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I stared at the woman asking the question. “Like Emilie said, it’s a duty.”
“But you’re not a member of the royal family,” she pushed.
“Marrying into my family is an honor,” Emilie cut in. “Mr. Ashford is one of few who have the privilege to marry into my family.”
I almost choked. I wanted to yell in protest, but I kept my mouth shut. My molars ground together, but I said nothing. I’d play the puppet for now because I wasn’t interested in making a scene, but never again.
“Where is your sister? Have you spoken to her?” The questions came one after another, probing into the personal affairs of her family.
The shift in the interview was unexpected. I could see it had knocked Emilie off her game a little. She had no intention of discussing Nora’s situation in a public forum. She was wise not to. It would just fuel the rumor mill.
“We’re not here to discuss Nora’s whereabouts or her decisions,” I said firmly. “Let’s keep the focus on the matter at hand.”
My words were met with a brief murmur from the audience, but the questions about Nora subsided.
The interviewer smiled. “I imagine that is a very sensitive subject,” she said.
Emilie nodded, relieved that the conversation had moved on. I, on the other hand, was still seething with anger. I knew Emilie was trying to protect her family’s reputation by avoiding the topic of Nora, but it frustrated me that we had to play this game.
As the interview continued, I couldn’t wait to get off the stage. I knew people were looking at me and thinking I was nothing more than a purse for her family.
“Would you describe your upcoming marriage as more of a transactional union?” the interviewer asked.
Perfect.
Twist the knife.
Emilie offered a fake smile. “I think you’re mistaken in your description. It’s insulting to suggest we are nothing more than pawns.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at her response. It was also a convenient arrangement for her family.
The interviewer didn’t seem convinced. “But you said it was more of a business arrangement.”
“Yes, but our match was also based on our interests and personalities,” Emilie said.
It was a lie. Our interests were never factored into it. The way she so easily lied made me sick to my stomach.
“Is there an application process of sorts?” The interviewer was attempting to be funny. It might have been funny if it wasn’t fucking true.
Emilie held her composure like the good little dutiful daughter she had apparently become since our passionate kiss last night.
I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Let me answer that for you,” I said, my voice sharp. “Yes, there is an application process. You have to be of a certain social status, have a certain amount of money, and be willing to marry for the sake of your family’s wealth and power. You’re not supposed to expect or want love. It’s all about doing what you’re told.”
The audience gasped and the interviewer looked taken aback. Emilie shot me a withering glare, but I didn’t back down.
“He’s joking,” she said through her tight smile.
But I wasn’t joking. I was tired of playing the game and pretending that everything was okay. Emilie’s family had bought me like a piece of property, and I was sick of it.
The interviewer cleared her throat and tried to move on. “So, how did you two first meet?”
Emilie answered, but my mind had drifted off. I remembered the first time I saw her. I thought about the way we made love and how she claimed she wanted to give up all her duty and responsibilities.
I was a damn fool.
She played me.
“Our first meeting was arranged to take place at a ball,” Emilie explained. “All matches meet their partners at the ball.”
