Portrait of a Union

Verona and I went home shortly after the encounter with Alistair Kingsley. Not without a souvenir, of course. I bought the paintings and got them for a price inappreciably much less than their worth. The next day, Verona shows up with three muslin-wrapped canvases in my room. 

"Don't bother uncovering them," I instructed her. "I'll be bringing those to St. Fortuna anyway."

I sit in front of the vanity once again, my reflection stares back at me, with Verona and three other helpers curling hair with hot metal sticks. My lavender dress fits too tight at the waist and dips too low at the chest, making it hard to mask my anxious breathing. The bodice, intricately embroidered with delicate pearls and shimmering amethyst crystals that seems to glitter in the sunlight. The fabric clings to my shoulders before cascading to a billowy skirt that reminds me of a cloud, ethereal and almost intangible. 

Yet they feel foreign, a costume for a role I've never imagined playing. I catch my breath as Verona adjusts the final details, her hands steady and knowing. The dress, though breathtakingly beautiful, feels like a cage of silk and jewels. The mirror reflects not just my image, but that this moment—no matter how surreal— is very much happening.

A knock at my door. "Lady Silena and the others call for you at the tea room."

I was told that I'd meet my betrothed at dusk, but Mother had the most ridiculous idea— a prenuptial photoshoot. It is a new custom for a marrying couple to be photographed together, usually about a month or two before the wedding, but I guess we'd have to make do with 12 hours before the ceremony. 

Mother chose an excellent setting. The tea room, contrary to its name, is a wide pavilion just outside the house, offering a full view of the cherry blossom orchard. Verona held a parasol above my head as we made our way to the said location, the soft rustle of my dress mingling with the gravel crunching beneath my shoes. I could see Alistair standing alone, save for my mother and my three other siblings in front of him.

"Lord Kingsley, I present my daughter," Mother starts. "Elaine Carter."

Alistair turns to face me, his caramel eyes locking onto mine. I returned his gaze with an intense look, refusing to let any hint of uncertainty show. He dons a black suit and tie, the sharp lines and dark fabric contrasting starkly with the pastel surroundings. He looked every bit the part of the suitor, his posture confident and composed. I force every fiber of my being to dip myself into a bow.

"Miss Carter," he greets me formally, his voice steady and polite. As if he had not just  insulted me last night.

"Miss Carter." He greets me, voice steady and polite. As if he had not just insulted me last night.

"Mr. Kingsley," I reply, matching his tone. "I do hope the tea room is up to your liking."

"Splendidly so. It has quite the view." But his gaze never turned to the sakuras nor the fountain or the ornamented garden— his eyes remained on my face.

I hear Seren mutter, "Is it just me or is the tension in here—" Deneb quickly elbows him.

"Well," Mother says, clapping her hands together loudly, snapping me back to the moment, "why don't the two of you take a walk, get familiar, while we finish setting up here?"

"That's a… wonderful idea." Bad idea. The thought of being in the same space as Alistair made me want to revisit the content of my breakfast, but I'd take that any time over the suffocating atmosphere in this room.

I glance at Verona, who nods. Before she can open the parasol, Alistair steps forward and places his hand on the handle. "Please, let me."

Verona raises an eyebrow at me. Do we like him?

I tip my head slightly, permitting. Stand down.

Without a word, she hands the parasol to Alistair and steps back, maintaining a few feet of distance to my left as we begin to walk down the pavilion. The heavy silence stretched between us a good three minutes until he decided to break it.

"Are we to pretend that this is our first meeting?" Alistair's voice cuts through the quiet, his tone slightly mocking.

I glance sideways at him, my expression guarded. "Well, Mother wouldn't exactly be delighted to know that you weren't the best host last night, would she now? So, I expect not a word. Everything must go perfect today."

"It would help if you endure whatever unpleasant feeling you have towards me until the end of the wedding." He lets out a low chuckle, but there's no warmth in it. "Why are you so keen on getting married anyway?"

"Reasons—personal ones that I'd rather not divulge to rude gentlemen such as yourself."

