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The color is rising in her cheeks, in a way that’s as confusing as it is endearing.
“No,” I blurt out. “I’m not sure I did.”
She wrings her hands in her skirt. “Right. Never mind then. Have a nice afternoon.”
Fuck. She’s closer to the exit than I am, and the urge to physically grab her and make her stay is almost overwhelming. “No, wait,” I say instead. “You want to get married.” It’s not really a question, more of a statement.
She hovers on the balls of her feet, still looking like she’s about to bolt. “Yes?”
I lean backwards, sitting on the back of the armchair behind me. It’s not exactly comfortable, but I’m starting to feel like my legs can’t hold my own weight. “Why?”
Stop it, you fucking idiot!I scream at myself.Don’t ask why. Go with it, take her and run.
She takes a breath through her nose, and I get the feeling she’s decided to go all in as she walks around to the opposite side of the little circle of chairs so she’s facing me, her back to the fire exit, both hands planted on the back of the armchair across from mine, and I’m forced to swivel to keep her in view.
“Don’t you see?” she asks. “It’s perfect.”
I blink at her. I do see. Yes, it’s fucking perfect. She’s perfect. But I don’t think that’s what she means. I run a frustrated hand through my hair. I hate myself for not being able to just let things go. For having to understand everything. “I don’t understand.”
“I saw your phone, and I know I only saw one half of the conversation, but it looked to me like we’re in very similar situations.”
“…What situation is that?”
She waves her hands in the air, agitated. “A sudden unwanted engagement mandated by the powers that be.”
I’m not sure if she means the Order, our respective parents, the council, or all of the above, but I can’t help but see the irony no matter what she means. I bark a laugh. “So, you’re suggesting the same thing in a different font?”
“No, I’m suggesting a better option. An option where we can exert some control over the whole thing.”
I lick over my lips and try to force myself to focus. Married. Married to Etta. To Juliette Capulet, and I didn’t even have to be the one to suggest it.
Earlier I was coming up with my own plan to this effect, but I can’t honestly say now if I would have gone through with asking her or not. If she hadn’t said it first, it would have sounded absurd. It still sounds absurd, but in a wonderful sort of way.
Still, I feel like I need to tell her she has at least one thing wrong. “I’m not engaged.”
She reels back, all the color draining from her face. “You’re not? Oh my gods. I thought…never mind. I’m so sorry.”
I look down at the phone and only have to take a quick glance to understand what she thought. “It’s complicated. I’m not engagedyet, but it’s not dissimilar to your situation I suppose.”
“Okay…” her expression turns slightly hopeful again. “And you don’twantto marry Rosaline?”
I shake my head. If she only knew how much I don’t. How this exact conversation is something out of my perfect fantasy and nightmare at the same time. This is my Faustian bargain, and she is my vice.
“Do you really hate Dane that much?” I ask, incredulous.
She bites her lip, and glances to the side, uncomfortable. “No, it’s not that.”
From her expression, it’s notnotthat, though. A hint of smug satisfaction rises in my chest. “Then what is it?”
She furrows her brow, and there’s a spark of frustration behind her eyes. “They won’t let me go back to school.”
My mouth turns into a thin line. I’m not sure if by “they” she means her parents, or Dane, or both, but either way I’m humming with anger. I recall my father mentioning this—mentioning his friend in the Dean’s office saying Etta wasn’t registered for classes, but I didn’t fully understand the magnitude of it until now. I simply…couldn’t understand it. Not only has Etta always loved school, she’s known for it, she fucking excels at it, but our community prizes education. Not allowing her to finish is not only unusual, it’s…
“That’s—” I can’t think of a word bad enough and just stare at her.
She purses her lips, her tone, clipped and almost bored. “Fucked, I know.” From Etta, who swears so sparingly, the word has more impact. “I’m glad you agree.”
I examine her, trying to read her intentions in her wide, gray eyes. I shake my head.Focus.“That can’t be all,” I scoff, trying to seem unbothered. Amused. “Letting you finish school isn’t unusual. There are half a dozen guys in this library alone who would probably pay your tuition if you went on one date with them.”
