𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈 : 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

"Is he a prince? An heir? Is he related to the Vanderbilts? Oh, tell me he's related to the Vanderbilts!"

"Better. He's a chef. The best I've ever met. He made these little lemon tarts for the party you would have died for."

"A chef, huh? How did your parents take it?" Father asked.

"Oh, I'm not telling them. I'm eighteen, after all. They don't need to know about my personal affairs until I need them to fund the wedding!"

"Who cares!" you yelled. "Are you in love with him?"

Sasha giggled as she bit her bottom lip, wrinkled her nose, and popped her dimples. Affection wore her so wonderfully.

She was the prettiest girl you had ever seen. Would ever see.

She was so alive. She looked so real. If you reached out and touched her, you knew she would feel warm.

Sasha was Sasha again. And Father was Father.

If only it weren't a dream. If only you never had to wake up.

Because, despite being asleep, you were fully aware that this was an old memory. No matter how badly you knew you needed to leave this place, you stayed. You would run off at dawn to collect your cedar and burn this dream away, but tonight, you would take in the familial bliss that had been ripped from you far too soon.

It was only fair after last night's darker conversation–just this one last sweet dream.

"Well, I wouldn't say I love him yet. But I really do like him." Then, Sasha whispered, "Don't tell a soul, but I visit him in secret almost every other night. He always brings a little treat: a pastry, a pie, a turkey leg. Whatever I want. And he never asks to share. Isn't that romantic?"

"But what does that feel like? Liking someone so much?"

"Hmmm..." Sasha tapped the tip of her nose. "I feel like... like I'm full."

"Like you're full?"

"Like I'm full! If I had to, I would never eat again. Obviously, he'd never ask that of me, but I would without a second thought. And I don't want anything else other than him. I would forgo all the money, all my clothes, and every piece of strawberry cake if it meant I could spend just a few more minutes with him. Hell, I'd rip out my heart and hand it to him on a platter if his was failing to beat."

"How could anyone make you feel like that?" you asked.

Eren didn't make you want to give up food or your clothes; you wouldn't rip out your heart for him. Mr. Arlert didn't make you feel that way either. You didn't think you could feel that way about anyone. Not prince. Or an heir. Not even a Vanderbilt.

But what about an artist?

"The right person makes you do stupid things," Father whispered wistfully. "Very stupid things."

"And he makes me do the stupidest things," Sasha jumped in quickly. "If Levi thought I was dumb during my lessons, I don't even want to know what he'd think of me when I'm with Mr. Niccolo. He's just such an amazing man. In fact, these cakes? He made them for us."

"He did?!"

"He did," Sasha confirmed in her sing-songy voice. "Oh, you have to meet him soon! I need to figure out if he's good with children, anyway. Can't marry a man who won't step up with child-rearing."

"One of your brighter ideas, Sasha. Now, look at the fabric. Is there anything you'd like me to change?" Father asked, spinning Sasha's red skirt for her to see.