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Julian is staring at the portrait. He is staring at the portrait. He is staring at a portrait of a woman who is not even here with a look of such loving intensity that I begin to feel like a fool.
No, I am a fool. A fool to involve my heart with one of Madame Carp’s clients, a fool to think a man who works at the palace could ever love someone like me for who I am.
“You’re in love with her,” I breathe, fighting to keep my voice even.
“Erika-” he starts, turning- ripping - his eyes away from her canvas ones to come closer to me.
I grip the gilded back of the chair so hard that my knuckles begin to turn white, choking back a sob when I see his pocket watch on top of her pink ribbon.
Theirs is a completely different kind of intimacy than the one I've shared with him, one that involves longing glances and stolen brushes of hand, not hurried kisses and rustles of fabric in the back room of a modiste’s shop.
“ Erika ,” he says again, touching my shoulder and tipping my chin up to meet his eyes, asking me silently to forgive him, begging me to ignore the obvious. And my God , I almost do.
“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m making something out of nothing. Please, Julian, just say you don’t love her and I won’t ask again.”
He looks down. That’s the only answer I need. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the tears back in.
“Erika, please.”
“Is that all you can say?” He says nothing, but he keeps his hand on my chin.
I place my hands on either side of his face, growing desperate and pathetic. “Do you love me , at least? Even if you love her, do you love me too?”
He opens his mouth as though to say, yes, he loves me, no, he does not love the princess. But then his eyes flit up to the portrait. The quickest of movements, one I would have missed if I was not searching his face so intently. I drop my hands.
“I see.”
“Erika, no. It’s not like that.”
“I cannot believe I almost-” no. I won’t say it. I won’t say that I would have stayed with him forever, giving up the dream of singing and traveling I’ve had for as long as I can remember. I won’t say that I believed we could have been happy in a cottage in the woods.
“I can’t believe I thought you were different,” I say instead, running a hand through my hair. No, not my hair. It’s hers . I’m wearing her dress. I’m standing in her room. And I fell in love with a man who loves her .
“Don’t say that. This was different. This is different.”
“Different how? How are you any different than the countless other men who have paid extra to lie with the girl who looks exactly like the princess?”
His neck twitches and his eyes fill with a fit of brief anger that I once was naive enough to believe was on my behalf.
“I care about you,” he pleads, gripping my shoulders, “I promise I do.”
It’s almost enough. I could smooth out the crease in his brow and wrap my arms around his waist, just as I did when he came to me this morning in a blind panic because Anneliese was missing.
I could fly into a rage. I could hurl every rock on this desk at his head. I could scream every curse word I know (at least that is something I know more about than Anneliese does). I could sob loudly and let him hold me and tell me he’s sorry. I could kiss his cheek and forgive him, and hope that he would grow to love me because even if she does come back, they can never be together.
Instead, I ghost a kiss over his lips and whisper, “I hope when you do find her, that she returns your affections. Because whatever this was, is over now.”
I pull away from him, but he grips my hand, his eyes beseeching.
“Don’t go,” he half-sobs, “please. I need you.”
My heart breaks for the second time as I realize, again, that it is my face he needs, not me. Never me.
I give him a small smile, trying to blink away the heat behind my eyes. “Don’t worry. Anneliese is still my sovereign,” I pause for a moment, “and my friend. I'll still help you.”
“Thank you,” he breathes, pressing his lips to my hands.
“It’s not for you,” I remind him, even though that’s not entirely true. I’m staying for Anneliese, but he’s why I came.
“It doesn’t matter. Thank you, Erika.”
I nod, quickly brushing a tear aside. He’s watching me, so I know he sees, but he makes no move to come closer. He makes no effort to comfort me. Even though I told him not to, I still wish he would. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter .
“For what it’s worth, I wanted to love you. I wish I loved you instead.”
I wish you did too. “That’s even worse,” I laugh drily, looking at my borrowed shoes.
“I’m sorry. Truly.”
I say nothing. After a moment, I look up at Julian, still watching me carefully. I put on a smile as though he and I were never anything more than acquaintances.
“Will you show me a plié again?”