother hasn’t been as moody with you as he has with me these days.”

“Maximilian?” Élodie asked, the confusion leaving her face as quickly as it came. It was gone before anyone got a decent photo. “Oh no. He was very dedicated and in such good spirits.” In controlled movements, Élodie lifted her glass, took the tiniest sip, and let the corners of her lips curl up for me. It was a practiced smile with no warmth in it.

I cannot marry you, I thought.

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