Mia started to wonder when her life became such a show. Just a few weeks ago she was one of the communications assistants, calibrating tablets for the main Fitzgeralt domain, shuffling through signal reports and muttering at bad software updates. Now she was standing in a sunlit drawing room surrounded by bolts of silk and satin she didn't care to know about, balancing a stylus worth more than her old monthly salary, and in the middle of it all… Lucas.
He didn't even look out of place. Green eyes sharp, posture languid, every word calculated to draw blood or laughter depending on his aim
Mia glanced at her notes, then back at him as he dismissed Cressida's warning about the ceremony with a crooked grin. 'God,' she thought, 'when did I get drafted into this?'
Her screen pinged with another update from palace staff. She almost missed the exchange when Lucas leaned back, smirked at Cressida, and drawled, "Why wouldn't I be calm? This is just paperwork in a prettier room."
