20. Cataleya
The sound of banging pierces my groggy mind, pulling me unwillingly out of what feels like too little sleep. As my eyes adjust to my New York apartment, I let out a groan of annoyance. Whoever is at the door clearly has no respect for the overtime I put in last night, or the brief appearance at an old friend’s birthday, both of which kept me up until the early hours of the morning.
“What the hell?” I mutter to myself, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
The banging is getting louder, more insistent, and it’s clear this person won’t go away by ignoring them. I try to think of who it might be. My landlord? A neighbor? My boss, coming with urgent news about the case they called me in for?
With a groan, I drag myself out of bed and throw on a robe, hoping that whatever it is will be over with quickly so I can go back to bed before I have to start work for the day.
Even as I make my way to the door, the banging gets louder again. Now that I’m awake I seem to have mustered the energy to be angry, and by the time I swing the door open, I’m practically fuming.
“What?” I yell, even before I see who it is.
But when my eyes meet Christian’s, I’m suddenly taken aback. I’ve barely come face to face with him in weeks, ever since…
I pull my robe tighter around me, embarrassed to be seen in barely more than a slip, and suddenly flashes of that night in the garden invade my mind. His fingers inside me, my cries ringing out under the night sky, his lips on my neck. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks even as I stand there, trying to figure out in my half-awake state what he’s doing in New York.
This is the last place I expected to see him, but before he even says a word, it’s clear he’s angry. I guess I probably should have told him about this unexpected trip but when I was called in to help on this legal case, I couldn’t say no. The firm needed me.
And, if I’m honest, there was another reason I was so eager to head back to New York. After that night with Christian, after the embarrassment of getting caught up in lust and then abruptly ending it, I’ve been trying everything I can to avoid him. How was I supposed to face him after that?
That’s difficult in the confines of the castle though, and when I got the call, I jumped at the chance for a little space.
I didn’t think it would be a big deal. Admittedly, the thought of telling him about my trip would have necessitated talking to him. Which would have meant acknowledging what happened between us in the garden, and I just wasn’t up for that. So instead, I just… left.
I ran away, which is something I’m good at. I couldn’t handle the thought of facing him again. Shame, humiliation, and fear consumed me at the idea. What’s worse, I’m convinced that if he got me alone again, we’d only have a repeat of what we did in the garden.
And I don’t believe I’m strong enough to say no to him. Not after that.
I see now that he did not appreciate my impulsiveness and since we are technically married now, I probably should have said something.
“Christian,” I tell him, letting out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just—”
“Just what?” he spits, clearly enraged. “Just decided you were sick of me? Decided you’d prefer to sleep around instead?”
My eyebrows furrow together. This comes out of nowhere. I thought we were talking about me leaving without saying goodbye, but sleeping around? What does that even mean?
I’m baffled by his words, and search his azure eyes for some sense of meaning, but all I see there is rage. I go to say something else, but suddenly I see he’s holding something in his hand. It’s a Solvarian newspaper, and when he brandishes it in my face, I finally understand what he’s so angry about.
Future Princess Consorts With New York Lover!
reads the headline.
There’s a full-page photo of me and another photo of a man I don’t recognize. The implication is clear, but I know a money grab when I see one, and it’s clear this guy just made up some story about me. Clearly, some tabloid journalists had to fill space that day and didn’t bother to check their sources.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I explain, laughing a little at the absurdity of the claim.
Christian doesn’t seem to find it funny, though. He throws the paper at my feet, his eyes still aflame with anger.
“Do you not understand what marriage means?” he demands. “Is this really such a sham to you that you’d come back here to fool around with someone else?”
I’m still baffled, barely able to believe that he’s actually accusing me of cheating.
“What? No, I—”
But he’s not done yet.
“You might not care about your responsibilities, but I do,” he tells me, his deep voice rumbling with anger. “We’ve been betrothed to each other since we were children, and now that we’ve finally gone through with the marriage, you clearly can’t handle it. It was just one year, Cataleya! One year you had to stay faithful. But instead, you take the first chance to run off with someone else. Without any thought for...”
For a second I think he’s about to say without any thought for me, but he falters.
“...for your country!” he says finally. “You’ve made a complete mockery of the crown of Solvaria, do you know that!?”
“Wait, Christian!” I say, trying to explain. All the laughter has gone out of my voice now, because this isn’t just an amusing misunderstanding. It’s becoming scarily real.
“I’m not interested in your excuses!” he interrupts. There’s anger in his eyes, but something else. Pain. “You’ve completely disgraced yourself and your country! I thought there was more to you than being some vapid party girl, but I guess I was wrong.”
This last part hurts, and for a second, all is still between us as his words hang in the air.
I thought, over the last few months, that he would know me better than that. I was sure he really saw me, really knew me. But the way he’s looking at me now seems like he doesn’t know me at all.
The ache in my heart at his accusations, at his distrust, makes me want to slam the door in his face right there and then, or else throw myself at his feet and beg for forgiveness for something I didn’t even do.
Thankfully, I do neither of those things. Instead, I take a deep breath, steadying myself against the rolling waves of emotion that are threatening to overtake me.
“Are you going to listen to my explanation or not?” I finally ask, giving him one last chance to hear me out.
There has to be a way to just talk through this. I have to hope there is anyway, because that’s the only way I know of to get out of this mess. I look Christian in the eye, silently pleading with him to calm down, to think about this rationally, to trust me.
What I see there, though, is the same unabating rage that I opened the door to. He clearly has no space for any truth other than the one he’s set on believing. That I’m a liar, a cheater, and unworthy of the crown.
The scowl on his face would have told me everything I needed to know, but he drives his point home with his next words.
“You can save your breath,” he tells me. “I’m not interested in your lies.”
“Fine, then you can leave,” I reply. My voice is strong and controlled—the same voice I use in the courtroom—but inside, I’m crumbling.
What I really want is not for him to leave, but to listen to me. Above all else, I need space to collect my thoughts.
Christian doesn’t hesitate. Without another word, he turns and storms off down the hall, leaving the paper at my feet.
I kick it out of the way, shutting the door and locking it behind me. The moment that latch clicks, I burst into tears, all the pain and loss of what just happened streaming through me.
“Why wouldn’t you believe me?” I mumble to myself, to Christian, through my tears.
I slump to the floor, the door at my back. My eyes find the tabloid paper again, and I lift it to see my own image staring back at me.
I can’t believe he would trust this tabloid over me. It feels like the deepest kind of betrayal—to question my character, everything he knows about me, months of closeness and connection, just because of a single trashy article. And the worst part is that the damn photoshop doesn’t even look good.
I throw the paper down in disgust and frustration. Where on earth do we go from here?