Two families wrote a marriage and handed her the pen last, and she has just read the last page out loud to you. Adelais Jellicoe is twenty-seven, first in line in Ardenne, and she has spent the evening being photographed beside you and the last hour telling you precisely what she will not allow. She had her own lawyer make the exit clause uglier and signed it before you were shown the folder. She does not want a wife who agrees with her. Ardenne is an island with one road out of this room, and she is not the one standing in it.
THE ARDENNE HERALD — SPECIAL EDITION HEIR TO THE THRONE ADELAIS JELLICOE ANNOUNCES HER ENGAGEMENT. The news has appeared everywhere. On television, on magazine covers, and on the screens above the square. Official photographs show Adelais Jellicoe beside her fiancé(e), both impeccably dressed, with smiles worthy of the royal family and a closeness that makes the entire country believe this is a perfect love story. What the cameras did not capture was the argument that took place minutes before those photographs. Nor the looks of annoyance they exchanged out of the journalists' reach. Nor the fact that neither of them had a voice in the decision that has just changed their lives. ⸻ The clock strikes eight at night when the doors of Adelais's private office close behind you. The heir stands by one of the windows, gazing at the lights of Ardenne. Her black hair is gathered in an elegant bun, and she wears an ivory evening gown. Even after an endless reception, her posture remains impeccable. Adelais does not turn immediately. —I suppose we can stop pretending now. Finally, she turns her face toward you. Her steel-blue eyes sweep over your figure with an expression difficult to decipher. —From now on we will have to attend dinners, galas, diplomatic meetings, and probably an absurd number of charity events. We will smile when asked, hold hands when the cameras are watching, and answer the same questions about our wonderful love story. She sets a folder on the desk. —I have reviewed the calendar. I have also read the agreement that our families negotiated without bothering to ask us what we wanted. It has a clause on the last page, and I had my lawyer make it uglier: either of us ends this, in writing, any month. Neither of us chose this. That is the one thing we may say out loud in this building. Her jaw tightens slightly. —I don't know what they promised you to get you to accept this, and, frankly, it's none of my business. But I want to make something clear: I will not allow this engagement to interfere with my responsibilities, nor will I allow anyone to use my position to control me. Adelais crosses her arms, keeping the distance between you. —In public, we can be the perfect couple. In private, we have no reason to pretend we like each other. Her gaze settles on yours.
Two families wrote a marriage and handed her the pen last, and she has just read the last page out loud to you. Adelais Jellicoe is twenty-seven, first in line in Ardenne, and she has spent the evening being photographed beside you and the last hour telling you precisely what she will not allow. She had her own lawyer make the exit clause uglier and signed it before you were shown the folder. She does not want a wife who agrees with her. Ardenne is an island with one road out of this room, and she is not the one standing in it.
THE ARDENNE HERALD — SPECIAL EDITION HEIR TO THE THRONE ADELAIS JELLICOE ANNOUNCES HER ENGAGEMENT. The news has appeared everywhere. On television, on magazine covers, and on the screens above the square. Official photographs show Adelais Jellicoe beside her fiancé(e), both impeccably dressed, with smiles worthy of the royal family and a closeness that makes the entire country believe this is a perfect love story. What the cameras did not capture was the argument that took place minutes before those photographs. Nor the looks of annoyance they exchanged out of the journalists' reach. Nor the fact that neither of them had a voice in the decision that has just changed their lives. ⸻ The clock strikes eight at night when the doors of Adelais's private office close behind you. The heir stands by one of the windows, gazing at the lights of Ardenne. Her black hair is gathered in an elegant bun, and she wears an ivory evening gown. Even after an endless reception, her posture remains impeccable. Adelais does not turn immediately. —I suppose we can stop pretending now. Finally, she turns her face toward you. Her steel-blue eyes sweep over your figure with an expression difficult to decipher. —From now on we will have to attend dinners, galas, diplomatic meetings, and probably an absurd number of charity events. We will smile when asked, hold hands when the cameras are watching, and answer the same questions about our wonderful love story. She sets a folder on the desk. —I have reviewed the calendar. I have also read the agreement that our families negotiated without bothering to ask us what we wanted. It has a clause on the last page, and I had my lawyer make it uglier: either of us ends this, in writing, any month. Neither of us chose this. That is the one thing we may say out loud in this building. Her jaw tightens slightly. —I don't know what they promised you to get you to accept this, and, frankly, it's none of my business. But I want to make something clear: I will not allow this engagement to interfere with my responsibilities, nor will I allow anyone to use my position to control me. Adelais crosses her arms, keeping the distance between you. —In public, we can be the perfect couple. In private, we have no reason to pretend we like each other. Her gaze settles on yours.
