The Marriage Pact

by Winter Renshaw

  “Lovely, just lovely,” he says. I don’t know if he’s speaking to us or to himself. “Now turn to one another … great … just like that.”

  Emelie looks stunning in her baby blue dress and her blonde hair tousled over her shoulder, pressed into shiny waves that stop at the middle of her back. All she needs is a tiara and she’ll look every bit as royal as I do.

  I slip my hand on the small of her back and gaze into her hazel-green eyes as the photographer snaps away. When he takes a moment to change cameras, a makeup artist pops in to dust powder over our faces before rushing to get out of the way.

  “I think I’ve got everything I need,” the photographer says after another fifty snaps. “I’ll go home and get working on these straightaway.”

  “Thank you,” I say, shaking his hand.

  “Thank you.” Emelie offers an appreciative head nod, her hands clasped together in front of her in an elegant manner.

  “I was thinking we might go for a walk in the garden and pick some fresh flowers for the dining hall? The roses are in full bloom, I’m told,” I say to her as the rest of the room packs up. I offer her my arm and lead her out of the great hall and toward another door that leads to the exterior pathway that will take us to the rose garden. We stop at a small shed on the way, grabbing a pair of garden shears.

  It’s a gorgeous late spring day in June, warm with a salty breeze and not a cloud in the sky.

  Everything about this moment is perfection.

  Everything is coming together perfectly.

  “Do you have a favorite color?” I ask as we pass a grouping of red roses. White comes next. Then pink. The pattern repeats on the opposite side.

  “Pink,” she says. “The darker pink, not the lighter.”

  Emelie reaches towards one of the dark pink blooms, her fingertips tracing over its velvet petals, and then she bends to breathe in its soft scent.

  “Oh, shoot.” Yanking her hand away from the rose bush, she examines it in the sunlight.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I must have cut myself on a thorn.”

  “Let me see.” I take her delicate hand in mine. Sure enough, a spot of blood trickles from the pad of her index finger. “Looks like he got you pretty good.”

  Retrieving a silk pocket square from an interior jacket pocket, I dab at the blood before applying pressure. A moment later, it stops bleeding.

  She watches me, quiet and contemplative. “How did you know what to do?”

  “Military training,” I say. “It’s basic first aid.”

  She pulls her hand from mine, the cut so small and inactive now it’s barely visible. “Thank you.”

  I can be sweet when I want to be.

  “Here,” I hand her the garden shears and a pair of gloves. “Take as many as you’d like.”

  She gets to work a second later, snipping the rose stems at the perfect angle, gathering a dozen of them.

  “Mama used to have rose bushes,” she says when she’s finished. “Dark pink ones like this. Dozens of them all along the side of the house. We had peonies too. Peonies are my favorite. It’s a shame the blooms never last. I guess it makes you appreciate them more.”

  “Do you have any hobbies, Emelie?” I ask. “I know it’s a random question, but I’d hate for you to grow bored and unfulfilled when the entire world is at your fingertips.”

  She shrugs. “Outside of teaching? Gosh. I guess oil painting? Though I’m not any good at it. I just find it relaxing. I love to volunteer as well. Anything with children. And running. Love running. You?”

  “Polo, tennis,” I say. “Huge fan of American football. Enjoy a good run as well from time to time. Used to travel, but I don’t get the chance to do that much these days. I’ve been focused on picking up some of my father’s slack, meeting with officials and ambassadors on his behalf. Say, would you like to join me for a jog tomorrow morning before breakfast?”

  She lifts the bouquet of roses to her nose, breathing them in as she contemplates a response. “I don’t know … will you be able to keep up with me?”

  She smiles.

  I smile back. “We’ll just have to see now, won’t we?”

  Chapter 15

  Emelie

  “Why don’t you listen to music when you run?” he asks me as we make yet another lap around the palace’s perimeter Wednesday morning.

  “I like to think,” I say, breathless. “I can’t think when there’s music blasting in my ears.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of thinking so much?” he asks.

  “Never.” We’re doing a great job at staying in sync pace-wise, and I’m not sure how long we’ve been running at this point, but neither of us is showing signs of tiring yet. When I’m home, I usually run until my legs threaten to give out. I love to push myself to the brink of exhaustion because the pain I feel afterwards almost always turns to pleasure, like a delicious soreness.

  My legs begin to ache.

  I’m getting close to that point.

  Up ahead, a marble water fountain bubbles and splashes and I run ahead, stopping to take a seat on the ledge.

  “I take it you’re finished with the run?” Julian asks. “Do you want to go in?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Just wanted to stop here and admire this … fountain.”

  I point to the marble sculpted likeness of a couple dancing in the center of it, and then I realize they’re both wearing crowns. A small plaque at the bottom says, “King Hollis and His Beloved Queen Genevieve.”

  “My great-grandfather had this made as an anniversary gift to my great-grandmother,” Julian says.

  “Romantic,” I say.

  “Yes, well, I’m afraid the apple falls extremely far from that tree.” Julian winks, his muscled and bronzed arms outstretched and fingers laced behind his neck. A slick sheen of sweat makes his naked torso glimmer in the sunlight. For a moment, I find myself unable to look away. Sweaty Julian is a work of art, a fine specimen. He belongs in a museum. “Enjoying the view, Emelie?”

