The Ice Around My Heart

by Marian Tee

  She smiled sheepishly. “A TV.”

  He cackled in laughter. “You finally gave in, eh?”

  “It’s a present from a friend. She wants me to watch her husband’s concert.”

  “Ah. A singer?”

  “Something like that,” Mary prevaricated. She didn’t think the old man would know or care who Staffan Aehrenthal was anyway.

  In this part of the world, it was as if entertainment of the modern world didn’t exist. Or at least they didn’t outside TV screens.

  Here, she had no use for phones, TVs, the Internet or even the radio. She communicated with her friends and Alyssa through letters. If she were bored, Mary would only have to head up the loch and happily wait for any signs of Nessie.

  Here, each day was calm, peaceful, and blank.

  Which was okay.

  It was better to feel nothing than to experience the hurt that she had long buried deep inside of her.

  Heaving another deep breath, she continued to drag the large box inside, wishing Saffi had sent her something more compact. Had her friend forgotten that she was living alone? It wasn’t like she had someone to help her carry this monstrous box inside her home.

  An hour and a half later, Mary finally finished setting up the fifty-five-inch plasma screen…on the floor. It was all she could do, too tired to try figuring out a way to have it on the console.

  Taking the USB that came with the TV, she plugged it in and pressed play on the single file it contained. Credits started to roll, showing a beautiful backdrop of Norway.

  Uh-oh, Mary thought uneasily. She had heard of Staffan Aehrenthal’s legendary concerts in Europe. Did this come with an R rating perhaps? While she was not blind to the fact that the ash-haired rockstar was incredibly gorgeous, she wouldn’t really want to see him do anything sexual. It would feel weird, considering he was her friend’s husband.

  On the screen, the credits had ended, and the scene changed, zooming in on Staffan, who was in the backstage, talking to Saffi.

  A second later, a blue screen appeared.

  “Hey!”

  Another second, and another set of credits started.

  When she realized what show she was about to watch, Mary grabbed the remote control, her finger trembling above the Stop button.

  Oh, Saffi, why would you want me to see this?

  It was a reality show that starred the Duke of Flanders.

  The fact that he even knew what a reality show stumped her. The one time she had mentioned the Kardashians to her, he had genuinely assumed she was talking about a type of jacket.

  And now he was starring in one?

  What did he plan to do, stare stoically at the screen for thirty minutes every week? She couldn’t picture himself doing anything similar to what most reality TV stars did.

  The first episode started to play, and Mary was still torn between watching and shutting the TV closed and forgetting she even knew such a show existed.

  Her breath caught as the entire fifty-five-inch screen was filled with a close-up shot of the duke’s face.

  She hit Pause.

  She couldn’t help it.

  Rathe.

  It was the first time she had allowed herself to even think of his name.

  Oh God, no—

  Mary quickly looked up. Don’t fall. Don’t fall.

  But still, the tears threatened.

  She shook her head wildly, hoping she could create a tiny gust of air to blow her tears dry.

  But still, she felt them clinging to her eyes, wanting to spill down the way they were meant to.

  Her desperate gaze moved to where her piranha swam lazily in its tank. “Do you think if I let you lick my tears away, you won’t end up gouging them out?”

  The piranha chomped its jaws at her.

  “Riiight.”

  Slowly, she glanced back at Rathe.

  Was it her imagination or did he seem so much thinner? Paler, too. He had always been fair, but now he could easily pass as a vampire, just without the sparkles. And those shadows under his eyes – had they always been there? And his lips – had they been that thin, too?

  But even noticing all that, she also couldn’t help think that the Duke of Flanders remained the most beautiful man she had ever seen in his life, the one man who deserved to be England’s #1 Heartthrob.

  Rathe.

  And just like that, the tears finally fell.

  Mary pressed one shaky finger on the remote button, and the file resumed playing.

  “Hi.”

  She cried a little harder.

  It was her first time to hear that voice in a year, and just the sound of it made the past come to life, every beautiful and painful part of it.

