I still hadn’t decided what I was going to do, but at least I was back where I knew I had somewhere to go. All I had to do was rally Carina and Klara and Nora, and we could escape back to the royal quarters, where I wouldn’t have to see Elliot for a while. I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to see him again.
I wandered downstairs to the study to wait for the ship to stir and found it eerily trapped in time. The artificial fireplace still crackled, the music was still looping, and the wine was uncorked and abandoned on the sideboard, slowly turning sour. I thought bitterly how much money had been wasted, everything going on all night, and I resolved to simply charge Elliot double the rent. He could afford it now that he was a criminal.
At long last, I heard the clink of coffee cups and silverware coming from the dining room. I powered down everything in the study and emerged, informing everyone of our return.
“I’ll be having a serious conversation with Elliot about what constitutes a vacation,” Klara grumbled.
Carina’s brows knitted with confusion, but then she scarfed down the last of her toast. “I’ll go pack, Leo. Meet you downstairs?”
I nodded to her, noting that Elliot was not at the table. Hiding from me, I bet. But Evgenia was there. I tried meeting her gaze, but she kept her focus squarely on the center of her coffee cup. She was wearing another fine dress, probably stolen from some other poor sap she’d pretended to be friends with. Heat prickled behind my eyes. I drew deep breaths to stop myself from crying. Elliot’s betrayal was bad, but Evgenia’s was a very close second. I hadn’t ever really had friends before. Apparently I still didn’t.
I followed my sister downstairs to help with the luggage. It didn’t take very long to pack. The most challenging thing was finding room for my mother’s dresses in my much-too-small suitcase.
“Why are you taking those?” Carina asked.
“Just want to keep them safe for the Valg Ball,” I said.
“Do you think I could invite Ben?”
I didn’t miss the real question my sister was asking, and it broke my heart. Even twelve hours ago, I would have said yes. Would have borne whatever marriage I had to to save our family so Carina could marry for love, not status. I still wanted that for her. But Ben was involved with Elliot now, and there was just no way. But I wasn’t ready to break that awful news.
“We’ll see,” I hedged, finally giving up and resolving to carry the last two dresses slung over my arm.
As I was doing one last check of the room to be sure we hadn’t missed anything, my eyes caught on something lying on top of my pillow. I leaned close. It was an envelope with my name written on it in careful script. Elliot’s handwriting. Surely a letter begging my forgiveness, making excuses. Or lobbing more insults. I tasted something sour in my mouth. Screw him, with his antiquated stationery, showing off his new, incredible wealth, and whatever pitiful words he’d put to paper.
I left it behind, and I didn’t look back.
* * *
My father’s first words upon my return were “You forgot the beer.” Always good to know that I was missed. And then he hit me with his second punch.
“We need to talk about the Valg Ball.”
Carina smartly scurried off into the bedroom, leaving Father and me to stand off in the living room. An argument was the last thing I needed after everything that had happened with Elliot. I was afraid I might snap, so I tried begging off.
“This really isn’t a good time; I didn’t sleep well, and I need a nap—”
“Sit down, Leonie,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. Apologetic. He took a seat himself in his preferred armchair, leaving me the couch. Warily, I sat.
“The Valg Ball is in two and a half weeks, as you know. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but you still don’t have any real prospects.”
Instinct told me to protest, tell him off for selling me off like chattel, but instead I squirmed under his sad gaze. “There’s just Lukas so far, but I loathe him,” I said. “I’m trying to find another way to save the Sofi, I swear to you.”
As I said it, a lead weight dropped in my stomach. That had been true twelve hours ago. Now it wasn’t. My connection to Ben and thus to Miranda was gone. It made what my father said next drop the anchor straight down to my toes.
He shook his head sadly. “It’s not enough. This is your last good Season. Who knows where we’ll be in five years? And you’ll be twenty-four.”
“I won’t be dead, Dad,” I quipped. He shot me a Look.
“We’re still a good bargain for someone. We have a ship, a royal title. They just have to have money. Two and a half weeks, Leo. Please tell me you’ll try. For us.”
“I will, I promise.” I couldn’t say anything else, not with him looking at me like he needed me. Not needed me to do something for him. That he needed me. It was the closest I had felt in years to a genuine connection between us.
“Here, there’s an event tomorrow night at the arboretum.” He handed me my tab unit, the Valg app calendar winking up at me. “See who you meet.”
I nodded along, despite my misgivings. I dreaded going to an event by myself for the first time. Surely everyone had paired off by now. Who showed up to a picnic by herself?
It gave me one day to process everything that had happened with Elliot. To wallow in my own misery and make a decision. Would I turn Elliot in? A sinking stone in my gut told me the answer was no. I couldn’t turn him in without implicating my family. Perhaps that had been his plan all along, to make me complicit, just in case I found out. Elliot’s revenge for a heart broken, pride crushed, all those years ago.
A surge of anger, of my own pride, filled me. I was going to go to that stupid picnic the next day, looking damn good while I was at it, and I was going to make a connection with someone. Elliot was my past. Someone else was going to be my future.
Twenty-One
Something I vastly underestimated about an evening spent inside the arboretum was how strongly the smell of pungent, mossy earth would bring to mind Elliot’s new scent. And how that subconscious reminder would have me fighting a persistent scowl. There were, indeed, a handful of single men at the picnic, but none of them dared approach me. I caught myself every ten minutes or so with a jaw so tight that my temples started to throb, and, with a hiss under my breath to get control of myself, I would once again have to reset my face and try to appear approachable, pleasant.
Thus far, I was fifty pages into my new book and partway through the second course. Because naturally on the Scandinavian, “picnic” took on a liberal meaning, and our meal did not skimp on the pomp and circumstance, or finery. Bitterly, I reflected that maybe Elliot was right about us.
“Is there room for one more?”
A voice from high above my head startled me so badly that I spilled champagne onto my tab screen.
“Shoot!” I exclaimed, making a mad dash to balance my glass on the uneven ground while grasping for a napkin to quickly wipe the screen dry.
“The hazards of drinking and reading.” Now the voice was lower, level to my face, and he was laughing at me. I looked up, finally, and blinked at a handsome, smiling face. Daniel, from speed dating.