by Marian Tee
****
With each episode, Mary was careful to skip to the next one when it was Rathe’s turn to say the final goodbyes. But when she reached the last episode, she couldn’t help herself, and she went back to the very first one.
Rathe was in the balcony once more, holding a ring out, his voice hoarse as he said, “If you come back to me, little pearl, I’d like to beg for your forgiveness. And if you choose to forgive me, then I’d like to ask you one day for your hand in marriage. It would be my honor to have you as my wife.”
And every episode, it was the same, Rathe having his own private moment wherever he had the time to shoot his final goodbye.
“These days, I find it a compliment when people compare what we…had…to what my parents have. They love each other, and that’s a good thing.” Rathe smiled at the camera, but the pain was evident in his eyes as he said, “I love you, Mary.” He patted his pocket. “And I always have your ring with me.”
“So this episode here in Sweden won’t be complete without a proposal. But this time I want to make it a little different…” The camera showed Rathe leaving his guestroom in the Aehrenthals’ home for a moment. When he came back, he had Saffi’s child, Alexei, in his arm.
“Watch this…”
He started to hum, and Alexei chortled. His tiny fingers opened, revealing a ring. “There you go, Mary. Alexei’s helping me propose.” He snatched the ring out of the baby’s hold. “Can’t be too careful,” he murmured. “He might end up swallowing it.”
After dropping the ring back in his pocket, he faced the camera again. “I miss you, little pearl. I love you. Wherever you are, I hope you’re doing fine.”
“Guess what came in the mail today.” Rathe showed the camera a copy of Time magazine. “Apparently, my mother found the article you wrote, sent it to the editor she knew and here it is.”
Her article was on Time?
“Did that surprise you? I hope it’s a good kind of surprise and you don’t get mad at Mother for it.” He waved the copy on the camera. “If you want your copy, you know where to get it. Also, it comes with a freebie: an engagement ring. You’ve probably memorized – bloody hell, even the kid in the supermarket I bumped into yesterday memorized my lines. Everyone knows my lines, but I’m going to say it anyway.”
“Viewers, feel free to repeat after me.”
“I miss you. I love you. I hope you marry me one day.”
“So…it’s been fourteen episodes and it’s the end of Season 1.” Rathe was alone in his bedroom, seated on the edge of the bed. “I do wonder, though. Maybe the network has Mary hidden somewhere, just so we’d have as many seasons as the Cardigans?”
One of the his cameramen choked in laughter, muttering something too soft for the recording to catch.
A moment later, Rathe flushed. “Sorry, I meant the Kardashians. I keep forgetting.”
“You’re a shame to the reality TV community, Your Grace,” another staff from behind the scenes joked.
Rathe flushed more deeply. “I apologize. I’ll make sure to remember now.” He faced the camera once more. “Back to business then. It’s been thirteen episodes before this, which means I’ve been proposing to you thirteen times. It means you’ve turned me down thirteen times, too. Obviously, fourteen if I still don’t see you after this episode.”
He reached for a couple of gossip magazines on the bedside table. “And in case you’ve been living under a rock, here’s a sample of what people’s been saying about me.”
“Magazine #1: Duke of Flanders, Desperate for the Entire Season.”
“Magazine #2: British Aristocracy Demands Lovesick Duke to Relinquish Title.”
“Magazine #3: Will Someone Stop That Wellesley Dude from Whining?”
Rathe smiled. “But don’t worry, little pearl. The Wellesleys have the last laugh in the end…” He took his iPad next, its browser already open in a pre-loaded website. “See here…these are the latest viewership ratings and we’re not just #1 in our timeslot. We’re also the #1 reality show in the world.”
Setting it aside, he took the last item on the bedside table. “And finally, we come to this.” Holding them up for the camera to zoom in on, he said, “This is what I’m being charged for the people I’ve asked to help me search for you. Of course I know I’m up against my mother, who’s done a bloody good job at keeping you hidden from me. I know Yanna and Saffi are aware of where you are, but I also know I won’t be able to get a thing out of them.”
Returning the receipts to the table, he said quietly, “I just wanted you to know that I haven’t stopped searching for you. I love you, Mary. I miss you. And so for the fourteenth time – will you marry me?”
Chapter Fifteen
Florida
“So…” Staffan Aehrenthal smirked. “Season 2, huh?”
The entire table coughed, everyone doing their best to muffle their laughter. Around them, those who had heard the rockstar’s crack was coughing as well, making Rathe discreetly give his friend a middle finger.
It was the official launch of the second season of his reality show, and it seemed as if all of Hollywood and England’s showbiz industry had come to attend the event. Every seat in the Aehrenthal Hotel’s vast ballroom was occupied, and organizers were doing their best to provide more seats in the cocktail area.
“I still think it’s too soon,” Rathe muttered.
“Look at it this way, my friend. The sooner and the more you film of this, the better chances you have of eventually making Mary discover what you’ve been doing.”
Rathe drawled blandly, “Making an arse of myself around the world, you mean?”
More coughs around the table, but they still sounded distinctly like laughter.
