22. Cataleya
Plumb Beach is where I go to think. It got me through most of college. It got me through my struggles with the throne I fought so hard against. And now, as I walk along the sand, holding my shoes in one hand, it’s getting me through my fight with Christian.
“Christian.”
Saying his name out loud somehow anchors me, even though the sound of my voice is swept away by the wind gently springing off the water. I look out across the water, knowing that far in the distance, further than I can see, lies Solvaria.
For a woman who spent most of her life rejecting her Kingdom and her responsibility to it, I find myself homesick, possibly for the first time. I never felt this back in college, even though I spent years away from my home country. Back then New York seemed like an escape, somewhere to seek solace from the place that wanted to tie me down, to make me something I didn’t want to be.
But now… Now things feel very, very different. I can’t see it from here, of course, but in my mind, the haze falls away and I start seeing things clearly. My parents, the castle, my life in Solvaria is where I belong, one way or another.
It’s not just the place I miss, though, and as the water comes to greet my toes, I’m finally able to admit it to myself—the truth I’ve been avoiding all this time.
“I’m in love with him,” I whisper, goosebumps running down my arms as a breeze passes by.
It almost shocks me to hear, because I didn’t even let myself think it until the words came tumbling out of my mouth on their own accord.
Where did that come from?I think, but I already know the answer. My feelings for Christian have been apparent since our very first kiss, even though things weren’t supposed to be real back then. It’s only now that I’m putting a name to them though, letting myself admit what’s really been going on in me all these months.
But to say it out loud…
I decide to try again, seeing how the words feel when said intentionally, rather than by mistake.
“I’m in love with you,” I utter, and this time I imagine Christian standing in front of me. I imagine his striking blue eyes, his half-cocked smile, his warm hands holding mine.
Except none of that exists here. Again, only the wind hears me, and the thought of that—of those words going unheard—pains me deeply.
At the same time though, the thought of telling him and those words falling into silence is even worse. I recognize, immediately, that this is not what we agreed to.
“It’s just an arrangement,” I remind myself, frustrated that I’ve put myself in such a position of disadvantage. How could I have fallen for him? For someone who, by definition, is off limits? He’s my husband in name only, I know that, and I shake my head, letting the image of Christian dissipate from my mind. All I have right here is my own lonely company, as much as I long for Christian’s presence.
No good can come of this, but at the same time, the way things stand now aren’t much better. At the very least, I have to fix what just happened between us. Whether this marriage is real or fake, we need to find our way back to each other, and that starts with clearing up this blatant misconception.
My lawyer brain kicks in, and I realize quickly that the best way to do this is to clear my name with the media. If that’s Christian’s beacon of truth, then so be it. I’ll beat them at their own game. And hopefully by doing that I can prove my sincerity and loyalty to Christian. A loyalty that’s never wavered—at least not since I agreed to this arrangement.
A small part of me wants to punch the ground at the thought of Christian believing I cheated on him. He’s been the only man on my mind since this whole arrangement began. No one else has even come close to making me feel this alive.
I race back to my car, driving the scenic route back to my apartment. When I step out of the car and hand the keys to the valet driver, I almost do a double take.
“Christian?” I ask tentatively to the figure huddled in my building’s doorway.
He takes a second to look up, his movements slower than usual. When I take a step forward, the faint scent of whiskey lingers on him.
“Oh,” I say slowly, not sure what to make of all this. “Are you drunk?”
In the afternoon light, I can see his eyes are struggling to focus, but when he looks up at me, his gaze is suddenly as clear as ever.
He lets out a small self-conscious laugh before shaking his head.
“No, actually. The pettiness of my own actions sobered me up,” he replies with a smirk.
His words shock me, and I wonder what he’s talking about. Surely he’s not referring to our argument this morning. That was hours ago and he certainly wasn’t intoxicated then.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, searching his face for any signs of a struggle.
I didn’t notice it before, but there are a couple of scratches on his neck, and a bruise forming on his chin. The sight of it shocks me, and I wait in silence for him to explain.
It takes him a moment, and I get the feeling he’s deciding how to answer.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally and the words lift a weight off my shoulders. “I jumped to conclusions with the tabloid. I should have trusted you.”
His words are a soothing balm, but he still hasn’t explained himself.
“How did you figure it out?” I prompt.
He looks sheepish for a second.
“I might have confronted the man who was supposed to be your ‘New York lover,’” he admits, scratching the back of his neck. “Turns out he was just looking for a payday.”
“I could have told you that myself, you know,” I tell him, a teasing glint to my words.
Christian looks pained and nods. “I know. And you tried. I was just so blinded by jealousy that I couldn’t hear you. I’m so sorry, Cataleya. These last few weeks haven’t been easy for us, you know that… and then you disappeared all of a sudden. The headlines made me believe the worst. But you’re not that person, I know. I hope you can forgive me.”
The look in his eyes is sincere, his words heavy with remorse.
The fact that we’re finally addressing the tension between us, even without directly mentioning our tryst in the garden, breathes some much-needed life into our relationship. It feels as if a bubble has burst and, painful as it was, it feels like I can breathe again.
I reach out, brushing his shoulder gently with my hand. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels like reaching across a gap that has grown too wide to cross. And now, suddenly, we’re here again, within reach of each other.
“I understand,” I tell Christian, and something like relief flickers in his eyes. How would he react if I hugged him right now? If I kissed him? “I forgive you.”
He looks at me gratefully and for a moment we just stand there, looking into each other”s eyes with newfound closeness.
“Do you want to come inside?” I ask finally. Christian’s gaze doesn’t leave mine as he nods.
“Thank you, yes,” he replies. I can’t help but smile as he makes the move to open the door for me.
“Come on then,” I tell him, squeezing his shoulder briefly before leading the way inside.
The sound of our two pairs of footsteps moving toward the elevator makes my heart expand a little. I’ve spent so much time getting to know Christian’s world. It feels good to invite him into mine.
I can’t help but think of his first visit here—when he had tried to convince me to leave New York and my life behind and become his wife as promised. It feels like a lifetime ago. Here we are, walking up to my apartment together, with some complicated emotions simmering deep within my heart.
So much has changed, I can hardly recognize my old life. And yet, I’m shocked that I don’t miss it that much. In fact, there are times when I’m with Christian that I feel happier than I ever have.
“Make yourself at home,” I tell him as I slip the key into my lock and open my apartment door.
The paper is still on the floor where I sat slumped earlier. For a second, we both stop in our tracks and stare down at it. Then, unexpectedly, Christian steps forward, picks it up deftly, and strides over to the kitchen.
A moment later, the paper is in the trash and the two of us look at each other as if to say, now what?
Soon enough, I have my answer. Now, we move forward. Together.