5. Anna
Anna
“ A nna, you’re flushed,” the older woman worries and rushes towards me. I’m pretty confident she’s Mrs. Thompson—my mother.
“I’m fine,” I assure her as she takes my hands, and then presses the back of her hand to my forehead.
“Kathryn!” she calls to the chambermaid, “Can you assure Miss Anna is taken care of? She feels warm.”
“I’m not warm, I just made out with Jam— I mean, I might be unwell. Thank you.”
“Miss Anna, a word?” James demands from behind me.
I inwardly groan and stifle an inevitable grimace, painting on an angelic smile as I turn. “Yes, Prince James. Of course.”
Once out of earshot of my fake family, he asks, “You felt that earlier, didn’t you? Or are we both mad?”
“I know you’re looking for a wife,” I whisper, glancing around the room to ensure no one can hear me, “so you can become king. You have to find Eliza to make that happen.”
“I told you before, I’m a prince and may marry anyone I please.”
“Then do it!” My voice carries, garnering the attention of everyone around me. “Do it,” I repeat in a hushed tone, “but you won’t find love if you don’t marry Eliza.”
James pierces me with a glare and—without his eyes leaving mine—announces to my family, “Miss Anna and I are to be married…”
“What?” I squeak. “No, I’m sorry, you must’ve misheard me.”
“...tomorrow. We shall celebrate our engagement at the ball this evening.” He leans in, and through the murmurs of the family, he whispers, “You give wonderful advice, Miss Anna.”
I attempt to counter him, but I am instantly surrounded by everyone and their congratulations. How can it be that I’m single-handedly ruining my favourite novel? No . This is his fault. The only thing that could make this worse would be…
Fucking hell, I don’t know how to dance.
“Mama is right. I’m feeling quite ill, I should lie down. Excuse me.”
I push past everyone, hearing someone behind me say, “It must be worse than we thought, she’s confusing her aunt for her mother…”
James has to find Eliza. They’re the fake dating, enemies-to-lovers, hot sex in the library, ideal couple. I need to remind myself that I don’t have the ability to change the author’s story; it’s all just a nightmare I can’t seem to wake up from. There’s no Miss Anna, no Kathryn the chambermaid, and Miss Eliza doesn’t have an aunt in the book.
I continue recalling parts of the story, finding more holes—namely James never visited the library by himself with Eliza until the ball. I don’t have a moment to enjoy the fantasy of pretending to be in this book as I rush down the hall, trying to find the room I stayed in last night. Everything here looks the same—white walls adorned with old paintings, and every door is identical.
Fuck, which one is it?
“Miss Anna, wait,” James calls after me, stopping my hunt for the room. We shouldn’t make a habit of this chase, but I remain rooted in place as my shoulders fall, and I sigh, wondering whether maybe I’m cursed.
“Yes, Prince James.” I curtsy, but I have no idea if I’m doing it correctly. My only reference for proper etiquette in this situation is from books or the movie adaptations of Pride and Prejudice .
“The arrangements have been made, but I have something I must discuss with you at once.”
“I’m not marrying you,” I sigh.
“You are, but my concern is that you are aware of my motives when no one else is privy to them.” He cocks an eyebrow, and my eyes widen. “How do you know my plans for the crown?”
“Fine.” I give in and ruin the plot of the book for him. “Your brother is a twatwaffle who is entitled to the crown but unmarried. If you marry, you can steal it from him, which is where Eliza comes in. You want to hate her and give her the cold shoulder every moment you can. But at the ball, you whisk her off into the gardens to get to know the woman you’re supposed to marry. Oh, and then my favourite part, you fuck her against a fountain.” I’ve touched myself far too many times to that scene… “And you realise you want more than just a stand-in wife. But wait… there’s more! She still hates you, so you spend the remainder of the book trying to win her over. She gives in—because hashtag happily ever after .”
James’ nostrils flair slightly, his jaw tics, and… Oh, no. He’s getting ideas because of the fountain thing. Did I just say hashtag?
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to lie down.”
I turn, but he grips my wrist, spinning me in place and pulling me to him, just like earlier. The wind is knocked out of me as our chests collide. “I’m unsure of what book you’re referring to, or what sort of witchcraft is at play here, but I don’t think I can be any more clear. I don’t want this Miss Eliza you insist on bringing up.”
I swallow hard. “It’s how it’s supposed to be.”
“Perhaps you and your family are working with my brother, but you’re mine now, Miss Anna. You can choose to live happily as my wife, perhaps an occasional tryst by a fountain as you suggested, or”—his eyebrow cocks, but a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, making me shiver—“you can spend the rest of your days locked away, except for forced engagements. ”
Under no circumstances will I get stuck in this story—I need to get out and wake up. Otherwise, I’ll absolutely be locked away in a castle in 18th-century England. I don’t care if this is a book, I’m not birthing six or seven boys just like him. “As amazing as that sounds, I’m going to have to politely decline your forced arrangements . Not only is it not what the author intended, but you’re kind of an arrogant prick.”
A growl rumbles in his chest; I may have taken this too far. “Need I remind you that this ‘arrogant prick’ is your prince?”
“You don’t want me. You love the idea of someone challenging you. That’s why you matched so well with Eliza; she doesn’t let you get away with anything… until you’re behind closed doors.”
“Will you cease this madness? There is no Eliza. No author you speak of. While we both heard someone was being prepared for my arrival, it was confirmed that no woman by that name exists.” He pulls me tighter. “You, however, are the perfect woman to step in as my bride.”
There’s no getting through to this man. Granted, he’s fictional, belonging to thousands of women, but he’s not mine. Still, none of this feels fake—the way he’s looking at me, his hand nestled against my lower back keeping me close. If only he were real. I’m not sure how long this charade of a dream is going to carry on, so I may as well enjoy the journey… even if it potentially messes with the plot of the story I adore.
“You want a bride, fine, you’ve got one. Under one condition.”
A small smirk tugs at his lips. “And what’s that?”
“You don’t make me dance.”