  “My name is Rathe Wellesley. I’m thirty-five years old. I’m also the fifth Duke of Flanders.”

  It was the same British accent that she loved, something she liked to imagine was just a little crisper, cooler, and sexier than everyone else’s English accent.

  “This is my first reality show – the first for my entire family, actually…”

  The camera zoomed out, revealing the rest of the scene. She recognized the living room in the country manor they once shared. A smile wobbled on her lips when she saw Warren and Alyssa in the background as well, the two of them on the sofa, enjoying a cup of tea.

  Seeing that the entire family was dressed lightly, Mary guessed the scene was shot in spring, probably right after she had left.

  On the screen, Rathe was talking a little about his home. “It’s been with us for generations, and this was where I had the most amazing time of my life, living with Mary.”

  The mention of her name made Mary gasp, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. Why was he talking about her, for God’s sake? Wasn’t he already engaged—

  Her gaze strayed to his finger, just before Rathe raised his hand himself. His eyes focused on the camera.

  “And little pearl, if you’re watching this, you see my hand?”

  She pressed her hands closer to her mouth, unable to shake off the feeling that Rathe was really speaking directly at her from the TV.

  “I’m not engaged. I’m single, but I’m waiting for you to claim me.” There was not an ounce of shame or discomfort as he said the words, nothing to remind the public that this gorgeous man was once notorious for being cold and aloof.

  Behind him, Warren groaned. Did that really come from you, son?”

  The scene changed, and Mary guessed the cut was for commercial breaks. This time, the focus was on Alyssa, who was in her bedroom. Dressed in another one of her patterned wrap dresses and kitten heels, she was as beautiful as always. Looking at her, it was hard even for Mary to remember that Alyssa had been married for almost four decades.

  “Hello. I’m Alyssa Wellesley, the Dowager Duchess of Flanders.” She threw a candid look at the camera. “Formerly, I was just Alyssa, a Greek girl who once married for money.”

  Mary gasped, unable to believe what the older woman had just said.

  Alyssa nodded gamely. “You heard me right. I took one look at Warren and thought, hey, this guy’s good-looking, sexy, loaded, and he likes me. So why don’t I marry him?” Moving into her walk-in closet, she said over her shoulder, “So I did. But then I ended up falling for him anyway, which was why I signed…”

  Alyssa pulled her drawer open, rummaging through its contents. “There you are.” Retrieving a set of documents, she wagged the papers in front of the camera. “A pre-nuptial contract, between Warren and me. You can read its entire content on our show’s website.”

  Smiling, she said, “You’re all probably wondering why I’m telling you guys all of this. Well, in the past, hiding these truths caused a lot of hurt. It hurt not just my son but a very special woman in our lives as well. She’s someone I’m still hoping may be my daughter-in-law in the future.”

  Planting her hands on her hips, she said, “This time, though, the Wellesley family’s collectively decided to start fresh. No more lies. So, tha
t’s my story. Once a gold-digger, now beloved wife and mother and the envy of all of society matrons because my husband is still sexy as he was thirty-plus years ago.”

  A groan sounded, coming from the bedroom, followed by Warren’s exasperated voice. “Why do you all insist on saying such ridiculous things?”

  Alyssa burst into laughter. Winking at the camera, she said confidingly, “He’s still the jealous and protective sort, too. He insists on being present every time it’s my turn to shoot for the show.”

  Clearing her throat, she turned around and walking to one of the corner closets. “Anyway, the reason why I also chose to film here is because…”

  She flung the doors open to reveal a beautiful pearl-studded dress behind a glass case. “It’s my wedding gown and…” Alyssa stopped speaking.

  When she looked at the camera again, she had tears glistening in her eyes, and the sight of it made Mary cry again.

