The Marriage Pact

by Winter Renshaw

  “You do that, don’t you,” he says, stating it like it’s a verifiable fact.

  “Do what?”

  “You let things scare you so bad that you walk away from them completely. You write them off.”

  He isn’t wrong.

  “The oats are gone,” I change the subject. “And I think I want to call her Sophie. She looks like a Sophie to me.”

  “Then Sophie she shall be.” Julian takes the empty bucket. “Why don’t we head back to the house? Maybe play a game of chess before dinner?”

  “You and your games,” I tease. I’m not the best chess player in the world, but I know the rules. I used to play with my grandfather when I was a little girl. Knowing Julian, though, it’s probably a game he’s already mastered. I’m beginning to realize that he never plays a game he can’t win.

  “I live for a good challenge,” he says as we walk.

  Maybe I know him better than I thought.

  Chapter 18

  Julian

  The fireplace crackles and Emelie takes a sip from her wineglass as she pages through a first edition copy of A Farewell to Arms. She looks stunning in the evening light, basking in the warm glow of the flames. Today went well, but we still have much to accomplish this weekend.

  I found myself opening up to her in a way that I’ve never opened up to anyone before. Vulnerability and openness isn’t my strong suit, but there’s something about Emelie that makes me want to pour my soul into a paper cup and hand it to her like some giddy idiot.

  I mustn’t get ahead of myself.

  I mustn’t lose focus.

  I mustn’t forget what she did the last time I gave her a part of me …

  Emelie shivers as she reads, and she runs her hand along the side of her arm.

  “Are you still cold?” I ask. “It must be a thousand degrees next to that fireplace.”

  “I’m always cold.” She shrugs before turning a page.

  “Here.” I grab a cashmere throw from the back of the sofa and wrap it around her. She flinches at my touch at first, which is concerning given how smooth the past few days have gone. “Are you always this tense around me, or have I been dense and I’m just now noticing?”

  I decide to play coy. She’ll be less on the offensive if I’m not calling her on the carpet.

  “I’m not used to … this,” she says.

  “Not used to what?”

  “You being kind.”

  I must admit, kindness and selfishness doesn’t come naturally to me. From a very young age, it was instilled in me by my family that I was the center of the universe. Imagine my dismay when I discovered that universe was actually a small island kingdom and a few million people.

  Nevertheless, I try.

  Sometimes.

  Sometimes I try.

  “I’m not the man I was eight years ago,” I say. And it’s the truth. One might say I’m a bit more spiteful, a bit more vengeful, a bit more selfish.

  I blame her.

  And I blame he who shall not be named.

  Emelie rises from her spot by the fireplace, yawns, and closes her book, placing it neatly on the coffee table. Folding the blanket a second later, she sets it on the arm of the sofa.

  “See you in the morning?” she asks.

  “Sleep well.”

  Two more days until it’s official …

  Chapter 19

  Emelie

  I’m sitting on one of the cottage’s many porches Saturday morning, rocking in a chair that looks like it was hand carved a lifetime ago, little designs and markings carved into it like whittled wood. This morning, we had brunch in the garden and went for a walk. I picked a handful of wildflowers and Julian placed them in a vase the second we got back. Magically, they ended up on my nightstand.

  I still can’t wrap my head around this thoughtful version of Julian.

  It’s true—people change all the time.

  But so drastically?

  He’s been nothing but a perfect gentleman since the moment he waltzed into my life, but I can’t deny that a part of me is still holding back.

  Earlier today he went on about his love for his country and gave me a history spanning back to several generations, and I’d never seen his blue eyes so fiery before. He feels he was born to lead, and he has great plans and ideas for Chamont. It’s an attractive quality for sure. His power. His ambitions and refinement. His looks …

  “There you are.” Julian steps outside the door that leads to the porch.

  “Just enjoying the view. And the sunshine. And the balmy weather.” I don’t care how corny I sound, it’s true. “Do you ever—”

  His phone interrupts my question. I was going to ask if he ever stops to enjoy all of this or if he’s seen it so much he no longer ‘sees’ it, like he’s gone blind to all the beauty that surrounds him.

  “My apologies, Emelie,” he says, sliding his phone from his pocket and checking the screen. “I have to take this.”

  He heads inside, returning a couple of minutes later.

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  “It is. And I’m so sorry about that,” he says.

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, it isn’t. This weekend is all about us,” he says, studying me as his full lips press together. “Why don’t we go to the beach? There’s a private area just down the hillside. You really seem to be … in your element here. All the quietude and relaxation.”

  “You’re right.” I rise from the rocking chair, quietly appreciating his keen observation. “I am absolutely in my element. And I’d love to go to the beach.”

  We head inside to change and Julian packs a basket with a bottle of wine, two stemless glasses, a corkscrew, and a blanket. Singular. I’m not sure why I noticed that or why it piques my curiosity. To be honest, I’m not even sure how I feel about it. I’m probably reading too much into it …

  Ten minutes later, we’ve made our way to the beach. I kick off my shoes and dig my toes into the sugary sand before running toward the shoreline. The water is warm as it laps over the tops of my feet, not at all like the icy waters of the Atlantic back home. Julian said earlier that the reason the water here is so warm is because the island is situated in an inlet, surrounded by other countries, but the weather is a scientific anomaly. This mild climate in the northern hemisphere is uncommon, but that’s what makes Chamont so special. Even the name itself was born from an ancient language the original Chamontians spoke, and it translates to heaven on earth.

