Chapter 9
9
Fiona
" H ow's the revamp coming?" I ask, handing Blue a latte.
She scrunches her face. "Not good. I can't see anything. It's just my pink skirt as is." She reaches for the cup and takes a sip. "Thanks."
"Sure. So you don't have any ideas?" I ask, not believing that nothing is coming to her. Blue has a lot of her mother in her and is one of the most creative people I know.
She shrugs. "Nothing worthy of the runway."
I sit in the chair across from her. "Want to run your ideas by me? Maybe you're onto something and need to develop it further."
She groans and dramatically puts her arms on the desk and buries her face in them. She whines, "There's nothing worth your time."
"Are you sure about that?" I question.
"Fiona! There you are," Brax booms.
I turn my head in the direction of his voice. "What are you doing here?"
"Is that any way to treat your brother's bestie?" he teases.
Blue sits up and runs her hand through her hair. Her eyes light up, and she breathes, "Hey, Brax."
He nods at her. "Blue. How's it going?"
"Good. Well, not good. I need to figure out my design. But other than that, things are going well. I'm great. And you? Are you doing well? Can I get you a drink? Or a cookie? One of our clients sent us a surprise order of a dozen chocolate chip ones," she babbles.
Oh, Blue. I've told you that you're way too young for Brax.
She's had a crush on him since she was sixteen. It doesn't matter how much I try to get her to set her sights elsewhere. Nor did it help when Adrian saw her flirt with Brax and warned her that he was off-limits.
After that, he threatened Brax not to touch his daughter. Brax said it wasn't a problem because he wasn't interested in little girls. He's always insisted he would never go there, but it doesn't stop Blue from wishing or trying.
Brax gives her barely any attention, saying, "No, thanks. I'm good." Then he focuses on me, adding, "I need to speak to you privately, Fiona."
"What about?" Blue asks.
"None of your business," Brax scolds, then exits the room.
Blue's face falls.
I sigh, lean down, and mutter, "He's way too old for you. There are tons of guys closer to your age who want to date you."
Her face hardens and she looks away.
I pat her shoulder. "I'll be back later, and we can look at your project." I leave and go into my office.
Brax stands near my desk with his arms crossed .
"You didn't have to snap at her," I reprimand.
He grunts. "She's a child. It's never happening between us, and she needs to move on. Besides, I don't need Adrian accusing me of anything."
I glare a few daggers at him.
"Be mad at me all you want," he replies in response to my look.
I put my hand on my hip. "You're as annoying as my brother."
"So you've told me a million times."
"Why are you here?"
He clenches his jaw and holds out an envelope. "I've been ordered to give this to you."
"Ordered?" I glance at his hand, and my breath hitches. I gape as I reach for it.
He yanks his hand back and mutters, "Here we go."
I lock eyes with him. "You're wearing my father's mark."
"Yep."
"You're..." A shiver runs down my spine.
He nods. "Yeah. Let's move on. I've got a lot of shit to do today, and I need to make sure you read this immediately. Then I have to take your response to his Royal Highness," he sarcastically informs.
I stare at him.
He wiggles the envelope in front of me. "Time's ticking, Fiona."
I snatch it from him and pull out my chair. I sit, staring at the skull on the back.
"I need you to open it and read it."
I point to the door. "Get out. "
"Did you not hear me? I have to give him your response," Brax asserts.
"So? Take two steps out the door, shut it, and I'll get to you when I'm ready," I order.
He pins a challenging scowl on me.
I toss the envelope on my desk, sit back, then cross my arms. "Fine. I'll read it later."
"Fiona, I have shit to do!"
"Then do what I said," I bite back.
He takes several deep breaths and then caves. "Don't take too long," he grumbles. He stomps out of my office and firmly shuts the door.
I pick up the envelope, read my name on the front, then turn it over. I carefully break the seal, pull out the torn, cream linen letterhead, and unfold it.
My dearest Fiona,
Thank you for your letter.
I'm happy you love the ring. I understand your guilt, but your mother doesn't know about The Underworld. She never can. Her time to know was when your father was alive. Now that he's gone, her place at the table has evaporated. So the ring would have sat in the box forever had you not chosen to wear it.
I glance at the brilliant diamond gleaming on my finger. The sadness I feel regarding my parents mixes with joy. It's too pretty to stay locked away in a gold box forever.
I continue reading.
Unfortunately, those same reasons are why I cannot grant you the wish to have your mother at our wedding. No one can attend any Underworld ceremony or ritual except members of The Underworld. She can never know our world exists. Please trust that if I could change the rules, I would. I don't want to cause her any more pain, yet this decision is not mine to make. Your father carefully crafted our laws, which we must abide by.
