Chapter 24 #2
The door shut behind them with a hollow thud, echoing in Ruben's mind like an omen.
The room was quiet, its walnut furniture and ice blue walls creating an impression of calmness that Ruben couldn't buy into.
In front of the window, through which bright, winter sunlight streamed, the family sat like something out of an old-fashioned photograph.
The children were on the floor, their skirts arranged neatly around them. Girls, both. And didn't Harald hate it. They betrayed a flash of excitement at Ruben’s appearance before schooling their expressions, bowing their golden heads over some sort of board game.
Above them, settled into various plush sofas, were the adults.
Sophronia, dressed as if ready for a debutante's ball in pink silk, a ransom's worth of diamonds glittering over her chest. Harald, his bored gaze on the ceiling, attired in only a velvet smoking jacket and slippers.
A mark of disrespect, of course. Ruben had expected it, but not the sharp fury that cut through him at the sight. He was used to this sort of thing.
But he didn't like the idea that Cherry was being disrespected too.
Lydia sat on Harald's right, the only adult of the bunch who was appropriately dressed. Her airy, navy-blue skirts fluffed out about her knees, her hair in a neat bun. Ruben resisted the urge to smile at her, or at either of his nieces. It would only cause trouble.
“Harald,” he said, his tone dancing on the edge of insolence, as always.
Harald tore his eyes from the ceiling and flicked them over Ruben as dismissively as he would a dust mote beneath the bed.
Then Ruben waited, holding his breath, to see what treatment Cherry would receive.
He realised in an instant that if it was anything less than she deserved, he might do something ill-advised.
But Harald made an attempt to look enthused as he came to Cherry. He stood, as a gentleman ought, and held out his hands in a gesture that belied the pinched, disdainful look on his face.
Ruben wouldn't hold that against him. It was his natural expression.
“Miss Cherry Neita,” he said, his voice somewhere between surprise and fascination. “ Taler du dansk? ”
“I'm sorry,” Cherry said. “English is my only language, I'm afraid.” And then she smiled.
It was so fucking beautiful, Ruben thought for a second that he might pass out.
Her dimples were deep, her ruby lips were lush and full, and her eyes held that indefinable sparkle that said, I know.
I really am something . The sparkle that drew people to her like flies.
Harald blinked as if he'd been hit over the head. Sophronia stiffened, sitting up a little straighter. And Lydia, bless her, smiled back, as unaffected as ever.
The children ignored everyone .
Cherry started forward, tugging on Ruben's hand subtly, leading him into the room.
Pull yourself together, man. Good lord.
He kept his eyes on her, as if her brilliance could protect him from the ugliness of this situation.
This place. Her outfit was modest, simple—a dress with a low, sweetheart neckline and a skirt shaped like a bell, the ivory bright against her brown skin.
And yet, she looked as decadent, as sinful as ever.
She reached the cluster of family and furniture and executed a perfect curtsy, nowhere near low enough to seem outdated, but a little more than the modern head nod.
With that same, sunny smile she air-kissed Sophronia's proffered cheek, then Lydia's, then took Harald's hand and lowered her head over it, ever so slightly.
Ruben watched, more than a little awe-struck.
The rambling, pathetic advice he'd been capable of giving in the car was atrocious. And yet, she had everything right.
“What delightful girls,” she trilled, looking down at the golden heads still focused on the floor. “How very beautiful.” She sounded utterly convincing, as if she could actually see their faces.
“Thank you,” Lydia smiled. Sophronia gave a graceless snort. Clearly, his sister was uncomfortable.
Usually, the title of most beautiful woman in the room went to her.
“Please, sit,” Harald said grandly.
Cherry did, sinking into a free sofa with the kind of grace usually found on the stage. Then she looked up at him with the sweetest smile, the kind of smile that old, married couples share, and said, “Sit, love.”
He swallowed, and sat.
“How wonderful to meet you,” Harald said, turning on the charm as always. “Tea?"
“Yes, please,” Cherry said, just as charming. So much pleasantness in one room, and all of it false.
Harald didn't ask his wife aloud, or even look at her; Lydia poured the tea automatically, with practiced efficiency. None for Ruben, though. She knew he wouldn't want any.
But then Harald said, “Serve my brother, Lydia.”
Ruben frowned. “You know I don’t—”
“Lydia,” Harald said again, his voice iron. “Pour Ruben some tea.”
Ruben could feel Cherry's eyes on him, probably confused, but no doubt hiding it well.
He could hardly turn and explain that his brother liked to watch his hands shake.
That the older man fed off of any sign of discomfort like a parasite.
Ruben had dropped his cup once, scalded himself and stained his trousers, firmly embarrassed himself in polite company after one biting word from Harald, the significance of which no-one else had even understood.
Harald rather shamelessly lived for the day that the occurrence might repeat itself.
It wouldn't, of course. Ruben had been a young man then, still under his brother’s thumb.
And yet, he’d allowed the mental scars his brother had inflicted to push Cherry away. So it seemed Harald still had the power to destroy everything Ruben held dear. Things hadn't changed much at all, had they?
“We're very pleased to be introduced,” Lydia said, pouring Ruben's tea. She took care not to fill it too high, because she was kind to a fault, and she knew exactly what her husband wanted.
How Lydia had ended up trapped with a man like Harald, Ruben still wasn't entirely sure.
“How did the two of you meet?” she asked as Cherry sipped her tea.
Ruben cut in. “Cherry works in the educational sector,” he said. Hoping that would be enough.
“Still rescuing urchins, brother?” Harald murmured. “It's good to stay in touch with one's roots.”
“Yes,” Cherry said brightly, lowering her cup.
“I agree. Charity is so noble. It’s the perfect occupation for the son of a king.
” Her words stained the air like red wine across white silk.
With barely a breath, she moved on. “I met Ruben in a professional capacity, but he pursued me outside of work, of course.” She gave him a warm, teasing look, as if they were sharing a secret joke.
With a jolt, he realised that they were . The memory of marching into her staffroom and dragging her off for lunch brought a smile to his face. And then, somehow, even with the weight of his brother's presence crushing his lungs, Ruben managed to laugh.
“Something like that,” he said, and she grinned, and he felt like himself. He felt like himself . What a fucking gift .
As the meeting went on, stilted and awkward and dogged by Harald’s jabs, Ruben held that blessing to his chest, and it became his shield.
After a painful hour, they were finally released.
Cherry smiled politely as they excused themselves, and she left clinging to his arm as if they were joined at the hip.
She stayed that way as an assistant led them through the halls to their private quarters, as they were shown their suite and informed of the dinner hour—like Ruben didn’t know it.
But as soon as the door to their quarters swung shut, locking out the outside world, Cherry let go. She stepped away from him. And the laughing intimacy she’d shown him moments before, the smile on her lips and the warmth in her voice, disappeared.
“Fuck,” she muttered. “I didn’t think we’d have to share.”
Ruben tried to hide the way those words hit him, like fists to the gut. They were right back where they’d started. She didn’t want to be alone with him.
“We’re engaged,” he said. “Of course they’d put us together.” Then he realised that he’d said precisely the wrong thing.
The glare she gave him could’ve felled a fucking tree. “How could I forget?” She drawled. “And where the hell is Demi? Or Hans, for that matter?”
Ruben shrugged. “I try to keep my brother unaware of my personal connections. ”
For a minute, her gaze softened, and she nodded. But then, as if remembering herself, she set her jaw and turned away from him. “I’m taking the bedroom.”
He watched her storm off through the suffocatingly luxurious parlour, heading towards the huge bedroom they were supposed to share.
He had a feeling that wouldn’t go so well this time around.