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“Odette is not a member of the royal family?” I finished for him, and he nodded, but she was to me.
“And even if she were, sir, such a harsh statement would be—”
“Harsh?” I scoffed. “What he did was harsh. No, cruel, and I have to pay for it for the rest of my life.”
He was silent for a moment before saying. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“You did nothing wrong,” I replied, reaching for my pen again and signing the statement—who cared what it said. Handing back the paper, I rose from my chair, going to the bar in the corner of the room.
“That is all, Balduin. I wish to be alone.”
“Yes, sir, goodnight.”
“I wish.” I wished it would be a good night. But as I drank, it dawned on me that this would be the last night Odette and I would be together. No, that wasn’t the right word. This was the last night she and I would share the same night at the same time, the same sky and country.
So, it was a bad night. And bad nights were good for brandy.
“I failed, Arthur,” I said as if he were here, standing at the bookcases, listening to me. I could almost see him too. “I know—not shocking. But you failed too. Your plan to get me married and settled down. You failed too.” I drank more. “That is what you get, you know? Keeping all of these plans and thoughts to yourself. You didn’t even have the decency to write to me. Or leave some clue. Haven’t you seen the movies? Whenever an important character dies, they always leave behind some clue or a journal with the thoughts they never shared. Key to something they had been holding off to give until just the right moment. How could you leave nothing?”
Silence.
So, I drank.
“You are a horrible supporting character in my story.” I frowned, staring at my glass. “Is that karma because I was a horrible supporting character in yours too? It’s a bit petty, don’t you think? You’re the older one. You are supposed to outshine me.”
Silence.
So, I drank.
“Can you show me a sign or something? A dove? A double rainbow? I don’t know. Something? So I know. Am I going to get through this?” I hung my head, covering my face with my hand because all I heard was silence again.
There would be no sign.
No clue.
No miracle.
There was no one but me now.
Grabbing a piece of paper, I did what I felt like I hadn’t done in ages. I wrote. I didn’t even know the date, so I simply wrote.
––––––––
To my dearest and most beloved Odette,
How they have slandered you.
How they have insulted and belittled and harmed you.
You who have done nothing but love me for me. You who makes me laugh and write poor poetry. You who held on to me when my brother died and let me weep before picking me off the ground.
I do not understand them—those who hate you. They explain, and still, I cannot understand them. They cannot be doing it for my sake because they have to see how happy I was and am with you.
I do not know what to do.
My heart wants to run away with you.
But every other part of me is glued here.