  “I love this. I can’t believe your family chose North Carolina over this in the summer,” I say when I return to Julian. He’s laid out the blanket on a section of smooth sand, and the hem of his pants are cuffed above his ankle. The wind blows his sandy hair across his forehead and he peers up at me through black wayfarer frames. My heart skips, but only one beat and only for a second.

  “My father was adamant about not mixing our two worlds,” he says, pouring a glass of white wine and handing it to me. “He felt one would taint the other and it would never be the same afterwards.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I say. “I’m sorry, but come on.”

  “I don’t disagree with you.” He pours his glass before nestling the upright bottle into a mound of sand. “But the past is in the past. You’re here now.”

  I take another sip and tiptoe through the sand, glass in hand, and back to the water, craving the warm ocean on my bare feet again.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been so in-the-moment in my life.

  It’s like nothing else matters outside of Rothmond Cottage.

  Not the past.

  Not the future.

  Nothing.

  I can’t remember the last time I went more than a few moments without a care in the world, and now here I am … not caring.

  I’ve never felt so free, so unencumbered by life’s burdens.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I steal a look at Julian—only to find him stealing one at me. There’s a lopsided smile on his face as he
sits on the plaid blanket, knees bent, looking at me like I hung the moon …

  … and I don’t even think he realizes it.

  Chapter 20

  Julian

  My phone chimes at six AM Monday morning on the dot. Sitting up in bed, I slide my phone from the spot beside me and tap on the link I’ve been sent.

  A statement from the King and Queen of Chamont.

  His Royal Highness, Prince Julian, Duke of Montcroix, is engaged to be married to Ms. Emelie Belleseau.

  A wedding is to take place next month, with more details to follow.

  The couple is to reside at Knightborne Palace.

  Another text follows. Someone has sent me a link to an American-based online gossip site where a candid photo of Emelie is front and center alongside the headline: WHO IS EMELIE BELLESEAU? I tap on the article and scroll down to read.

  BREAKING NEWS! Prince Julian, next in line to the Chamont throne, is engaged to be married! And the blushing bride-to-be? None other than an American schoolteacher by the name of Emelie Belleseau. Sources tell us the blonde beauty graduated from Duke University before teaching third grade public school in North Carolina. She is the oldest of three daughters and grew up summering with the prince whence they became childhood sweethearts. Lucky girl!

  The King and Queen of Chamont are rumored to be delighted about the engagement, though they’ve yet to make their statement.

  We at Starwood magazine wish the new royal couple nothing but the brightest of futures, and we’ll be on pins and needles until the big day! Check back for more information as we get closer. We promise you’ll hear everything from us first!

  My phone chimes yet again, only this time it isn’t someone sending an article link.

  It’s Dayanara.

  Princess of Spain.

  Destroyer of men.

  Most self-centered woman in modern history.

  DAYANARA: Call me right now!

  I smirk. We haven’t spoken since … well, since I caught her naked, legs wrapped around my former best friend as he drilled into her like there was no tomorrow.

  DAYANARA: I know you’re upset with me, but running off and marrying some random girl, Julian?

  I ignore this message as well.

  DAYANARA: You’re making a huge mistake! Don’t be irrational. You’re only doing this to hurt me.

  I’m tempted to write back, but I resist. This is far too entertaining, far too gratifying. She’s hurt and she’s furious. And now she knows what it’s like.

  A few more texts come in, mostly well-wishes from friends old and new, and then yet another from the feisty princess who shall never be queen.

  DAYANARA: Does she know you’re just using her to get back at me?

  I bite my lip. I know Dayanara and after years of being with her, I learned quickly how to read between the lines. This is a threat. She’s threatening to go to the tabloids with what she believes to be fact. But the truth is much more complicated than that, much more multi-faceted than she could ever begin to imagine.

  I silence my phone before getting ready.

  I’m to meet Emelie for a morning run in a half hour, and later this morning we have a meeting with the wedding planner who promises to plan a most lavish affair in under thirty days.

  We haven’t time to waste.

  Chapter 21

  Emelie

  I’m thumbing through yet another article online responding to the engagement announcement. I knew it would make a splash—I just didn’t know how big that splash was going to be.

  Everyone’s covering it: People, Us Weekly, Star, OK!, even my go-to Starwood. Honestly, I expected the Starwood article to slaughter me for being so ordinary (given the editor’s personal obsession with Prince Julian), but they didn’t go there, thank goodness.

  Holding my breath, I decide to check a local Chamontian gossip site to see what the locals are saying. I know I shouldn’t, but I have to know if I’m going to walk outside and have paint thrown on me for ‘stealing’ their beloved bachelor out from under them.

