19. Christian
My knife and fork break open the poached egg, and I watch absent-mindedly as the yolk spills out, pooling on my plate. Ordinarily, I’d be digging in happily, preparing for a busy day, and chatting animatedly with Cataleya. Maybe even planning something special for her.
But today I’m staring at my eggs in consternation. I watch as the warm light streaming through the dining room window catches the yolk, bringing its color into vibrant relief. But a sound from the other end of the room finally catches my attention and the eggs are immediately forgotten.
Cataleya strides into the room through the large double doors. She’s wearing a stunning green dress that accentuates her figure with just the right degree of modesty. For a second, I long to see more of those curves the way I did that night in the garden. But the thought is immediately replaced by another, stronger desire. To catch her attention.
As she approaches the table, she leans down, her long chestnut hair partially obscuring her hazel eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, she picks up a pastry from the vast dining table. Her fingers, I notice, are delicate and graceful, and I wish I could reach out and take her hand.
Instead, I sit up a little straighter and smile cordially in her direction, hoping to disarm her.
“Good morning,” I tell her, as casually as I can.
“Good morning,” she replies politely but without looking up.
Instead, she reaches for a plate, sets the croissant upon it, and strides out of the room without so much as a glance in my direction.
The moment she leaves, I sigh. My whole body slumps and I drop my cutlery with a soft clatter. This has been going on for three weeks now—ever since that night in the garden.
A night that was both a blessing and a curse. My memories of her, writhing and moaning underneath me, haven’t escaped my mind no matter how hard I’ve tried. I long for the way things used to be, before I messed everything up.
I’ve been trying my best to catch her eye and engage her in conversation, but she refuses to have anything to do with me. It’s bringing me to my wit’s end.
I pick up my cutlery again, laboriously finishing my breakfast. But the finest cuisine tastes like cardboard when my mind is elsewhere.
As I struggle to swallow my poached eggs, the door to the dining hall swings open again. For a moment I think it’s Cataleya, coming back to finally close the gap between us. But my hope is deflated once again when I see my brother, Cedrick, accompany my father into the room. My brother’s pregnant wife, Ellie, follows close behind.
“Good morning, son,” my father greets as Cedrick sets him up at the table beside me.
Cedrick and Ellie take a seat on the opposite side, politely acknowledging me as they grab food for themselves.
“Good morning, Father. Cedrick, Ellie,” I say politely, hoping my disappointment at their entrance isn’t obvious.
“Good morning, Christian. I hope all is well,” Ellie says, shooting me a warm smile before turning back to Cedrick and continuing their excited but quiet conversation. It’s related to my wedding somehow, I’m sure. Or perhaps their unborn child.
As my father reaches for his breakfast, I try my best to remain stoic. But the image of my brother and his wife only highlights how dismally my own relationship is failing. For God’s sake, how can I even call it a relationship at this point? I basically strong-armed Cataleya into this arrangement and now I’m suffering the consequences.
I’ve been trying to find a way to approach her, to put an end to this unnecessary tension, but it seems there’s more at play here. To me, what happened in the garden was inevitable. We’re obviously attracted to each other, we’re practically living together, and at least for the time being, neither of us have any prospects of other partners. It only seems natural that we’d hook up eventually.
But the way she sprang away from me, the way she ran off. And now, the way she’s completely avoiding me… It’s clear this situation is much more delicate than I first realized. And of course, I’m wary of saying the wrong thing. One wrong move and she might call this whole thing off. Then she’ll run back to New York again.
I pick up my coffee, sipping the bitter brew as I turn this thought over and over in my mind.
There’s something else, too. I glance over at my father, noting his fragile condition, and it makes me think of Cataleya’s mother. We received word just days after the incident in the garden that her health is deteriorating.
Just weeks ago, I would have taken Cataleya in my arms, stroked her hair, and comforted her. But now… Well, now she won’t even speak to me. What words of comfort could I possibly offer to someone who can barely look me in the eyes?
These are the thoughts streaming through my head when I notice my father and brother staring at me.
“Sorry, did you say something?” I ask, suddenly snapping to attention.
“I said, where is Cataleya?” my father repeats, looking at me strangely. “I barely see her around anymore.”
“Lovers’ quarrel?” Cedrick adds, shooting me a teasing smirk. “Only natural for couples to have their fights every now and then.”
“No, of course not,” I reply, a little too hastily. That earns me a perked brow from Cedrick. “We’re both just busy with our respective duties.”
My father gives me another knowing look but says nothing. Cedrick shrugs and turns back to his breakfast, which is a relief.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, pushing the remains of my breakfast away.
Before either of them can question me further, I leave the table, determined to do something about this. We can’t avoid each other forever. If even my father and brothers are beginning to notice, it’s gone too far.
I try my best to track Cataleya down, but soon my duties really do call me away. The rest of that day, however, I think only of what I’ll say when I see Cataleya that night.
Only she doesn’t appear for dinner. Nor does she arrive for breakfast the next morning. Now I’m not only frustrated, I’m annoyed. Admittedly, this is not the mood I want to be in when I confront her, but with every passing hour of her absence, I become more and more irritated.
It’s a cruel reminder of what she put me through back in New York. I have half a mind to have David and my other bodyguards track her down and bring her to me.
I decide, instead, to go for a walk to clear my head. The streets of Solvaria are bustling and somehow the sound of the city puts me at ease. The sight of my people going about their lives, the bright morning sun, even the sounds of traffic—these things remind me of all I’m working toward.
I take a deep breath as I continue down the sidewalk, breathing in the scents of summer. It reinvigorates me and I know that Cataleya and I need to put any tension behind us. What we’re doing is too important. I’m sure that if I can just sit her down and have a proper conversation, she’ll agree.
Suddenly, though, I stop in my tracks. Because I’ve just seen something that shatters that belief.
I’m staring at a photo of Cataleya plastered on the front of a dozen tabloid papers displayed in a news stand. I manage to take a step forward, grasping one angrily as I scan the headline.
Future Princess Consorts With New York Lover!
There it is, in black and white, the reason she’s been avoiding me. A portrait of a man—dark hair, rugged features, suggestive smile—accompanies the image and as I scan the article, I feel the heat of rage rising in me.
According to the paper, Cataleya is in New York. Now. She flew out yesterday which explains why she wasn’t at dinner or breakfast this morning. Clutching the paper, I storm back in the direction I came. Now, every person I pass, every Solvarian scene, just makes me angrier.
She’s jeopardizing everything that’s dear to me, everything I thought we were working toward. Not only that, she’s betrayed me in the worst possible way.
Memories of our night in the garden flash through my mind. Only now, my role in our tryst is replaced by this smirking cretin from the paper. It’s his lips kissing Cataleya’s. His fingers plunged into her warmth. His hands running over her curves.
The thought of it makes me sick, and by the time I get back to the castle, I’m a dangerous mixture of furious and appalled.
“Paul!” I bark, willing my secretary to appear out of thin air.
He practically does, rushing around the corner at the sound of my voice.
“Yes, Your Highness?” he chirps, standing at attention. He must hear the urgency in my voice.
“Prepare the jet immediately. For New York.”
Paul nods before scurrying off to make the preparations. I’m left standing in the castle’s grand foyer, still fuming, my hands still clutching the paper.
I lift it again, scanning the grainy image and committing it to memory. For all the patience, all the care, all the kindness I”ve shown her over these last months, not to mention the last few weeks of her sullen silence… I can’t believe this is how she repays me.
Whatever she’s doing in New York—whoever she’s doing— I’m about to put a stop to it. No way am I going to wait around here and let it happen.