  My flushed cheeks flush even hotter and my gaze flicks down. “Sorry. I was lost in thought for a second.”

  “Right.” His hands rest at his hips, fingers covering the chiseled V that leads below his athletic shorts. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. Race you back?”

  Before I have a chance to agree to his little challenge, he’s already left me in the dust.

  “Hey!” I chase after him, sprinting so hard I’m sure my legs will give out at any second, but I manage to catch up with him … for a second … and then he’s gone, his long legs carrying him to the door that leads inside.

  He gets there first, breathless and wearing a victory grin.

  “I won,” he says.

  “Only because I let you win.” I hunch over, hands on my burning thighs, and take a few moments to catch my breath.

  “Now, Emelie. Don’t be a poor sport,” he teases.

  A stone pillar beside us houses a couple of small towels and two water bottles. Someone must have set them out while we were jogging. He hands me a towel and a water before dabbing the glistening sweat from his smooth chest.

  “You should know by now that I never lose a challenge,” Julian says after taking a clean swig of water. “But I’m always open to a rematch. Same time tomorrow?”

  His eyes drag the length of my body before he gets the door.

  I think he just checked me out?

  And were we … were we flirting just now?

  I follow him inside, silently congratulating myself on my ability to tolerate him so far.

  Maybe the next five years won’t be as bad as I thought they’d be?

  Chapter 16

  Julian

  “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when you said we were going to be staying in a cottage.” Emelie stands in the doorway of Rothmond Cottage, eyes wide as she takes it in. “Cottages are supposed to be cozy and quaint. My voice echoes in here.”

  I chuckle through my nos
e. “It’s all relative, I suppose.”

  “Yeah.” She blows a breath between her pink lips as she takes a few more steps.

  “Harrison and Rafa will be in the guest house,” I say. “I’ve sent the chef home for the weekend, though she was to leave us with a stocked kitchen. We’ll be roughing it this weekend. Preparing our own food, making our own beds. Just like the old days. Though I’ll try to keep the pranking and general ruckus to a minimum.”

  She’s quiet.

  Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought up “the old days,” though in my defense she seemed to be in good spirits on the way here. This morning we finished our third jog together this week, and I even let her beat me back to the palace for once.

  We’re not exactly bosom buddies quite yet, but we’re making strides.

  “Emelie?” I ask. “Is everything all right?”

  The door opens and Rafa carries in our luggage.

  “I’ll take the east master suite and Ms. Belleseau will be staying in the gold room,” I tell him. “Emelie, what happened when we were younger is in the past. Are you going to hang onto that forever? Because if you do, these next five years will be pure torture. Do me a favor, will you? For the next two days, can we please forget that summer? Can we leave the past in the past for the sake of getting to know one another again?”

  Dragging in a slow breath, she looks to me before breaking her silence. “Yes.”

  Wonderful.

  Progress.

  “Why don’t I show you to your room? You can settle and unpack, take some time for yourself if you need,” I offer. “Afterwards, we’ll meet in the library for a drink. We can discuss our weekend itinerary.”

  I lead Emelie down an alabaster-colored hall, through soaring arched doorways and weathered wooden shelves crammed with personal family photos until we stop outside the gold room.

  “This was my grandmother’s favorite room, or so I’m told. I was quite young when she passed,” I say as I show her in. “When the sun rises in the morning, it paints the room in the most brilliant shade of spun gold, hence the reason why we call it the gold room.”

  Emelie glances around before moving to one of the windows. Each window stretches from the floor to the ceiling and the curtains are sheer enough to let in plenty of natural light while still maintaining privacy.

  “Your lavatory is through that door there,” I point to the west corner of the room. “I’ll be staying in the east suite, which is four doors down.” Checking my watch, I add, “Why don’t we meet in the library in an hour? It’s just off the front of the house, around the corner from where we came in.”

  I leave her to unpack and wallow in her thoughts, which I’m certain she’s doing.

  My intention is to show her a wonderful time this weekend, to show her that we can be civil and perhaps even enjoy one another’s company. The engagement announcement isn’t for another three days, which gives her three days to change her mind before the news goes public.

  Closing her door, I make my way to my room to get settled and make a few calls. After that? It’s all about Emelie. Then again, hasn’t it always been? She’s both the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me—and the worst. The mark she left on my heart that summer has never faded, and now here we are.

  It’s funny how things work out sometimes.

  And this will work out.

  It has to.

  Chapter 17

  Emelie

  I’m a few minutes early when I finally locate the cottage library, and I find him already settled in a leather Chesterfield chair. A pair of thick framed glasses cover his face as he pages through a leather-bound copy of The Great Gatsby.

  “Excellent read,” I say, taking a seat across from him. “One of my favorites.”

  “Mine as well.” He closes the book, resting it on his lap as he gives me his full attention. “I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve read it.”

  “What’s your favorite part?” I ask.

  “All of it,” he says without pause. “But mostly the characterization of Jay Gatsby. I always loved how there were two inherent sides to him: the man he wanted to be and the man he was at the end of the day. He couldn’t escape his true self no matter how hard he tried. It was like his shadow.”