  “Mary, I hope one day you’ll be able to watch this. And if you do, I want you to know I’m still hoping the time would come you’ll wear this for me.” Wiping the tears away, she whispered, “I pray for you two every night, you know. I know he’s done so many things to hurt you, but I’m still hoping that you’ll be able to forgive my son and…”

  Her shoulders lifted in a shrug as she let out a teary laugh. “Oh dear. I reckon viewers are thinking they’re watching a soap rather than reality TV.”

  Another cut, and this time it was Warren’s turn, and he was shown seated behind his desk in his private study.

  Mary choked back a giggle when she saw the former duke simply nod in greeting at the camera, as if the act alone was the greatest concession for someone of his standing.

  “My name is Warren Wellesley. I abdicated as Duke of Flanders several decades ago and now head a multi-billion-dollar weaponry firm.” Leaning back against his chair, he said gruffly, “The first time I met Mary Ashton, I believed she was the greatest misfortune for my son.”

  Mary cringed.

  “Looking at her, it was like seeing history about to repeat itself. Older man, younger girl, another scandal about Wellesley men becoming pedophiles.” His lips twisted. “I’m sure all of you know the story.”

  Coming to his feet, he said, “But then I got to know her, got to saw how much she loved my son and how much she had willingly chosen to bear because she loved my son…”

  He ran a hand over his face. “This is going to sound incredibly funny, but…that eighteen-year-old made me realize how little I know about love, even at my age.”

  Cut.

  And then it was Rathe again.

  He was standing in their bedroom’s balcony, a blanket of stars and evening skies behind him. He was dressed in a turtleneck sweater and pants, and looked so heartbreakingly gorgeous she wanted to turn the TV off. If she stared at him any longer, she could end up crying the entire day.

  As the camera zoomed in, Rathe murmured, “The first episode’s about to end and I’d like to thank everyone who’s watched. I’m not actually sure what would and wouldn’t end up being shown – one of the deals the network made me agree to was that I have no say about the editing or what gets shown. Everything about my life from here on is an open book. And that’s fine with me.”

  A pause.

  “This show is all about me laying it out in the open. Because…once, there was a girl who loved me, so much that she agreed to be my mistress even though I told her she was the also the one girl I couldn’t allow myself to love. There was a time when I kept her like a shameful secret because I didn’t want the world to think we were like my parents…I didn’t want to be called a pedophile.”

  Her heart squeezed at the last words, Mary knowing just how much those words cost to someone as proud as Rathe.

  “I was stupid then. But not now.”

  Rathe lifted his head.

  “Once, that girl asked me if I believed a day would come that I’d fall for her. I told her yes, but it was a lie.” Rathe sucked a breath after his admission. “I’m sorry for lying, Mary,” he rasped out. “I’m so bloody sorry. But this time, if you asked me the same question again, I’d say the truth.”

  Straightening off the balcony’s rail, he dug his hands deep in his pockets. “This time, there’d be no more lies. All of this – it’s to show you that there won’t ever be lies between us.”

  Another painful, audible breath that seemed to drag the oxygen from the deepest part of his body.

  “If you ask me again if I believe you can make me love you…” He choked off. “I’d say yes. And it’s happened. Because I love you.” He pulled one hand out, and when Mary saw the ring he was holding, she switched the TV off, unable to let herself hear the rest of what he had to say.

  ****

  Mary’s struggle not to watch the rest ended a week later. She used to fall asleep quite easily but ever since she had learned of Rathe’s show, sleep had become elusive.

  Eventually, she found herself going back to the living room in the middle of the night.

  Her hands shook as she reached for the remote control.

  She pressed Play, and it was like falling back in the rabbit’s hole.

  The second episode had Rathe leaving his London office and about to step into his limousine. “I’m heading right now to the courts. I’d like to watch the proceedings, make sure that my suit against the Daughtrys is going smoothly.”

  Mary gasped.

  “There’s been much speculation about Camilla Daughtry and I especially since we had an engagement that lasted for approximately three hours, ending when her arrest papers were served.”

  What followed was a sequence of events, clips taken from different dates of court proceedings.

