COMING CLEAN

The guests who waited spent most of their time talking about the weather. They frowned whenever the clouds had gathered and a sorrowful shadow was cast, but whenever there was a sunburst, blessedness and peace returned to their faces like sunshine after heavy rain. Then they would all start talking about beautiful weather.

But beautiful to Alexa was not the sepulchral sun sitting in the sky. She was at that point making up excuses in her mind to return indoors when he discerned Gabriella's form in a pleasantly-heated conversation with one of the princes, a charming one. She had only heard about him, of one Philippine at Universitat Technische so she guessed it must be him- the famous and good-looking Jean Hailes.

 An orchestra of string instruments conveyed the locale. Bluebloodood the violinists who struck their chords passionately, their hands hanging lamely in the air with glasses of wine.

They were talking history when Alexa joined Gabriella's small circle of compatriots who stood at the backdoor. It must at least be warm, she thought. At least warmer than standing in the freezing space of the vast and glittering oak floorboard.

Several maids were all loitering by accident at various points of the coffee-room, when a gentleman of sixty, formally dressed in a brown suit, pretty well worn, but very well kept, with large square cuffs and large flaps to the pockets, passed along on her way.

And who is this man everybody is talking about as though he were a god, Farouk or what, she said to Gabriella? Even as they conversed, she could get a distant cat-voiced feminine conversation constantly Farouk.

Somehow, she thought she heard them saying his father was an arbitrator. Certainly not the arbitrary bit, but she had to stay with her friends because it was already too late and too dark, even though she was tempted to try.

'Oh! look who's where' Farouk seemingly appeared out of the blues ' I have heard a lot about you Bella. Farouk Oumar' k her hand and smiled. The backcloth was filled with eyes wide in surprise so that one would think they were almost starting off the head.

' yes, Alexa,' she offered to return Farouk's gaze. His handshake was firm but a bit too lingering. What was wrong with men, she thought as she wondered what impression he was trying to make or discern where exactly he was heading. But still, she liked the bold voice that emanated from his throat and watched him as he wandered off.

Her heart leapt when a man kept screaming as he was carried away. He was probably drunk. It was rare that a man's look made her stare. He was possibly Arabian or African, with dark, long hair and green eyes. Everyone seemed to know him, Oumar Farouk alias fucking Picasso, or at least pretended to know him as they slapped his back in inebriated greeting. He was a well-known sculptor and an artist.

Even as she greeted everyone heartily, the shame she was carrying within her tugged her heart at intervals so that her heart leapt at the slightest of provocations.

At noon, the royal hall had been filled and the priest was already waiting. The door soon swung open and the royalties came in subsequently. 

Alexa was the first to enter, she was held by her mother whom she had hated from the onset. But his manners, however, were somewhat akin to charming. Any wonder then for his universally acclaimed prowess in handling women the way they should be handled.

The man came up next and was held by Mrs Volkov. A murmur of admiration swept the crowd as both prospective couples passed their way to the foot of the altar. Despite his age, he was an ing man.

Alexa was so lovely that not only did she not show any trace of coquetry, but on the contrary, she became even shy of her stunning beauty.

Everyone couldn't help but admire her. Anyone who saw her lifted his shoulders and dropped his eyes as if startled by something extraordinary. The randy ones did not look at her but through her. 

The couple did not go alone to the altar, they went with Chinese whispers and approving side comments.

'My dear, I swear I would want to be in her shoes if that was all that mattered. He is so hot and doesn't look exactly taciturn or-or courageous, does he?'

The dame who'd spoken in suppressed whispers gave a superfluous grin, even while her eyes continued to regard Alpha Richardson.  Despite the self wondering what it felt like to be married to such a genuinely sweet man.

'I think we are the subject of a great deal of conjecture'

With the murmur, Alexa conceived, behind the veil, that her prospective husband had an air of command about him. That worry was already solved but she was still preoccupied with the fact had taken in. Even as she stared down at the oakwood floor, anxiety mounted and tugged at her heart endlessly.

What have I done? How could I have done this? But I never saw this impending marriage coming. What will become of me? What will mother say? What about father?  Won't he kill me? And the king will have my tongue cut off and my eyes… she silently cursed the terrible prospect in her heart.

Her primary reason for befriending a peasant had not only been to get back at her father's sickening nagging and over-protectiveness but it was as well because she had found something in him. Something her heart endlessly clamoured for. But how trivial things were!

They were received on top of the short stairs by Alexa's mother and her father. The king of Aberdeen kissed her hand, presenting to her his bald, scented, and shining head, and complacently went to take a seat at his right, Mrs Volkov to the left.

You could hear a pin drop. Even the air became stifling.

Alexa was led, once the ritual had ended, to the inner room for last pleasantries. Both royal households would dine together and admonish the new couple.

Alpha Ezra spoke languidly at most, like an actor repeating a stale phrase. Alpha Richardson's mother, Volkov, on the contrary despite her fifty years, overflowed with constant animation and impulsiveness. To be an enthusiast had become her social vocation and, sometimes even when she did not feel like it, she became enthusiastic in order not to disappoint the expectations of those who knew her. The subdued smile which, though did not suit her tanned face, always etched on the corner of her lips, like a spoiled child, an endless reminder of her charming defect, which she neither wished, nor could, nor considered it important, to correct.

Whenever her son's name was mentioned, her face went smitten with a somewhat mixture of respect, devotion and sadness.

It was also sad, however, that that was where things fell apart for both royal households. Alexa's pregnancy was discovered. 

She was banished.