Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Her words are telling me to let her go, but her eyes are begging me to kiss her. I lower my mouth to hers, but she turns her face away.
“I need things to slow down, so I can figure them out.”
I glance through the door and see Lady Rugova with her ear pricked toward our conversation. When she catches my eye, she hurriedly starts packing a box.
Wraye pulls herself from my arms. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
I’m not letting her go so easily. I take her face between my hands again. “Listen to me. You’ve done nothing to be sorry for. You deserve to be happy.”
Wraye reaches up to clasp my wrists, imploring me. “Please don’t tell Aubrey what we did. She must already feel so betrayed by my family, and I don’t want her to suffer more.”
“Aubrey will be fine. Everything will be fine. You’re coming home with me, now, and we’re going to plan our future together. Do as you’re told.”
Her face hardens, and I remember what she said about liking me telling her what to do, though, it didn’t mean that she’d always do it.
“Your Grace, you need to get out.”
Chapter Twenty
Wraye
I watch Devrim walk down the grubby street to the bridge, leading back over to the nicer side of the river. He stops in the middle of the bridge and looks back at the apartment, right where the children from school told me the truth about my father. Losing my innocence, that way, had been sharp and irrevocable. What revenge it would be to walk out of this squalid place and into Levanter House at the Archduke’s side.
I let the curtain fall and turn away.
The house is nearly packed up. We’re leaving all the furniture, but we’re taking our clothes and personal keepsakes. My things are boxed into four small cartons, and they stand in the hall.
Mama is in the kitchen, carefully wrapping up four crystal glasses. They sat at the back of a cupboard, for as long as I can remember. Occasionally, over the years, Mama would take one down and show me the R for Rugova etched into the glass.
Your Papa and I would drink from these at dinner. We lived in a big, beautiful house. Never forget who you are, Wraye.
Mama’s beaming as she works. “It means so much to me to take these glasses back into Rugova House, with my own two hands. I smuggled them out in a shoebox, you know.”
I do know. She’s told me so many times.
“Could you leave that for a moment?” I pull out a chair and sit down. I have a notebook in my hands and open it to a fresh page. “I’d like to write a press release about what improvements you’ve been making for the hotel workers.”
Mama regards me in surprise. “Now?”
I grip my pen hard. Anything to stop thinking about the fact that with every breath I take, Devrim is drawing further and further away from me. “It’s not the most groundbreaking news, and maybe the journalists won’t care, but I have to start somewhere.” I know how hotels work, and that’s comforting, because I have no idea what the hell I’m doing with this new job.
“I’m still packing, darling. I want to be out of here in the morning.”
“Talk while you work. I want to take this into Miss Longe tomorrow.”
Mama begins to tell me what she and the advisory board have been discussing. I’m pleased to find she’s come up with quite a few recommendations to make the workers’ lives easier and is encouraging them to set up a union. Unions were banned under Varga. I look up from my notes at the end.
“You actually care about them.”
Mama sniffs. “Don’t sound so surprised, darling. I’m not a monster.”
Perhaps, but I have wondered when she became so selfish. I still haven’t forgiven her for hurting Devrim and Aubrey, the way she did.
Mama pauses, a piece of crumpled newspaper in her hand. “I couldn’t help overhearing a little of your conversation. Did the Archduke ask you to marry him?”
I stand up quickly and close my notebook. “I’m going to pack up my room.”
“But darling, why on earth would he—”
I slam the bedroom door behind me and lean against it, breathing hard. Mama knocks, for a while, telling me that I should accept the Archduke, if he’s offered, but why has he offered? What am I not telling her?
I ignore her questions, and eventually, she goes away.
The next morning, Mama is supervising a handful of removalists with our boxes as I leave for Barbican Manufacturing.
“Don’t forget which home you’ll be returning to this evening,” Mama calls, gaily, after me. “We dress for dinner at Rugova House.”
I intended to walk away without looking back, but on the bridge I find myself turning to look at the only home I’ve ever known. The building is shabby and tired, like all the others along this street. Farther down the road, one of the most decrepit dwellings is being torn down. But the cobbles are clean, I notice. The children who walk to school are all wearing shoes. They’re smiling and skipping along as if they’ve had a good breakfast.