//CLARA//
The days after the proposal were quieter.
Felipe and I had settled into sothing that felt almost like real friendship, not the strained performance of the first week. He didn’t look at like he was waiting for to change my mind.
He just... was.
And sohow, that made everything easier.
We visited an orphanage together. Aunt Cornelia insisted, of course. She was still angling for a public display of affection, sothing the papers could capture. But Felipe turned it into sothing genuine. He asked questions. He listened. He knelt in the dirt to speak to a child who was too scared to et his eyes.
I just watched him and felt sothing loosen in my chest.
This could have been my life, I thought. Kindness. Sunlight. A man who kneels in the dirt for no reason other than to make a child feel seen.
I didn’t regret my choice. But for a mont, I let myself wonder.
We toured New York like tourists.
Felipe had never seen Central Park in autumn. I watched his face light up as the carriage rolled through the arches, the leaves turning gold and crimson above us.
"It’s beautiful," he said.
"It’s even better on foot."
I didn’t wait for permission. I climbed out of the carriage and offered him my hand.
Aunt Cornelia sputtered behind us. "Eleanor, you cannot simply—"
"Stay in the carriage, Auntie. We won’t wander far."
She glared. But she stayed.
We walked along the bridle path, past the swans gliding across the lake. An old woman sold breadcrumbs in paper cones, and Felipe bought three, handing one with a grin.
"Have you ever fed a swan?"
"They’re vicious," I warned.
"Perfect."
He approached the water’s edge like a man approaching a battlefield. The swans hissed. He threw the breadcrumbs anyway, laughing when they flapped their wings.
"They hate ," he said.
"They hate everyone."
"Sohow, that makes feel better."
We wandered past the rchandise stalls next. Felipe stopped at every one, examining the trinkets with the curiosity of a child. He bought a paperweight shaped like a swan and a tin of violet mints that tasted like perfu.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him I hated violet. I kept them anyway.
Aunt Cornelia watched us like a hawk.
Every glance, every laugh, every ti Felipe leaned close to point out sothing in the distance, she catalogued it all, filing it away as evidence of a courtship that no longer existed.
She didn’t know we’d already had the conversation.
At dinner, Aunt Cornelia sat at the end of the table, her eyes darting between us like she was waiting for a bomb to go off.
I cut my roast beef into tiny pieces. Then she cleared her throat.
Neither of us looked up.
She cleared it again. Louder.
I set down my knife. "Auntie, would you like so ginger tea? Your throat seems to be troubling you."
Her eyes narrowed. "Is there sothing you wish to share with us? Perhaps... good news?"
Felipe looked at . I looked at him.
His lips twitched. "Ah, yes. We do have good news. Isn’t that right, Eleanor?"
I blinked at him, confused. What are you doing?
His expression turned playful. "Rember? The orphanage. The one I’m funding."
My shoulders relaxed. "Ah, yes. So kind-hearted of you, Felipe. It is indeed great news. Isn’t it, Aunt Cornelia?"
Aunt Cornelia’s face darkened. She knew exactly what we were doing.
"The Eleanor Thorne Orphanage," Felipe continued. "For underprivileged children in the Five Points. I’ve been speaking with the archdiocese. We’ll break ground in the spring."
"How... charitable," Aunt Cornelia muttered.
"We’re quite excited," I said, buttering a roll. "Aren’t we, Felipe?"
"Thrilled."
We talked around her until Aunt Cornelia could take no more.
"I have no interest in street urchins or your charitable whims. Are you engaged or not?"
The room went silent.
Felipe stared at . The sadness flickered in his eyes for a split second. I felt a sudden, sharp pang of guilt twist in my gut.
He reached out, covering my hand with his. He looked at Aunt Cornelia with royal dignity I hadn’t seen him use before.
"I am afraid, Madam, that I cannot pursue Eleanor as I had hoped."
Aunt Cornelia’s jaw literally dropped. "What? Why?"
"My father, the King, has called to service. The rebellion in Cuba grows more desperate by the week. I am to join the army imdiately upon my return to Madrid."
He shifted his attention to and offered a wry smile. "The King gave his blessing to visit Eleanor one last ti. A final wish before I face the smoke of war."
The words landed like stones in a pond. It was the perfect lie.
"I will not tie a woman like Eleanor to a man who may return in a casket, or not at all. It would be the height of selfishness." His voice was soft. "Eleanor deserves better than that."
My throat tightened.
Aunt Cornelia’s face cycled through fury. Then sothing worse.
"You’re... you’re leaving?"
"At the end of the month."
"And the engagent?"
"There is no engagent."
The silence that followed was absolute. I could hear the fire crackling in the hearth. The servants had stopped pretending to work. Everyone was watching.
Aunt Cornelia set down her fork. Her hands were trembling.
"I see."
She didn’t say anything else after that.
After dinner, I found Felipe on the terrace.
He was standing at the railing, staring out at the garden, the moonlight silvering his hair. I stood beside him, letting the silence envelop us before speaking.
"You didn’t have to do that."
"Do what?"
"Make look good. You could have told her the truth. That I said no."
A faint smile lifted his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes.
"I wanted her to think well of you. She is your family."
"She’s a nightmare."
"She’s all you have right now."
My voice deserted . The silence stretched before I found the courage to speak again.
"Felipe," I started. "Is it true? About the war?"
He didn’t answer at first.
"My father gave two options," he said finally. "Find a bride. Or join the army."
The words settled like ice in my veins.
"You ca to Newport to find a wife."
"I ca to Newport and found you." He turned to , his expression soft, sad, impossibly gentle. "I thought... if I was going to choose soone, I wanted it to be soone I actually wanted. Not a transaction. Not a political alliance. Soone who made feel alive."
"And I said no."
"And you said no."
The guilt crushed . I had known he was kind. I had known he was lonely. But I hadn’t known what was waiting for him back in Madrid. What he was going back to.
"I could have chosen anyone," he continued. "My father didn’t care who, as long as I ca ho with a bride. But I didn’t want anyone. I wanted you."
He turned to look at the moon.
"And now I have no bride. So I go to war."
"Felipe—"
"I ant what I said." His voice was steady, even as his eyes glistened. "You deserve soone you love. Not a marriage of convenience wrapped in a crown."
"You deserve soone too."
He smiled. "I know. Maybe I’ll find her. Soday soon. If I survive the war."
Survive the war.
There might not be an after. That broke .
I didn’t an to cry. The tears just ca, spilling down my cheeks before I could stop them. I pressed my hand to my mouth, trying to hold it in, and swallow a sob. But it was too late.
Felipe didn’t say anything. He just opened his arms and pulled close.
I fell into him.
He held tightly, one hand pressed against the back of my head, the other wrapped around my shoulders. He didn’t shush . He didn’t tell it would be alright.
He just let cry, my tears soaking into his coat, my body shaking against his chest.
When I finally pulled back, my face was blotchy, my eyes swollen.
He reached up and wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumb.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"For what?" I hiccuped, and it’s ugly.
"For being honest with . For not pretending. For not playing upon my affections when you could have. For saving from a marriage built on lies."
I wanted to tell him that he was too good for war. Too good for the world, really. But the words stuck in my throat.
That night, I sat at my desk and stared at a blank page.
The fire crackled. The clock ticked. Sowhere in the West, Casimir was probably reading a ledger by lamplight, not thinking of at all.
I picked up my pen. I set it down.
I picked it up again. I wrote four words.
Co ho soon. Please.
I folded the paper. Sealed it. Addressed it to his hotel in Chicago.
I didn’t send it. I burned it in the fire, watching the flas curl the edges, turn the words to ash.
Ten more days.
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