The little hope I had fizzles. I shake my head, hating the laws my father created, and still not understanding why he thought they were so necessary.
I return to the letter.
You asked about my age. While I cannot disclose it, I can assure you that I am younger than what your father would be, and will never ask you to call me Daddy.
I bite on my smile.
My flaws are not anything you listed. I will not abuse you, or chop you up in millions of pieces. In fact, if anyone tries, they will be the ones sliced into unrecognizable pieces.
I like to assume I don't smell bad, but I'll let you tell me what you think when we're finally alone. And, no, I don't declare my business over the phone to the world. In addition, I can assure you that meat will always be on the menu.
"Good to know," I mumble, smiling, but then my face falls.
If those aren't his flaws, then what is so bad?
I can't think of anything else that would annoy me for all eternity or hurt me, so I return to the letter .
It doesn't surprise me that you have a million questions. You're an intelligent woman, and the secrecy drove me nuts too, before I became king.
So, I'll tell you the truth. Once you're my queen, I'll be able to answer whatever questions you have. There will be no more hidden agendas or restricted scenarios. You will have as much access as I do to The Underworld's past, present, and future. And you will rule with me. It was your father's vision for husbands and wives to play an equal role, and we will achieve his dream together.
Together.
A flash of anticipation mixes with the fear of the unknown.
I take a sip of my latte, then continue reading.
It's funny that seven was your number. Your father did have an eccentric obsession with numbers. However, they have meaning, so if you inherited that trait, it's something to be celebrated.
Thank you for sharing your memory of your father with me. I can imagine you as a little girl, sitting on your father's lap and staring at the sky, lit by the moon's luminescence.
I blink hard.
How did he know I sat on my father's lap?
I wait until the nostalgia passes, then read more.
Since you shared your story with me, I'll disclose one to you. It might give some insight into why your father loved the moon so much.
One night, your father took me outside. He pointed to the sky, and the moon was unlike anything I'd ever seen. He told me, "The moon's surface is covered in craters. To the uneducated, it would appear damaged. Yet the power held within is greater than anything else in the universe. It's so strong, its gravitational pull stabilizes the Earth's tilt. It creates tides, which humans have used since the beginning of time for guidance. It has moonquakes and water and tidal locking, so it always faces our planet."
I remember staring at the radiant ball in the sky, surprised by all your father knew about it.
Then he said, "The craters only tell a story of its history. Billions of years ago it was bombarded with a heavy collision of space rocks. Asteroids, comets, and meteoroids… They all tried to destroy it, but they couldn't. Even today, there are collisions. Some scientists think it's attacked on a daily basis. Yet the moon continues to remain powerful, controlling our oceans and glowing in the dead of night for all to see."
He jabbed his finger in my chest and added, "That's what you have to remember about yourself. The power you hold isn't what others can see unless they choose to look at it, and the ones who choose to look away can be damned upon your choosing. Embrace being underestimated. You can allow craters to defeat you or empower you. So dig deep to understand how formidable you are, because the rocks will always fly at you. If it wasn't this, it would have been something else. It's up to you how you protect yourself and still develop the potential I see in you that no one else does."
"If it wasn't this it would have been something else?" What does that mean?
I reread the section, not coming to any answers, then continue .
Since you've been honest with me, I'll admit that your father saved my life that night for a second time. It shaped who I became and how I learned to deal with things.
What things?
I reread the entire section then continue on.
On another note, I can't tell you how relieved and pleased I am that you love the lingerie and dress with the dove. Yes, it's the one I chose for you. Maybe I do have some good fashion sense if you say I do. Ha. Ha.
I hope this answers your questions.
Sincerely,
The King
P.S. I'm sure you're busy, but can you take a moment and write me a note? I have figured out the borrowed item. I need to fly far to retrieve it, though. I have a small window of time to make the round trip. I don't want to get this wrong, so please tell me if you prefer newer or older things. Thank you.
Newer or older things? And what is he getting that he has to fly so far?
I sit back in my chair, drink more of my latte, and reread the letter, pondering his question, unsure how to answer.
There's a knock on the door.
I put the envelope and letter on my lap, calling out, "Yes?"
The door opens, and Brax sticks his head inside. "Are you done yet?"
I glare at him.
"Fiona, I'm going to be in some big shit with Liam if I don't get this task completed," he whines .
"Not my problem." I smirk, not happy he's interrupting my thoughts and pressuring me to figure out my answer.
"Jesus. You two are meant to be together," he mumbles.
My heart pounds harder. "What was that?"
