Paparazzi flash their bright lights, their cameras clicking while reporters bombard me, looking for a big scoop. Marco stands beside me, posing for the photos like the self-obsessed egomaniac he is. The prince's stupid security team fails to keep reporters from touching me, and without Alex here, everything feels like a disaster.
"Smile," Prince Marco hisses in my ear, his tone ordering me to do so. It almost makes me not want to listen, but I know I have to keep up an appearance for the public, so I swallow my pride and smile widely at the cameras.
But the feeling of his arm holding my waist is making me gag, so I jerk away from him as fast as I can. I stand at a distance from him, but he notices right away and glares at me.
He yanks me to his side, snaking an arm around my waist again. "You can hate me later, Elena," Marco snaps lowly, his tone venomous and unusually serious. "The world is watching."
Marco takes my hand and leads me toward the entrance of the charity gala we're attending. As we make our way to the door, a group of reporters approach us, shouting questions and holding microphones toward my face.
"Princess, how do you feel about the recent reports of your new marriage being in trouble?" one reporter asks, his camera crew shoving their equipment in my face.
"Is it true that Prince Marco has been cheating on you?" another yells.
I ignore them, keeping my smile fixed on my face, even as my heart races with fear. This is exactly what I didn't want—the media interfering with our personal business and twisting it to fit their own narrative.
"Just smile, Elena. Don't talk to them," Marco growls, squeezing my hand tightly as we reach the entrance.
No shit.
I take a deep breath and step forward, ready to face the music and keep up appearances for the sake of my family, my country, and my reputation.
As soon as I step into the party, the sound of chatter and laughter fills my ears, and the air is alive with energy. The venue looks like something out of a fairytale, with candles flickering on the table and rose petals scattered on the floor. The aroma of delicious food makes my stomach rumble, and I realize I'm starving. It's been a long day.
But all of that is only a distraction from my real feelings. My heart is heavy, and a lump forms in my throat as I look around, realizing how lonely I am without Alex by my side. He's the only one who can truly ease my worry, and now he's gone.
Because of my stupid trust issues.
I shake away my thoughts and continue walking, determined to put on a brave face, even though I feel like I'm drowning. A familiar voice fills my ears, and I turn around to see the French president's son, Pierre L'Avoir, approaching.
He extends his hand to me, and I place mine in his, noticing how strong and warm it feels. "Elena. You look stunning tonight," he says with a warm smile.
"Thank you, Mr. L'Avoir. It's an honor to be here," I reply, trying to sound confident.
As I stand around making small talk with Pierre, I see the prince's security guards keeping a watchful eye over us, no doubt preparing to escort me to my seat as soon as the entrance formalities are over. I'm in no rush, however. I'll take all the time I can get to avoid talking to my estranged husband.
I scan the room, noting the other celebrities and dignitaries in attendance, most of whom are already seated at their tables. The atmosphere is vibrant and festive, with elegant table settings and beautiful centerpieces adorned with flowers. The music playing in the background is soft and soothing, making it the perfect backdrop for the black tie event.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and then follow the security guards to my designated table. A group of wealthy young women sit down a moment later, and all of them are immediately sticking their noses in my business.
"Oh my god, is Prince Marco a good kisser?
No.
"You're the heir to the throne, right?"
Not anymore.
"Where's that sexy bodyguard of yours?"
I stiffen, feeling a mix of jealousy and loneliness tugging at my insides. The fact that so many women thirst for Alex fuels my anger, but at the same time, I can't help but miss him myself.
But their questions die down, and the people at the table start staring at something behind me. With an eyebrow cocked, I turn my head to see Marco coming up behind my chair. His hands grip the crest rail of the seat, and he forces a smile and a stifled laugh at the sight of the thirsty fangirls.
"Elena, mi amore," he grits out, his voice sounding surprisingly forced in front of the women at the table. The prince then leans down to my ear so they don't hear what he has to say to me next. "Come with me."
His breath tickling my skin sends an unpleasant shiver down my spine, and I reluctantly stand up from my chair to take his hand. He whisks me out of the main room and into a secluded area just outside the venue.
The cold wind rushes past my bare shoulders, and goosebumps erupt all over my skin, but I don't flinch. I keep my gaze locked on the prince's, not letting him intimidate me any longer.
"What are you doing? I whisper harshly, my voice laced with pent-up anger. "I'm not your toy to order around."
"Oh, calm down, woman," Marco whispers back condescendingly, his voice filled with amusement. But his hand on my hip seems to belie his nonchalant expression. "These people—they need us. And you know how I am when it comes to appearances."
