Runaway Fiancés | ONC 2023 (Complete)

One - Catalina

"Wait!" I call after the coach, but it's not use. Stupid coach didn't take me where I needed to be at all. But I can make my own luck. I just need to catch a train. I'm not sure how far I'll get with the money I have left, but I have to do something.

I take off across the street and into the crowded station.

The mantilla weighs heavy on my head, slowly slipping off the hairstyle my mother had so carefully constructed this morning. The train whistle blows and suddenly I know what I have to do. Lifting my skirts, I push through the crowd of gentlemen with ease.

I will surely be chastised if mother ever finds out I didn't curtsey appropriately to el Ilustrísimo duque Grossout. But I've committed enough social atrocities to last me a lifetime, so what's one more?

The train whistles again and the conductor makes his way to the engine. My mother will surely find me if I have to wait several hours for another train, so I pick up my skirts and my boots click on the uneven stone and wood until I catch up with the slow-moving train and pull myself onto the stairs.

It's only once I'm through the doors that I realize I'm not going to blend in here.

Gold lines the edge of the windows and men with white gloves serve customers in the dining car I've walked into.

I silently send thanks to my mother for making me overdress to meet... Well, that's over now. Strutting in with my chin held high, I take a seat at an empty table and lift the menu, quickly surveying the room to ensure no one will see me readjust my falling peineta.

Everything about this car brings bile to my stomach. These people have everything I will never have—wealth and power—and yet they sit here complaining over things that don't affect them. Not really. I cannot imagine what it is to have so much and scorn those with so little.

Then again, I cannot imagine what it is to have so much.

Envy is not a good look on you, my mother's voice chastises. If she were here she would surely add, 'and sit up straight, you're giving everyone a view of private matters.'

A smirk pulls my lip at the thought. There's something freeing about not following her rules for once. And, excluding her voice in my head, there's nothing stopping me from doing it, either. I release the broach holding my shawl together.

Let them look, mother. Maybe they won't want to buy me if they get their looks for free. My eyes roll in my head despite myself.

The waiter brings over a bowl of paella and I graciously dip my head as he bows. I've fooled him then. I can rest a little easier, allowing my back to gently rest against the chair.

My calm is short-lived I don't even get a bite to my mouth before the men in funny hats enter the car, asking for our tickets.

My heart leaps into my throat and my head turns on a swivel, searching for any way out of this. Perhaps a lavatory or luggage area.

The room heats as though I've been transported to the boiler in third class rather than the prestigious dining car. I would rather jump into the fire of the boiler than face the ticket collectors or return to my mother and her idea of a good marriage match.

My feet are still frozen in place, just beside the chair I used to be sitting in, when the two men reach me. His dark eyes remind me of—

"Boleto?" the shorter one asks, huffing and holding out his hand for my ticket.

"I don't have it with me." It's the first thing that comes to my mind, but I have no other options. I'm going to have to pull out all the charms. I adjust my arms so they push inward, allowing my dress to do its best work. Let's just hope these two are corruptible.