"Nothing. Just hurry. Please," he begs.
I wiggle my finger at him.
He groans and disappears, shutting the door.
I stare at the PS again, then grab company letterhead out of my drawer. I stare at it, then pick it up and tear off the top.
Smiling, I click my pen and reply, then fold the paper. I stick it in an envelope and seal it. Then I grab my lipstick from my purse, draw an F, and trace my finger over the letter, pushing down on the bottom to showcase my print. I draw a tissue out of the box and wipe the excess off.
I rise, stick my letter in my purse, and then grab the reply. I open the door.
Brax pushes off the wall. "What do you want me to tell him?"
I narrow my eyes.
He crosses his arms. "I don't have time for games, Fiona. Spit it out."
"Do you really think I'd give you a verbal message to mess up?" I question.
Brax's face turns red. He fumes, "If I don't go out to his SUV and give him your message soon, I'm going to be in some major trouble with multiple entities. Can you give me a break? Please!"
The hairs on my neck rise. Butterflies attack my belly. I blurt out, "He's here?"
Brax's face reddens, then he clenches his jaw .
I brush past him toward the entrance.
He stays on my heels. "Fiona, you know you can't go out there."
I don't listen, rushing through the building. I whip the door open and step out into the cold, scanning several SUVs parked on the street.
"Fiona! Go back inside!" Brax orders, tugging on my shoulder and spinning me into him.
I demand, "Which one is he in?"
"Give me the message and go back inside," he barks, the red in his face turning maroon.
A gust of wind slams into me, and I step back. "Which one?"
"Fiona, is everything okay?" Adrian's Russian accent booms from a few feet away.
The blood in my face drains. My pulse skyrockets.
"It's fine," Brax insists.
Adrian steps next to us, sternly stating, "I asked Fiona, not you."
I lift my chin, smiling. "Yes. Everything is fine, Adrian."
He studies me, his blue eyes piercing mine. "Why do I get the feeling it's not?"
"It is," I insist.
He leers at Brax.
"Don't act like I'm doing something wrong," Brax barks.
"Why are you here? This is Fiona's place of work," Adrian prompts.
I quickly interject. "It's a family matter, Adrian. Everything is fine. I promise. I'll be inside in a moment."
His gaze drifts between us. He finally steps back. "I'm inside if you need me, Fiona. "
"Thanks. But everything is good, Adrian," I reassure.
He cautiously disappears.
"Damn, Blue," Brax mutters.
I scoff. "How is this Blue's fault?"
"Ever since she decided to get the hots for me, he's put me on his enemy list!"
"Don't be so dramatic."
Brax grabs the letter out of my hand.
"Hey! What are you doing?" I shriek, trying to retrieve it, but he holds it high in the air.
"Go inside, Fiona. Rules are never to be broken. I know you're learning things, but break them, and you die. So do others around you. That's what your father wanted, and that's our reality. And I don't have time for your games. Go inside. Now!" Brax orders.
I gape at him.
He softens his tone, pleading, "Please. You've known me forever. I need you to go inside."
I glance at the SUVs once more, not sure which one the man my brother promised me to is in, then back at Brax. "I need to see who he is or I can't do this."
Brax shakes his head, empathetically asserting, "You read the rules and you know what happens if you don't marry him."
My insides quiver. The people I love flash in my mind, and the thought of the twins growing up as orphans tears at my heart.
Brax puts his hand on my back, maneuvering me toward the front entrance, stating in a low tone, "No one wants anyone to die, Fiona. Please. Just go inside. Your time to meet him is soon. "
Confusion, fear, and curiosity swirl within me. I blink hard and glance up.
Brax adds in a regretful tone, "I know this sucks." He puts his hand on the door.
"Wait," I blurt out.
He stills.
My voice cracks, and a tear falls down my cheek. "Am I going to hate him?"
Brax tilts his head and releases a long breath. "No. I don't think so. He has his moments, but he's not that bad."
"Not that bad?" I question.
He shrugs. "Yeah. I'm not that bad either, right?" He wiggles his eyebrows.
I choke out a laugh.
He tugs me into him and hugs me. It's not something he normally does.
For some reason, I sink into it, letting more tears fall.
He hugs me tighter and reassures, "Everything will be okay, Fiona. Just don't break any of the rules, and everything will be fine. I promise. Now, I need you to go inside. This isn't worth someone dying over. Not today."
I sniffle, step back, and nod. "Okay. I'll go inside."
"Thank you." He offers a smile, opens the door, and waits.
I glance at the SUVs for a final time, then cave and go inside, agreeing with Brax.
Today isn't the day for anyone to die.