The ribbing continued, only ending when the stage curtains parted, revealing a giant white screen slowly being lowered.
“Ladies and gentlemen…”
A hush fell over the crowd at the voiceover.
“A preview of The Wellesleys, Season 2.”
As thunderous applause filled the ballroom, Constantijin bent close to ask under his breath, “I didn’t know you’ve already started shooting.”
“We didn’t.” He was just as confused as everyone was, and Rathe could only shrug in answer when he saw his parents looking at him in question from the other table. They were with the other parents of his friends, and even the newly reconciled Duke of Wellington was with them.
The preview started, and Rathe froze in his seat when he saw Mary. Her hair was simply combed back, and she was wearing a foam-green dress that had a tapered waist and huge skirt pockets.
The only clue to her whereabouts was…
White walls.
White walls.
And nothing else.
Did the network want to drive him crazy guessing where she was? Why the bloody hell had they chosen to have white walls as a background? Millions of places had white walls. Didn’t they know it could take him forever to figure out where that place was?
His attention refocused on the screen when he heard Mary clear her throat.
“H-hello. My name is Mary Ashton. I’m 19 years old and I was, for a time, the Duke of Flanders’ mistress. T-those days were the best and worst days of my life. They were g-good when he was with me, bad when he wasn’t.”
“The first time I got to watch The Wellesleys, I c-couldn’t believe Rathe was able to f-film such a thing. H-he has n-never watched a reality show when we were t-together. I a-also never imagined he could have b-been so open.”
A smile touched her lips. “I used to think Rathe could only show three kinds of expressions in public.”
“Three?” Staffan smirked. “Isn’t it just one?” He pointed to Rathe’s expressionless face as an example.
They heard Mary say, “Cool. Cold. Icy.”
Saffi burst into laughter, the only one to do so in the entire ballroom.
A second later, everyone else followed.
Mary continued, “He could be coolly
bored, coldly amused, icily furious…”
More laughter, and Saffi did her best to avoid the duke’s murderous look.
Rathe did his best to glare everyone’s smirks away, but it was useless to do the same thing on his table, since his two closest friends were laughing their heads off while Yanna and Saffi had their backs turned on him. Unfortunately, the way their shoulders shook completely gave them away.
Only little Alexei wasn’t laughing, and the baby waved his tiny hand when he saw Rathe.
“Only chap in my corner,” Rathe muttered as he ruffled the baby’s head.
On the screen, Mary was talking again. “That’s basically the repertoire of emotions the duke shows in public but when I watched the show…I realized that he could show one other expression perfectly.”
Her lips trembled, and when he saw her look up, Rathe’s chest ached, knowing that she was doing her best not to cry.
But when she glanced back at the camera, it was pointless, the tears streaming down, and her voice wobbling as she said, “I saw…every time…you asked me to marry you…”
A deep breath.
“Shiwnqihijpm.”
Rathe choked, even as almost everyone around him exclaimed in confusion, wondering if they had heard Mary right.
Ah, little pearl.
As coherent as ever.
When Mary looked back at the camera, she was smiling and crying. “You looked like a man in love.” She started to sob in earnest. “You l-looked…like a m-man in l-love with me.”
She brought her hand up. Wagged her fingers. “Still bare, Y-Your Grace. If y-you a-ask me again, I w-would love to b-be y-your wife.”
The camera zoomed out, further and further until he realized that she was in one of the suites of the same bloody hotel he was in.
He shot to his feet, the same time the camera showed the room number.
Rathe ran.
Behind him, the voiceover intoned, “Ladies and gentlemen, that was a live preview of the newest cast member of The Wellesleys, Ms. Mary Ashton, who may just be the future Duchess of Wellesley.”
****
The knock on the door came sooner than she expected, telling her that Rathe was now on the opposite side of the door.
“Mary?”
Her heart slammed against her chest at the sound of his voice. It felt like an eternity ago since she had last heard him speak in person. She felt nervous, queasy, and scared all at the same time, and it suddenly became impossible to move.
When no one answered from inside, he laid his forehead against the door, a part of him wondering dully if he had gotten it all wrong. Or maybe he hadn’t but now it was too late, Mary changing his mind.
“You’re there, aren’t you?”
And still, silence remained his answer.
“Just tell me,” he said quietly, “that you’re okay. I don’t need you to do anything else. I just need to know you’re good.”
The pain in his voice helped Mary find hers, and she said brokenly, “I’m just suddenly…terrified.”
Rathe closed his eyes, relief making his heart pound as he finally heard her speak. “It’s okay,” he said hoarsely. “I’m here. You have nothing to be afraid of.”
“I don’t know what to do.” And it was the truth. There was just a dozen feet that separated her from Rathe, but somehow the distance seemed impossible to travel. Earlier, it had all seemed easy. She would tell him she loved him, and it would be okay again.
But now?
Everything felt like a dream, one that could never happen.
“Don’t be afraid, Mary.”
Rathe’s strong voice reached out to her, destroying her fears, a lifeline she clung to. Her tear-filled gaze flew to the door that separated them. “I-I’m t-trying.”