  There was Mrs. Emerson on the witness stand, claiming that she had been hired by Camilla Daughtry to spy at Rathe in his household. Similar testimonies followed from a long list of individuals, all of them employed in establishments either owned or frequented by any of the Wellesley family.

  The last was of Camilla on the witness stand, leaving her own father to hang as she put all the blame on him. “He was the mastermind behind everything…even going as far as breaking client confidentiality to tell Rathe about his parents’ pre-nuptial contract…”

  From the background, there was the sound of shuffling noise, and then a man that distinctly sounded like Wilson Daughtry shouting, “You ungrateful bitch!”

  The camera switched back to the present, revealing Rathe inside his limousine.

  A crowd of reporters was already waiting outside the courtroom, and they clamored to get to the duke upon sighting him. However, Rathe had his security with him and no one was able to come close.

  Inside the courtroom, Rathe’s face remained stoic throughout the proceedings. The only time his expression changed was when the case was adjourned and he and Camilla came face to face.

  The other woman asked bitterly, “You’re really going to let me go to jail after so many years of friendship?”

  “I’m not the reason you’re in cuffs,” Rathe said coldly. “It’s your own actions—”

  “That’s a lie,” Camilla snapped. “This is all because of her!”

  Rathe looked fit to kill her. “You don’t even have the right to speak her name—”

  Camilla spit on him, and gasps could be heard all over the place at what she had done. “What a hypocrite you are. Aren’t you the same person who agreed to marry me because you couldn’t wait to get rid of her?”

  Cut.

  Mary almost pressed Stop until she saw the next scene, which revealed Rathe back in his limousine, tossing back a shot of whisky.

  It was so unlike him to turn to liquor that Mary found herself resting back on her haunches, her gaze glued to the screen.

  Only when Rathe was done with his drink did he face the camera once more. “That time…before the party…Camilla proposed a fake engagement to help me convince Mary to leave me.”

  Hearing the words made Mary feel sick.

&
nbsp; “And I…” He laughed hollowly. “I accepted. Because that time, I thought I was doing what was right. I thought that by cutting all ties between us, it would make things better for my mother, and it would allow Mary to find someone who deserved her more.”

  Rathe’s gaze strayed back at the glass on the table, its emptiness seemingly a reflection of how he considered his life was now. “Maybe, there is a person who deserve you more, but…” He looked up, and his lips twisted. “I want a chance, anyway. Give me a chance to love you.”

  ****

  Another episode showed Rathe with the other Pussketeers getting together in New York, and a tense moment came up when Yanna Kastein asked to speak to the duke in private.

  The wife of the Dutch billionaire was clearly nervous, wringing her hands as she waited for Rathe to join her. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out the moment they were alone.

  Rathe was bemused. “Whatever it is, you’re forgiven.” A ghost of a smile curved on his lips. “Anything to remove that little frown on your face. If your husband sees it, I’m afraid he’s going to thump me, thinking I made you cry.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No. He knows about this. We’ve discussed it, and he’s let me…I told him I wanted to apologize to you in person.” She took a deep breath. “You see…I’ve heard troubling things about Camilla Daughtry when Constantijin and I visited you two in England, but I…I chose not to tell either of you about it. I wasn’t sure if you’d believe me.”

  Rathe was quiet for a moment before saying grimly, “You’d probably be right. I was a…much harder man then.”

  Yanna bit her lip as she tried her best to hold her tears back. “I’m just really sorry. I feel like if I had said something, maybe Mary wouldn’t be…”

  “It’s not your fault, Yanna.” Rathe drew her close for a brief, comforting hug. When they parted, he said flatly, “All that’s happening now, it’s my penance. It’s my punishment.”

  Cut.

  The next was a distant shot of the Dutch couple, Yanna crying in her husband’s arms. Their murmured voices were hard to catch, but subtitles had been provided.

  “I just wish there was a way for me to tell Mary how much he loves her.”