"Alright, then. How did you know I would be at the Galerie du Temps last night?" 

I suppressed the urge to turn to Verona. Where she got the information, I do not know, but one thing is certain. I don't want to drag her into this. "Calculated guess," I say, keeping my tone even.

"The wedding wasn't until August, you know? I had originally requested an audience with Lady Silena Carter to call off the wedding, since I was sure that Celestia Carter would decline the union." He watches my reaction closely, his eyes never leaving my face.

I remain silent, jaw clenching to physically stop a retort, forming at my throat, threatening to escape.

"And then, you came into the picture," he continues, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Traded places with your sister—so willing to be married that your mother pushed the wedding date three months earlier than the proposed schedule at a day's notice."

We stop walking, the realization dawning on me as I feel his shoulder bump mine.

"I doubt you are doing this to earn your mother's favor. In fact, I think you hardly care about what she thinks of you. What exactly are you getting out of this marriage, Elaine Carter?" His voice drops to a whisper, leaning closer as if to draw out the truth.

I held out a hand before Verona could intervene. She stayed still, stoned in place, despite her visible itch to whisk me away. 

I turn to Alistair, facing him fully. The wind picks up, sending a chill through the air that almost brings our noses to touch. "First of all, I'd rather have you keep my name out of your handsome little mouth. And again, I do believe my reasons are not any of your concern, husband dearest. I'm sure having a Carter as your wife would not be entirely useless to you either. So please, let us save our energy and get through this pretense as soon as possible."

"You think I'm handsome?"

"Oh, dear gods, you infuriate me." I turn on my heel to head  back.

"Wait." 

This time his eyes are serious. "I shall agree to this only if you promise to tell me the reason you married me. If you're going to use me, I should at least know what for."

"Really, you are in no position to make demands—"

"I am not demanding, I am asking. Nicely, at that." He steps closer, his tone softening. "Do I have your word?" 

He extends his right hand, and I take a second before I accept it. His grip is firm but not painful. When I try to pull away, he doesn't let go immediately. Instead, he lets his forefinger trace the pad of my palm, up to the tip of my finger. My hand falls back to my side, a tingling sensation lingering. I fight not to notice the look Verona is giving me.

I shake my head. "Let us turn back."

A large camera is placed in the middle of the room, the operator behind it signals something towards my mother, and she gestures for us in front. My siblings remain quiet at the side, their presence a silent grounding reminder of the family I was leaving behind. Alistair and I stand side by side.

"Could you put your hands over his shoulder?" The operator instructs.

I glance at Alistair, who offers me a small, almost imperceptible nod. With a deep breath, I step closer, raising my hand hesitantly. My fingers brush against his shoulder, and I feel the heat of his body through the fabric of his suit. He doesn't flinch, but there's a slight tightening of his jaw that tells me he's as uncomfortable as I am.

"Closer, please. Lady Elaine, if you could face Mr. Kingsley a bit more."

I turn slightly, my body now angled towards Alistair. His hand comes up to rest on the small of my back, a touch that sends a jolt directly through my spine. His fingers are warm and firm, and I have to suppress a shiver. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the room fades away, leaving just the two of us standing in a silent battle of wills.

"Perfect. Hold that pose," the operator says, peering through the camera's viewfinder.

My heart beats faster, and I force myself to maintain a neutral expression. Alistair's gaze is intense, his eyes locked onto mine with an unreadable expression.

The operator fiddles with the camera, adjusting the focus and the angle.

"Just a moment longer," he murmurs, oblivious to the storm brewing between us.

As the seconds tick by, I become acutely aware of every point of contact between us: his hand on my back, my hand on his shoulder, the closeness of our bodies. The pose is intimate, yet the reality is anything but. 

Finally, the operator steps back, satisfied. "All done. Thank you."

I drop my hand from Alistair's shoulder, stepping back as if I was burnt by the touch. He releases me just as quick, his hand falling to his side. Without a word, I turn to leave, feeling Alistair's gaze follow me. This will be a long day.