“Listen to me. I have a question for you.”
“Q-question?”
“Yes, little pearl.” Her tremulous voice made him ache to hold her in his arms, but he knew he had to be patient, had to do this right. “This time, there won’t be any lies between us. No secrets. Just the truth.”
“Y-yes.”
At her answer, he said right away, “I love you.”
Mary’s entire body shuddered.
“I promise that if you become my wife, I will love only you for the rest of our lives. I will forever be proud to have you stand beside me.”
Rathe stepped back. “So if you believe me…then come out and let me put this ring on your finger.”
Time stood still after that, and every second was a dark blur as he waited tautly for Mary to make a decision.
He knew he could have just kicked the door open, could have kissed her into submission, could have chosen not to give her a chance to think.
But he didn’t want to do any of that.
He wanted Mary to really think about it because in the end, she was the one getting the worse part of the deal.
If they married, he would have the kindest girl in the world. She, on the other hand, would only have a flawed, selfish duke as her husband.
An eternity later, he heard the sound of the door opening, and that was the only time he allowed himself to breathe. His gaze began to blur at his first glimpse of Mary, and then she was crying as she ran to him—
He caught her in his arms.
She hugged him tightly, sobbing harder at how much she had missed the feel of being in his Rathe’s embrace. Pulling away, she whispered, “Tell me. I w-want to hear it for real.”
He didn’t even think of refusing or teasing her. So much time had been wasted already.
“I love you.”
She broke down. Sniffing, she said, “Again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you.” He lowered her down so he could hold her hand.
“Again.”
“I love you.” He dropped to his knees.
The tears flowed endlessly, but still she choked out, “Again.”
“I love you. I promise to say it as many times as you want if you will have me as your husband.”
In answer, she gave him her hand, and Mary choked, finding it hard to breathe as she watched the duke slowly slide the ring on her finger.
“No longer your mistress,” she whispered.
“No longer my mistress,” he agreed rawly. Bending down to brush his lips against her ringed finger, he whispered, “From now on, you’re the woman I’m proud to have as my duchess.”
Epilogue
Season 2. Episode 11.
Harrods
“Oh, no. No, no, no.” She shook her head profusely, but the gleam in her husband’s eyes told her refusal was pointless.
Times like this, she almost wished she had her one-expression-duke back. The old Duke of Flanders would have rather been caught dead than suggest—
Rathe took her hand. “Yes, we will.” Nodding at the woman staring at him in besotted fashion, he murmured, “Could you please show me where your sexiest lingerie is?”
“R-right away, Your Grace,” the store manager stammered, looking even more starry-eyed while beside the duke, Mary moaned in embarrassment.
“I do not see what the big deal is about. Husbands do this all the time for their wives, do they not?”
“Maybe they do, but not all husbands have them for company.” She jerked her head towards the camera crew in their trail. “No o-offense meant,” she mumbled quickly, just in case they did take offense.
“None taken,” was the cheerful reply from the three guys, all of whom were openly gay.
The store manager came back. “Your Grace? If you could follow me?”
Taking Rathe and Mary to a private area of the boutique, she waited until her VIP couple was seated before nodding to an attendant.
A girl stepped forward, presenting to them a lacy black garter slip. “This is one of our most popular items in the store,” the manager described. “As you can see, it has detachable parts in all the right places.” To demonstrate, the woman detached the fabr
ic covering the crotch area.
Mary choked.
Beside her, Rathe nodded in his usual ducal fashion. “Impressive. Please give me five of those.”
“F-five, Your Grace?”
“Just for contingency. I tend to rip such things when I can’t wait to have my wife.”
Mary’s jaw dropped. “Rathe!”
He turned to her immediately. “What is it?”
“You didn’t have to tell her that!”
“But why? Did I not promise to you that I will never shut you out and that there will never be any lies uttered between us?”
“But not like…” The genuine bemusement on the duke’s handsome face made her shake her head in a mixture of love and exasperation. “N-never mind.”
Rathe looked back at the manager. “Proceed.”
“This second item is for our Valentines’ Day bikini collection.” It was a two-piece item, with the bikini cups shaped like hearts.
“Oh, that’s cute,” Mary exclaimed, entranced with the lovely design.
Beside her, Rathe shook his head. “It’s no good.”
Mary tried not to feel insulted. “Are you saying I don’t know what’s a good fit for me?”
“I suppose?” Worse, the duke had the gall to look at her like he didn’t understand why she was acting so offended.
After shooting her husband a glare, Mary turned to the manager, saying shortly, “I’m going to take that.”
Before the assistant could answer, Rathe was on his feet, standing between her and Mary. “No. You are not.” His tone was cool, and his eyes glinted in warning.
She lifted her chin up. “I’m not just going to b-buy it. I’m g-going to wear it the first chance—”
“Bloody hell you will!”
“I really bloody hell will.”
Rathe scowled down at her. “What is the matter with you? I’m your husband. If I say it’s not a good fit—”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing you say that!”
“Fine,” Rathe snapped. “Let me show you then.”