My Pleasure, Darling

42: Imagine Telling on Yourself Like That

Simon outfits me with a phone and a laptop. I take them and quietly program the phone with the emergency contacts he provides. My fingers float over the keyboard when I'm done. It's the realisation that I will never ask Genn her number to put in my new phone, that I will never dial Dad again, that makes me pause.

I think I'll have a lot of moments like this going forward until I've healed. What an uncomfortable concept.

I have appointments made for me, ones that Simon watches me meticulously plan into my phone. I must have etiquette lessons, and be outfitted with new clothes – no matter how much I insist that I am happier with something off the rack, I won't be allowed to in this royal palace – tomorrow a doctor will arrive to check on my wound and Simon will personally instruct me in Metran and global history and politics.

The inference is that I'm to function as part of the royal household as a junior member. I hate this concept with a passion, and when a little of that acidity leaks out, Simon is quick to tell me that Felix has been settling in just fine.

It's all well and good for Felix, who was related to the Lamyra royal family by blood. All fine for Felix, who grew up a noble, in a nobleman's mansion with servants. He joined the Academy already well-versed in the minute details of policies between dukes and earls of the realm, already so knowledgeable about trade negotiations and ancient battles. Felix was born and bred to a life like this.

I am a fat human girl, a peasant child abandoned at somebody's front door, raised by a single vampire father in a military complex. Felix and I do not belong in the same places. Wherever we are, one of us will not belong there. Felix was not good lying in the back of a trunk, pretending not to exist as we rode through Eskalath. I am not good at sitting around in kitten heels pretending to be dainty and poised.

I don't see Felix. I don't ask where he is or what he is doing, and I simply do not see him. I am invited to dinner, where I meet two of Trysya's sons – Michael and Treman – and a daughter Elissa – but Felix isn't there. Busy, Treman informs me. With what, I don't know, and I don't ask.

I feel odd. Disjoined, somehow. I first felt this way when Felix and I were together without Andrea; now I feel this way with Andrea and no Felix. As if, somehow, the three of us are meant to stay together, as if we are a unit. I suppose we were together for a little too long.

My days blend into each other a little, one bleeding seamlessly to the next. For the most part, I go through motions that leave me dissociating from reality. I feel like a machine on automatic pilot. I get up, I shower, I dress, I eat, I see to my schedule, I go to bed.

Somewhat to my comfort, the wardrobe that is so graciously bestowed upon me isn't terrible. It contains a few dresses that I have to admit are pretty – one or two days dresses, cocktail and formal – but many more casual clothes, sweaters, jeans, slacks. Things that I can put on to chase Andrea around the garden, or her rooms, without ripping a seam.

I am also given more bras than I've ever had at once in my whole life. It feels like a luxury. I know how expensive these things are.

Trysya has to get back to her Queenly duties – Metran is a monarchy by reign, not by rule, so I'm confused as to how busy a Queen can really be, but I don't ask or complain. I am given essential charge of Andrea, and frankly, I'm alright with that.

I'm sure it's not healthy for me to be like this, but at this point? Whatever.

It's two weeks of sweltering summer heat and trying to be alive for Andrea's sake later that I stand at the very bottom of a flight of stairs, staring up at Felix at the top.

It feels like it's been years.

He's kept his hair long – I half expected him to get it cut. I've been thinking about getting my own hair cut, frankly. He's clean shaven. It feels like he got taller, though that's probably just the angle. Still a pretty playboy in every respect.