Page 68 of A Broken Promise

“Yes.” Florian smiled. “Only the most rich and famous made the list and I just got you two invitations. So, you are welcome.”

“Death Day?” I asked again.

Florian was slightly concerned at the appalling look on my face. “It’s a holiday people celebrate to remember their dead and to celebrate their life. You know, longest night of the year? Please tell me you know of Death Day?”

“Um yes…yes, of course,” I muttered under my breath. It was more than that, though. A simple holiday for some, but for me… Death Day was my birthday. But it wasn’t a birth that made that day special for me. It was Death. It was the day my parents died. A ridiculous holiday to celebrate nothing but grief. I already had to live with constant guilt, much less needed a holiday to remind me of what I had lost.

“Of course, beautiful, you are my date and Priya, well...” He took another glance at Priya, still lost in her thoughts. “I guess Priya will do what she does best, meaning, whatever the hell she wants.”

“Okay,” I mumbled in return. I didn’t even realize until my tongue tasted the irony tang of my bitten inner lip.

“I mean, I always leave my ladies speechless but honestly, I don’t know why you two are like this. I thought this was supposed to be good news?” Florian confusingly gestured with his hands. “I, for one, am excited. You don’t get many chances to go to the Royal Castle.”

“Yes, that’s where the ball is.” Priya abruptly cut back in, folding the paper back in half. “I still stand by the statement of murdering you, Florian. But we have a ball to prepare for, it seems, so I shall wait…for now.” Her voice was cold, calculating. There was no anger or her usual sarcastic playfulness.

“How considerate of you.” Florian smiled as he comically bowed. A brave move considering the knife mark still fresh right behind him. “I will be picking her up. Do you want me to send a carriage for you too?” I opened my mouth to say something but instead shoved the words further down. It irked me that they talked about me with me right in front of them, as if I was nothing but some possession, discussed and “managed,” without any regard for my opinion. Though I wouldn’t mind going with him. I enjoyed Florian’s company and accompanying him to the ball sounded enticing if I chose to ignore the occasion, but for once, it would be nice to be considered, asked, or even just be heard.

“I will find my own transport,” Priya said, already moving up the stairs. I stayed still. My thoughts focused on the looming Death Day.

“Are you sure? Mine are mobile carriages. Top of the line. Only a few of the Royals have them.” He moved his eyebrows at me as if hinting at something sinister. I rolled my eyes at him but smiled.

“Fuck off, Florian,” Priya shouted from the top of the stairs in response. She would’ve flipped him off for sure, if she wasn’t still clenching the paper.

“She really has a thing for me, doesn’t she?” Florian smiled wide, walking towards the front door. I watched his slender but not frail frame pause, turning back around. He was tall and I was sure his back was always just a tiny bit slouched.

“So, long time no see, gorgeous. Did you enjoy your little murder spree?” he teased, resting his shoulder against the door frame. His hands slid into his ironed-out pockets.

“You came here,” I said, slightly curious. Still trying to make sense of everything.

“You didn’t come to the bar, and I never got a reply to any of my messages, so I figured it was time to stop by.”

“Messages? You mean the child drawings you’ve been sending here for weeks?” I asked mockingly.

“Child drawings?” He gasped dramatically. “It’s called art, Finn. Gods. I’ve poured my soul and heart into them, and you just go and offend me like that.” He put his hand over his chest. “I shall forever stay heartbroken.”

“Oh, forgive me, my Lord, the ill-educated person, I shall cherish your stick figure crayon art forever as my most prized possession.” I rolled my eyes at him but didn’t hide the smile.

Florian had indeed been sending letters, or drawings, to be exact. He had been sending them through gardeners or some other messengers, never for Priya to know, and I for once didn’t feel like indulging her in it either.

I enjoyed them; the silly drawings of what looked like an excited eight-year-old with crayons. Florian’s drawings were always so colorful, filled with silly, dramatic portraits of him seeing me with the hearts in his eyes, or him eating a cake waiting for me to reply, or him topless with way, way too many muscles, telling me that he works out. Sometimes he sent only one, sometimes it was a whole story, but I had come to look forward to those little messages each day. They always made me smile.

“That’s right. That’s the recognition a true artist deserves.” He pulled another paper out of his pocket. The man loved attention. Myeyes narrowed in on the piece of paper and he handed it to me. “Just for you, beautiful.”

I quickly unwrapped the paper. It was a drawing; this time of him in his suit and me in a very bright pink dress, with lots of other stick figures behind. My face lit up in amusement.

“My official date invitation for you. I had to buy extra crayons just for that pink color. So, I hope you appreciate that brightness.”

“Oh, I love it!” I laughed. “The shoes are a nice touch too.” The heels were drawn so tall and large that they took half the picture.

“Well, I figured since you are short and I am oh so, so tall and we obviously would have to kiss at one point, those heels would only make sense.”

“Obviously.” I took another look at his ludicrous picture, avoiding his stare. “Your parents must be proud.” I cringed almost immediately as the realization of what I said came in.

I knew his dad was long dead and his mom was not a huge part of his life. This was tone deaf of me to make such an insensitive joke. Gods, why would I say something like that? His beaming smile slightly softened.

“Oh yeah, my dad is rolling in his grave, regretting not discovering this talent of mine earlier so he could cash in on it. My mom is just jealous I am better at art than she is. She is so jealous; she spends her days drinking because of it. I mean, I would be too if I had known my son was so much more talented than me. Honestly, being this talented is a curse.” He sighed theatrically but his smile was still slightly dull.

“I am sorry,” I quietly said. I very well knew that even behind laughs and jokes and the silliest little things, sometimes hid the forever unhealed wounds.

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