“You can just call me, Odette. It’s after midnight now,” she whispered, leaning against the headboard.
I glanced at my watch on the nightstand, and it was exactly twelve minutes after twelve. I tilted my glass toward her. “Hello, Odette. I am Gale,” I said, and she tapped her glass against mine.
“If this were a fairy tale, I would have gotten here exactly at midnight, but I guess there’s no traffic in Cinderella’s world.”
“Were you aiming to come here by midnight?”
Am I sure I am not dreaming?
“No,” she replied, brushing a curl off her shoulder. “But it occurred to me as I got here that it would have made a fun story.”
“If you want, we’ll just say you did. Who else will know besides me, you, Wolfgang, and Iskandar.”
“My driver.”
“Did he not turn back into a mouse?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, you are definitely cheesy, and this has definitely been an interesting night.”
“You are telling me?” I scoffed. “I am not sure if I am awake or dreaming—ouch.”
She punched me and had the gall to just smile up at me all innocently. “What? That’s how you prove to someone you aren’t dreaming in this part of the world.”
“I am sure there are better ways.”
“Cold water to the face?”
“I said better.”
Again, she grinned at me and fell back into silence, drinking slowly.
“I was trying to beat around the bush and ask you why it is you are here, drinking wine in bed with me, but it seems that failed, so now I need to be blunt.”
“Be blunt then.”
I thought I was. “Why are you here?”
“Because I’m thinking about saying yes to marrying you, but I can’t get over just how insane it is to marry someone you don’t know, let alone a prince. So, I need you to tell me all the horrible things that would happen if we did get married.”
I had to take a second to detangle that statement. “So, you are trying to sabotage your effort to say yes to marrying me?”
“Exactly.” She lifted her glass.
She is cute. A little strange. But cute.
“Can I save my arguments for the morning?”
“It is the morning.”
“Then how about sunrise?”
“If I go to sleep now, I’m definitely going to disagree with marrying you again.”
She did not need my help, correct?
I rubbed my eyes for a moment. Two hours ago, Odette was declaring she would never marry me. Now she was thinking about it? What happened at that ball? “Why don’t you explain why you are thinking of agreeing, all of a sudden?”
“My reasons are pitiful.”
“I highly doubt they are worse than mine.”
“Actually, my first reason is pretty similar.” She frowned.
I thought about it. “You need your inheritance.”
She nodded. “Reason one is I need the money and want the money, but I don’t want to need or want the money. There are people who have nothing and can never get more than nothing,” she said gently.
“Ah, so you have, Dalsgaard syndrome,” I said very seriously, knowing she had no idea what that was.
Sure enough, her brows furrowed as she stared back. “Are you a prince and a doctor, too?”
“No, I did go to law school, though.”
“Great. More lawyers.” She muttered something else.
“What was that?” I asked, leaning closer.
She shook her head. “Nothing. What is this syndrome you say I have?”
“A hundred years ago or so, there was an earl in my country by the name of Frans Dalsgaard. He inherited not only a title but also a vast fortune when his uncle passed without a male heir. However, the earl felt guilt-ridden by this because his female cousins, there were four, were left with nothing.”
“What did he do that left him infamy for a hundred years or so?” she asked.
“He gave his uncle’s fortune back to the sisters—well, to their husbands—and allowed the eldest sister to have the estate. Stating he was well-to-do before he received the inheritance, and he would be so afterward—funny enough, he was a doctor by trade. He took care of the townspeople.”
“And for his kindness, they loved him, and he lived a happy, normal life?” she finished with her head held high.
I shook my head. “The world savaged him.”
“Why?” she cried, bowing over in irritation. She lifted her face back up and pouted at me. “Was it really that bad?”
I did my best not to laugh at her ever-changing expressions. She was hilarious. “The economy crashed that year. People couldn’t pay him for his services, but they still went to him. He asked his cousins for loans, and they refused him. His wife and son became ill, so he tried to collect debts the townspeople owed him. They almost beat him to death. His wife and son died, and he soon joined them, penniless, crippled, and sick. His remaining daughter eventually ended up marrying a local schoolteacher but also lived most of her life in poverty.”
Her pout shifted to a full-blown grimace. “That is a horrible bedtime story!”
That did it. I almost keeled over from laughter. “It is, is it not?”
“So, the moral of the story is to take your money and screw everyone else?” She still had a sour look on her face.
“Yes and no. It is more nuanced than that.” I felt like one of my past lecturers explaining this. “The core debate on this is centered on humanity. Everyone applauded Dalsgaard when he gave up the inheritance. But then when he was in need, they debased him. Why? Some scholars say it is because human beings are selfish and greedy. They did not have money, so they were glad he could not have the money, either. Also, there is a whole argument centered around his cousins and why they did not help him. So as my professor told me, do good to as many as you can, most importantly yourself.”
“In other words, take your money and run. Like I said,” she summed it up and drank.
“Yes, in short, I suppose.” I drank along with her, admiring how funny she was without trying. “What were your other reasons?”
“You don’t want to sleep anymore?”
“We have already gotten this far in, why not continue?” I replied, and I suddenly was no longer tired.
“Reason two is I’m mad at my sister.”
“You are mad at your sister?” I repeated slowly.
“She got married already. She didn’t tell me and already collected the money.”
“Did she need to tell you?”
She shot me another one of her icy glares. “Do you have siblings, Gale?”
“An elder brother named Arthur, but we just call him Arty, and a younger sister named Elizarosa, who goes by Eliza.”
“How would you feel if Arty and Eliza got married and didn’t tell you? And on top of that, they were hoping you didn’t get married so they could take all the inheritance.”
“I have never had to think about that before because it would be impossible for them to do that.”
“Think about it now then,” she demanded.
“Okay, I guess I would be upset and worried.”