  Sure enough, the second the site loads, I’m met with an ultra-unflattering photo of me that they must have stolen from an archived social media post. The picture is from my junior year at Duke, and it was originally part of a group photo from our women’s rowing team. My hair is slicked back into a ponytail and there isn’t a hint of makeup covering my shiny, sun-burned face as I offer a squinting smile.

  Then there’s the headline.

  PLAIN JANE PRINCESS? WHO IS EMELIE BELLESEAU AND WHY IS PRINCE JULIAN SO SMITTEN?

  Listen up, ladies and gather round! Our beloved Prince Julian, Duke of Montcroix, is officially off the market! We know. We’re just as surprised as you are. We were even more surprised to learn that his beloved fiancée is of American descent, hailing from the coastal state of North Carolina, where she was a public school teacher at Westwood Elementary.

  Ms. Emelie Belleseau is twenty-four years old, having been born on the twenty-first of June. She is a graduate of Duke University, and the daughter of Delphine and the late Pierre Belleseau. Emelie is the eldest of three daughters, and our sources tell us the Belleseaus are family friends of the royals.

  The King and Queen are reported to be delighted with their son’s choice and are welcoming her into the royal family with open arms.

  But of course, we can’t let this go without saying how we really feel, can we?

  We’re heartbroken. Our deep-seated (if not irrational) hope that one day we would be the lucky girl to win Prince Julian’s favor is now dashed. But we’re sure that what we’re feeling is nothing compared to what former love Princess Dayanara of Spain must be going through right now.

  When Prince Julian met Princess Dayanara at university many moons ago, we thought the six-foot-two heartbreaker had finally met his match with the international beauty queen and unapologetic playgirl.

  Over the years, we watched them traipse the globe together, we swooned at their adorable selfies, and we waited with bated breath for him to pop the question because we’d never seen a more perfect couple.

  But Julian and Dayanara unexpectedly went their separate ways earlier this year after nearly six years together.

  There was no public statement.

  No gossip fodder coming down the vine to assist in speculation.

  They simply ceased to be seen together and it was the end of an era.

  Until Emelie.

  Emelie, our American schoolteacher, is a game-changer.

  Stay tuned, because sources tell us Dayanara is none-too-pleased about Julian’s change of heart …

  I roll my eyes.

  They’re fishing, trying to get attention and ad clicks. This is what they do.

  I’m seconds from closing out of the website when I glance down and realize there are over seven-hundred and thirty-five comments—and it’s barely six in the morning!

  I know I shouldn’t read them.

  I know they’re not going to be well-wishes.

  But I can’t help myself.

  RocketHeart266: Wait. I thought April Fool’s Day was months ago?

  BlushAndBashful: She gives us regular folk some hope. BRB. Going to go find me a prince.

  vanillatwist: She looks like a total bore. A schoolteacher? Yawn. And American nevertheless. Fishing at the bottom of the barrel, I see.

  hOtPiNkPoUt555: She must have a great personality.

  winethirty: Congrats, Julian and Emelie!!! I love weddings!!!

  MumofThreeinSandbergen: Isn’t it obvious? She’s pregnant. Why else would he be in such a rush to get married? #bumpwatch #royalwedding #scandal

  TheSaltedPen: She doesn’t hold a candle to Dayanara. What the heck is he thinking? Is he blind?! Team Dayanara all the way!

  PressRecordJen: I think she’s pretty …

  DivaDierdre: @TheSaltedPen, looks aren’t everything. @PressRecordJen: I agree! She seems lovely! Reminds me of Princess Grace a bit.

  I close out of the website, take a deep breath
, and turn my phone off completely.

  If I’m going to get through this, I need to drown out that noise. My father always said what someone says about you is really just a reflection of them. Those people are catty and miserable and clearly they have nothing better to do at this ungodly hour than to tear a complete stranger to shreds on the Internet.

  I refuse to give them another ounce of my energy.

  Climbing out of bed, I get changed for my run. We’re supposed to meet with the wedding planner just before lunch today. Julian says I shouldn’t be afraid to ask for anything I want. He wants a lavish and grand fête, something the Chamontians will revel in for years to come.

  I didn’t say anything, but I’ve never been one of those girls with the wedding gown magazine stashed under the mattress or the secret Pinterest board filled with wedding inspiration and ideas. I haven’t had a serious boyfriend since college, and marriage was the furthest thing from my mind. When I close my eyes, I can’t picture any of it. I can’t even picture myself in a white dress.

  Changing into shorts, a sports bra, and a tank, I locate my running shoes and leave to meet Julian by the back door.

  “Good morning,” he says, eyes drinking me in in the soft morning light. “Did you see the announcement?”

  I step into my left shoe. “I did. And the article. And the other article. And the other article. And the comments, too.”

  He groans. “Emelie, never read the comments. No good can ever come from that.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why’d you do it?”

  I step into my other shoe then tie the laces. “I had a moment of weakness.”

  “Happens to the best of us, I suppose.” He offers me a wink before getting the door, and I follow him out. We stretch for a few minutes, and Julian places ear pods in his ears before queuing his music. “What are you going to think about on today’s run?”