March – Markov Estate
Through Velvet and Marble
The ballroom faded behind them with every step.
Jay and Christin slipped down a side corridor—unused tonight, dimly lit by antique sconces and muffled by tapestries thick with age and pride. Their footsteps echoed in a rhythm softer than the music they left behind.
Christin's hand stayed in his.
She didn't speak. Neither did he.
Not yet.
Eventually, they reached the garden wing—a covered veranda that opened onto the southern terrace, where frost still clung to the stone railings and the roses slept beneath winter sheets.
The night air was cold. Clean.
Jay exhaled slowly. "No music. No eyes."
Christin looked up. "It's better this way."
He glanced at her. "Because you don't have to be anyone?"
She smiled faintly. "Because for once... I don't want to be."
A Conversation Without Masks
They sat on the marble bench beside the frostbitten fountain. No warmth, no cushions—just the stone, the dark sky, and each other.
Christin traced a gloved finger along the armrest. "I remember this garden. Last time I visited, I was ten. I snuck out of the reception and climbed that fig tree."
Jay looked up. "The one that still has scratch marks?"
"I didn't fall."
"I didn't say you did."
She gave a sidelong glance. "You were the one who snitched on me."
Jay laughed. "That doesn't sound like me."
"Oh, it was. You were a perfect little heir. Coat pressed. Voice polite. I hated you."
Jay smirked. "And now?"
She looked down. "I don't hate you."
He nodded, as if that were enough.
For a while, they watched the stars reflect on the frozen surface of the pond.
"I envy you," Christin said quietly.
Jay turned to her, startled.
"You?"
"You get to choose," she said. "Even if it doesn't always feel like it. You still fight back. Push against it. You draw when you're not supposed to. You flirt when they expect distance. You make people feel seen, Jay. And that makes you dangerous."
He didn't know what to say.
So, she went on.
"I was raised to be a tool. Polished, refined, used at the right moment. I learned languages to seduce treaties. I studied dance so I could spin through formal events like tonight. But I never got to be a person."
Jay's voice was low. "Then be one now."
Christin met his eyes.
"You say that like it's easy."
"It's not. But I'll sit here with you while you try."
Her throat moved as she swallowed.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper: "You make it hard to lie to myself."
Jay didn't look away.
And for a moment, the cold didn't bite.
III. Something Like Trust
Christin stood and stepped closer to the railing.
Jay followed.
The moonlight struck her profile, softening every angle. She looked unguarded for the first time since arriving.
"I was told not to get too close," she said. "That your position was... unstable. That you weren't meant to last."
"Nice to know where I stand."
"But they were wrong."
Jay tilted his head. "You think I'll last?"
She looked at him. "I think you'll change everything. Whether you want to or not."
Silence settled again.
Then she asked, "Do you miss them?"
He didn't need to ask who.
"All the time," he said. "It's like trying to remember a song you only heard once, but it won't leave your head."
Christin's hand brushed his again. Not deliberate. Not accidental.
He didn't pull away.
"Will you go back?" she asked.
Jay was quiet.
"If I can," he said at last. "But I don't know what version of me will be returning."
She gave him a soft, sad smile. "Maybe you'll be more yourself than ever."
Echoes of Footsteps
A quiet cough sounded behind them.
Vincent.
He approached with the careful neutrality of someone who had waited long enough.
"Forgive the interruption," the butler said, "but your father wishes to speak with you privately. Tomorrow morning."
Jay nodded slowly. "Understood."
Vincent gave a glance toward Christin, then back to Jay. "Enjoy the remainder of your evening."
He vanished into the corridor.
Christin didn't speak.
Jay sighed. "That's the beginning of something."
"Yes," she agreed. "I can feel it too."
The Unspoken Goodbye
Neither wanted to name it, but they both knew: tonight, might be the last time they stood together like this.
Before reality set back in.
Christin stepped close again.
A quiet nearness that meant more than they could admit.
"If we never get a moment like this again," Christin said, "I just want you to know—"
She stopped.
Jay didn't push.
Instead, he said: "Me too."
She smiled.
Then slowly stepped back.
"I should go before the questions start."
"I'll be here a while longer."
She lingered at the door. "Goodnight, Jay."
"Goodnight, Christin."
She left.
And he stayed.
Alone with the stars and the frost.
Preparing for a choice he hadn't made yet.
But already knew he couldn't avoid.