Eloise
Dinner with his family was extraordinary. Extravaganza and magnificent. Everything done in the usual royal style. I was getting use to the tactics anyway. It was then I knew that even cutleries had more than just spoons, forks and knives.
There were so many, sitting on my tray and I only know a few like the ones I used back home. Everything, including the plates, the spoons, the forks, including the dinning tables and chairs and all were made up of real gold.
And there, I thought nobody was richer than my father.
Who goes us?
George's younger sister laughed when I picked the smallest of all the spoons. "Jesus. You had the wrong pick, my lady. We're having rice not soup. Here. This is the right one." She helped me select the right use. And I felt a little bit embarrassed.
George noticed but he didn't dare to laugh. Instead, he scolded his sister in the most playful way. "Thanks, Alice. But next time, allow me do it."
"There are a lot of things she needs to learn, brother." His younger brother said. At first when I first saw him, I thought he was George's twin until George told me he was a year older than him. "Starting from the way she walks, talks and dress. She needs to be ladylike."
I gulped in the slightest. Something in me tells me I'm not welcome here and another tells me I belong here. Which should I follow?
Sensing my embarrassment, George spoke up for me. "Like I said before, Gabriel, leave it to me. She's new to this world—" he said, blandly demonstrating to the things around. "And she needs time to blend into it."
Gabriel shrugged and Alice didn't miss the last minute of shooting me a wink.
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The night at the palace had been… surreal.
I hadn't slept as well as I hoped—too many thoughts crowded my head. The ceiling of the guest chamber was painted with soft floral motifs, the bed softer than any cloud, the silk sheets cold against my skin. Yet my body wouldn't rest. I kept thinking about the Queen's words, the weight in them, the way she studied me as though she could read my soul.
By morning, a maid had knocked gently, bringing a tray of breakfast I hardly touched. Not long after, the Queen herself came, dignified even in her morning attire, her smile warm but her eyes, always calculating.
"Did you sleep well, my dear?" she asked, stepping closer.
I forced a smile. "Yes, Your Majesty. The chamber is beautiful."
"I am glad. Comfort is important." She studied me for a moment longer, then with the ease of one used to command, she said, "Would you do something for me? Go and fetch my son. He is still in his room, and I want him down here before the day gets away from him."
What the—helly???
My heart skipped. "M-me?"
She nodded. "Yes. It is not far. His chambers are across the neighboring passage."
I rose, smoothing my dress with trembling hands. The Queen's gaze lingered on me, amused almost, as if she guessed what a storm brewed in my chest.
Jesus, I have never been here before and now, she wants me to fetch for George? How the hell am I supposed to do that when am new here? She could get the maids to fetch him but she choosing me to do it instead, serves she has a motive. And I believe, a good testing one as at that.
Maybe, she's just trying to test me to see if I'm the rude type. I saw it all in her eyes. And I swear, I'll do my possible best not to embarrass George.
Leaving her behind, I stepped into the wide hallway. It was nothing like the museums I'd once visited; this was living history, wrapped in modern splendor. The high ceilings stretched endlessly, lined with tall windows where sunlight spilled across marble floors. Gilded sconces glowed softly along the walls. Ancestral portraits watched silently, and the occasional guard nodded at me with polite restraint.
In the old era, you'd see guards and maids dressed in rare uniforms but here everything tally with the modern world we live in. The guards are in suits and the maids are in ultra black and white uniforms, just like how my father's staffs used to dress too. The only difference is that these are royal aristocrats.
I walked slowly, absorbing every detail—the hush of the carpet beneath my feet, the faint scent of polish and roses that lingered in the air. Some of the maids that passed me on the way, paused for a minute and bow their heads to me respectively .
Cordially, I'm not used to this kind of lifestyle: where somebody sees you and bows to you and treats you like a queen or some royal guest.
And how they call me: my lady was another thing am not fond of. Especially his siblings. I'm not married to him yet and they've started addressing me like I'm already living here.
I took a deep breath when I reached a set of heavy double doors. I assume to be his.
I raised my hand, hesitated, then knocked softly. No answer. My pulse quickened. Slowly, I pushed the door open.
And froze.
There he was.
Not in the sharp suits, not in the casual shirts and jeans I was used to. But in nothing except a towel hanging loosely around his waist.
My eyes widened in horror. Heat shot up my neck to my face. "Oh my God!" I gasped, stumbling backward. "I—I'm sorry—I shouldn't—"
I spun on my heel, ready to run, but he was faster. He caught my wrist gently but firmly, confusion etched on his face.
"Wait—why are you running?" he asked, his voice low, amused yet baffled.
I shook my head, eyes squeezed shut. "Because—you—you're half-naked! I can't—this is wrong—"
He let out a short laugh, spinning me lightly back to face him. "You're thirty-two years old, and you still behave like an innocent schoolgirl? Really?"
I kept my eyes shut tighter. "Don't make me look at you like this."
He leaned closer, his voice teasing, but laced with something more serious. "Open your eyes. Look at me."
"I can't!" I protested, clutching my free hand against my face.
He chuckled, shaking his head. His gaze softened as he studied me—really studied me. Then, the question that had been burning inside him for weeks escaped.
"Tell me the truth," he said quietly, almost reverently. "Are you… still a virgin?"
The air thickened. My breath hitched.
Should I tell him now? But it's supposed to be my secret. Whether or not, it's supposed to be.
Slowly, I nodded, still refusing to open my eyes. Shyness and embarrassment killing from the insides.
Silence.
Then, a sharp intake of breath. "You're serious?" His voice was filled with disbelief. "At thirty-two?"
"Yes," I whispered, finally daring to open my eyes. His expression was priceless—part stunned, part incredulous, part moved in ways I couldn't read.
He stepped closer, his grip on me tightening just slightly, as though he couldn't afford to let me slip away. His blue eyes burned into mine, not mocking, not playful—just raw.
And then, out of nowhere, the words tumbled out.
"Marry me."
My heart stopped. My eyes flew wide open. "What?" Is he crazy now?
"Marry me," he repeated, without hesitation. His voice was steady, his expression dead serious. "Right here. Right now. Let's not waste any more time."
I stared at him, my mind spinning. Everything was happening too fast. Too suddenly. I can't even process it.
I try to escape his question and his grip but he tightened his grasp around my wrist again. "Eloise, I mean it. This is not some kind of joke. Marry me."
What? Not a joke?
"George…" My voice trembled. "I—please—I need time. I need to think about it. This is not something we should rush."
His jaw tightened, but he nodded slowly, respect flickering in his gaze. "Time. Alright. But know this—I've never been more certain of anything in my life. And if it's not you, then it's nobody else."
Oh lord Jesus, has he completely gone out of his mind? Why is he talking like that now? Am I the only woman in this universe? He deserves better. Somebody better than me. I don't know what he sees in him that didn't make him to think twice before proposing.
His hand released mine, but the weight of his proposal hung between us, heavy and unshakable.
And as I stepped out of his chamber, my pulse racing, one thought echoed in my head—
Nothing would ever be the same again.
Jesus, for goodness sake, he just proposed! How am I supposed to react when I'm not ready?
Well, I don't know if I'm ready yet but fear is killing me. What if we haven't known each other enough to do this? And along the line we both regret things?
I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.
But one thing I know is that.... I've developed a strong thing for him. A feeling even I can't resist no matter how hard I try to break it. He has completely turned me into a lovestruck.
Oh god. I love this man that it hurts so badly but that moment a while ago.....?
It's was too sudden. And definitely, I need time to dilute things. I need to think. I need to process. I need to calculate. I. Need. Time.