The bakery boxes dug into the crook of Isla's arm as she juggled them up the apartment stairs. Ribbons still clung stubbornly to the lids, like they'd refused to let go of the fair. She nudged the door with her hip, and it swung open before she even knocked.
Callie leaned against the frame, one eyebrow raised, smirk already in place. "If this is a bribe," she said, eyeing the stacked pastries, "I'll need a lot more sugar than that to keep up with your scandals."
Isla sighed and brushed a strand of hair from her face with her wrist. "It's not a bribe. It's charity."
Callie gasped dramatically. "Handouts? From the Miss Reed? Oh, how far we've come." She stepped aside, sweeping her arm. "Get in here before the paparazzi follow you."
The contrast hit Isla the moment she stepped inside. Callie's place was nothing like the bakery. No constant hum of ovens, no smell of yeast clinging to the walls. Instead, warm lamps glowed over books stacked two-deep on shelves, music hummed low in the background, and a faint vanilla candle tried—and failed—to cover the smell of laundry that hadn't been folded. It was lived-in, chaotic, but soft in a way Isla hadn't realized she needed.
They dumped the pastries on the kitchen counter, carrying one box with them as they padded barefoot to the couch, mugs of tea warming their hands. Callie tucked her legs under her, phone already in hand, eyes lighting up with mischief.
"So," she began, scrolling, "are you aware you're basically a national icon now?" She turned the screen toward Isla, who groaned at the sight of a meme: a picture of Isla at the fair, ribbons flying as she tied a pastry box, captioned 'Queen of carbs, Duchess of drama.'
"Delete it," Isla muttered, sinking into the cushions.
"Sweetheart, it's not my post." Callie snorted, flicking to the next one. "But honestly? You should embrace it. You're trending. This is what people dream of."
"I didn't dream of being known for... croissants and humiliation."
"Oh, please." Callie bumped her shoulder. "Some people build their whole brand off less."
They laughed until their tea cooled, but Isla's fingers kept circling the rim of her mug, restless. She hadn't come just to hear herself roasted.
Finally, she cleared her throat. "So... something else happened."
Callie's head whipped around instantly, predatory grin in place. "Oh? Do tell."
Isla exhaled, pushing hair back from her face. "Cael. He... showed up."
"Cael? You mean the prince's cousin who handed you a gift?"
Isla blinked. "Wow. You know everything happening in my life."
Callie gave her a look, deadpan. "Please. The whole country knows what you had for lunch yesterday. You're basically live-streamed at this point."
Despite herself, Isla laughed softly. "Well yes, with a... gift." She added.
"You've got princes delivering presents now? What is my life compared to yours?"
"Not just a gift." Isla rubbed at her temple. "A dress. For tomorrow's event."
The room stilled for a second, laughter softening into something else. Callie lowered her mug. "Wait. He gave you a gown?"
"Yes. And—" Isla threw her hands up "—he didn't even give me a way to return it. No card, no contact. He just... left it."
Callie leaned back slowly, eyes narrowing in that best-friend way that could strip you bare. "And you haven't figured out what to do."
"No. Because if I don't go, it's rude. But if I do..." Isla trailed off.
"More rumors," Callie finished for her, with a grimace.
"Exactly." Isla sank into the cushions. "And Tyler..."
That name shifted everything. Callie set her mug down carefully, all traces of humor sliding off her face. "What about Tyler?"
Isla swallowed hard. "He was there. When Cael gave me the dress. He saw the whole thing."
"Oh."
"It turned into a fight." The words tumbled out faster now, like they'd been waiting for release. "He says all of this—the gossip, the prince, the attention—it's ruining us. That it's not what he signed up for. And maybe he's right. Maybe I've dragged him into something he never asked for."
Callie's brows knit together, but she didn't interrupt.
"And the worst part?" Isla's voice wavered. "If he sees me tomorrow... in that dress, at that event—he'll think it proves everything. That I've chosen this. Chosen them over him."
Silence stretched. Callie didn't crack a joke this time. She didn't roll her eyes or tease. She just sat there, watching Isla like she was making sure the words really got out.
Finally, she said softly, "If he can't trust you enough to know that's not true, Isla... what does that say about the relationship itself?"
Isla blinked, throat tightening.
Callie reached out, tugging at the ribbon still stuck to one of the pastry boxes on the coffee table. "You've been carrying all of this like it's your fault. But look—Cael dropping gifts at your doorstep? Dorian making speeches at your fair? You didn't ask for any of it. You're just... living in the middle of it. And if Tyler can't see that..." She shrugged. "Then maybe he's not seeing you anymore either."
Isla stared down at her mug, voice small. "Then maybe tomorrow when Cael comes, I'll just tell him no. I'll give the dress back and be done with it."
"Seriously?" Callie's voice sharpened, cutting through the haze. "You'd back out of something you might actually want, just because Tyler's sulking?"
Isla flinched. "It's not just sulking—"
"Yes, it is." Callie's eyes flashed. "Come on, Isla. Be honest. Tyler's been doing this long before you went viral. Acting like you owe him proof you're loyal. Making you feel guilty for things you can't control. This internet circus didn't break you two—it just exposed the cracks that were already there."
The words landed like a slap and a balm at once.
Callie leaned closer, voice steady. "And you know what? He's jealous. Not just of Cael or Dorian, but of the fact that the world suddenly sees you. That you're shining in ways he never gave you permission to. And instead of having your back, he's punishing you for it."
Isla's throat tightened, but she couldn't bring herself to argue.
Callie pointed her mug at her like it was a gavel. "If you don't want to go to the event, fine. That's your choice. But if the only reason you're not going is Tyler? That's not a choice, that's you letting him control the narrative. And honestly? That's stupid."
A shaky laugh broke from Isla, equal parts hurt and relief.
"Here's a thought," Callie added. "If he's so desperate to be part of your life, then take him with you. Let him sit there and see that you're still you. Because running from it? That's only going to prove his point."
The air sat heavy, but this time it didn't feel suffocating. Callie's words didn't erase the fear twisting in Isla's chest, but they did something better—they cracked it open. Made room for a little defiance.
For the first time, Isla didn't just feel blamed. She felt... defended.
"Come on," Callie said suddenly, popping up from the couch. "I've got cookies that may or may not be slightly burnt, and you're going to eat them while I scroll through your fan edits."
Isla groaned, burying her face in a cushion. "You're impossible."
"National icon," Callie corrected, tossing her a cookie. "Get it right."