I whack his hand away from my body and take a cautious step back. "What the hell are you even talking about?" I snap angrily.
The prince scowls, his expression darkening into one of rage. "Must you always act like a child?" he retorts. "As my wife, it would be ideal for you to be by my side at all times. People talk, Elena."
I hate this arranged marriage shit.
At the end of the day, though, I have to accept the fact that he's right. My life may as well be even more disastrous with the public knowing what really goes on within the castle walls. Public appearances are everything—a chance to keep up façades to maintain reputations. But no one really knows the struggles people go through.
"Fine," I relent, and I let him lead me back inside with no complaints.
In the moments that follow, we're approached by various journalists and reporters, each eager to speak with Italy's famous newlyweds. I answer their questions calmly, trying to keep my composure even when the questions become personal or intrusive.
But I can't deny the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. If it weren't for this stupid charity event, I'd be back at the palace, trying to resolve my issues with Marco in private.
After what feels like an eternity of small talk and forced smiles, I sit back at the table where dinner is finally served, and all of the guests begin to enjoy the food and wine. I try to follow suit, but my appetite is ruined by my nerves.
As the meal draws to a close, the British prime minister takes the stage, his voice echoing through the ballroom. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Annual Gala for the Royal Foundation. He pauses, the crowd falling silent. "I'm pleased to announce that this year, the foundation raised over ten million euros for the benefit of disadvantaged children, animal welfare, and conservation efforts throughout Europe."
Applause fills the room, and I join in, grateful for the reminder of why we're here in the first place. At least something in this world is going right.
₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊ ˚✧ ﾟ.
The charity gala continues for several more hours, with more guests arriving and more speeches being delivered. All the while, I pretend to be having a good time, even though I'm secretly counting down the minutes until it's over so I can finally escape this hellhole.
The evening finally drags to an end, and I can't stop myself from making a beeline for the exit, eager to leave the event and everything associated with it. But as I start to make my way out, I feel a hand on my shoulder, its grip tight enough to hurt.
"Leaving so soon, Princess?" Marco's voice is laced with fake concern, and I turn around to face him, my heart pounding in my chest. "What about our photos? Don't tell me you're going to skip the photographer."
The nerve of this dickhead to treat me like a political pawn.
A wave of rage boils inside me, but I force myself to stay calm and just shrug my shoulders. "I don't care about those," I say smoothly. "You can take them without me."
The prince scowls, his lips curling up into a sinister grin. "Oh, that's not happening. You're not leaving the venue without me."
I bite back a scathing comment and stare straight ahead, refusing to meet his eyes. After what feels like an eternity, we make our way to the exit, the other guests parting like the Red Sea to let us through. The air outside is brisk, and I breathe deeply, savoring the freshness of the late summer night.
Marco opens the car door for me and helps me in with surprising tenderness before getting in himself. The engine roars to life, and the prince's security team quickly surrounds us, ensuring that no harm will come to us.
As we drive through the city, our windshield wipers swiping away at the rain outside, I stare straight ahead. I try not to think about anything, just focusing on the sound of the engine and the motion of the car.
But my mind can't seem to settle down. I keep replaying all the events of today in my mind, replaying all the fights and all the insults. It's like a never-ending cycle of thoughts and emotions, and I'm not sure how to escape.
About half an hour passes by before we finally arrive inside the palace gates. The chauffeur opens the door for me and Marco, and I step out as soon as possible, wanting to get away from him. Wanting to get away from everything.
I zoom into the castle and head toward the one place that would make me feel better. It's neither the art studio nor my own bedroom. It's Alex's room, located in the western wing.
My hands knock frantically at his door, desperately hoping for him to be awake. At first, I listened in only to hear nothing. But then I hear footsteps walking toward the door. It only takes another second for the bodyguard to open it.
Alex glances down at me, but I can see the sorrow in his eyes. He looks as if he were in pain, struggling to get through each day without ending it. The raw emotion in his eyes was new, and my heart ached for him. I'd never seen him look so exhausted before—so drained.
Suddenly, I burst into tears. It feels selfish to do so, but the only person who has ever made me this vulnerable around them is Alex himself. He doesn't say anything, instead pulling me into his arms.
His embrace feels warm and comforting, and I can smell the cinnamon radiating off his formal white shirt. The scent ignites a feeling of snugness deep inside of me, and the way his hands run through my hair only strengthens it.
I'm safe in his arms.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・
authors note: so if anyone caught the last name "l'avoir" and you've read tlwt before i unpublished it i literally love you. ps pierre is william's father 🤭 anyways have a good day/night if ur reading this, love u all 🤍