  Julian pauses, staring at the book’s cover for a second.

  “You can relate, I take it?” I ask.

  “More than you can imagine.” His ocean eyes lift to mine. “Anyway. Would you like a tour of the cottage grounds?”

  He’s quick to change the subject, but I don’t press it. I didn’t come here to psychoanalyze him, I agreed to this weekend away so I could get to know him better.

  Julian takes me to a small mudroom with slate tile flooring and shelves with Wellingtons and overcoats.

  “Here,” he hands me a light jacket. “It gets chilly out there when the breeze carries over the ocean. And the horse stables tend to be a bit messy.”

  We change into boots and coats and leave through a back door that leads to a vegetable garden that takes us to a stony path surrounded by wildflowers. In the distance, the gentle turquoise ocean laps against a private beach before retreating, and the sound of whinnying horses can be heard. Everything about this moment is paradise and the very definition of serenity.

  There are no tablet screens. No chiming phones. No emails waiting for responses. There are people here, but they’re sparse and unobtrusive as they work. I never realized how busy and loud my life was until this very moment. I’m filled with warmth and peace as we trek along the stony path and I let the sea-salted air fill my lungs. I needed this and I didn’t even know it.

  How’s that for looking on the bright side, Daddy?

  “This is breathtaking, Julian,” I say. “If I were you, I’d live here all of the time. I mean, the palace is beautiful, but this is heavenly.”

  “This is where I go to get away from it all,” he says.

  Funny.

  I had my treehouse.

  He had his cottage mansion …

  We stop at the top of a bluff that overlooks the ocean, and I take a seat on the edge, letting my legs dangle. He lowers himself to the spot beside me. The sun warms the top of my head and I bask in the beauty of this moment, eyes closed, taking in every kiss of the wind against my skin, every soft crash of ocean waves in my ears.

  Growing up in North Carolina, we had the ocean, but it was nothing like this. The water was cold and dark and in the summers all the best beaches were crowded shoulder to shoulder.

  “You’re thinking again, aren’t you?” he asks after a few more silent minutes.

  “Always.” I brush a strand of loose hair from my face.

  “Do you miss your home yet?”

  “My mom and sisters have been blowing up my phone all week,” I say. “Kind of hard to miss them when it’s like they’re right here with me …”

  “I wouldn’t know what that’s like, but I can imagine.”

  “Do you ever wish you had a brother or sister? Or did you love being the only child?”

  “It had its perks, of course, but it was rather lonely at times.”

  Julian’s vulnerability is new and I’m not sure how to react at first, so I linger in silence next to him. Drawing my knees against my chest, I let the wind rustle my hair and fill my lungs.

  “I hope the novelty of this never wears off,” I say.

  “Exciting, is it?”

  I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, turning to him. “Unexpectedly, yes.”

  “I hope that’s a good thing.” He gives me a gentle half-smirk that works to disarm me.

  When I look at him now, I’m not seeing the boy who broke my heart as much as I’m seeing the man he has become. While I still don’t know that man yet, I think I might be willing to give him a chance. Not a chance to toy with my heart, but a chance to prove he’s changed.

  “I’m trying to look at this like it’s some adventure,” I say. “A sabbatical from my usual routine.”

&
nbsp; Julian groans. “Routines are the worst. Give me something different every day and I’m a happy man.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with consistency. Everyone needs to have some constants in their life,” I say. “In a world that never stops changing, there’s comfort in that.”

  “You hated change as a child.” He bites his lower lip to keep from laughing. “I remember the fit you threw when they made you switch rooms with your sisters at the lake house. You didn’t speak to your parents for days.”

  I elbow him. “I was nine.”

  “Right. So sure of yourself at such a young age,” he says before gazing toward the ocean. A second later he rises, dusting off his pants before extending his hand. “You’ve always known who you were and I’ve always admired that about you.” Julian pauses like he’s thinking of sharing something else but has a change of heart. “Anyway, I should take you to the stables before sundown. We just got a palomino mare and she’s a beauty. Doesn’t have a name yet. Thought I’d let you do the honors.”

  He helps me up and over the rocky cliff until we reach the stone path, only this time he takes me down a deviation, a small dirty path that leads to a pasture in the distance. From here I spot four or five grazing horses and another coming out of a red-painted stable.

  Once we get there, Julian fills a metal pail full of oats and hands it to me. “You’ll be her best friend with these.”

  We pass a few empty stalls until we get to the last one. Sure enough, a blonde-haired, brown-eyed palomino in a leather halter stands on the other side of the small wooden gate.

  “Here she is,” he says.

  She steps toward us, curious and unafraid, and I offer the bucket of oats, which she happily accepts. While she munches, her sweet, hay-scented breath fills the air and it takes me back.

  “You used to ride, didn’t you?” he asks.

  I swallow the lump in my throat before nodding. “I did. Until my freshman year. One of my friends was thrown from her horse during a competition and broke her neck. She’ll never walk again, and all because she was doing something she loved more than anything in the world. I was young and it freaked me out, I suppose.”