As soon as Zell appeared, Quistis squeezed her eyes shut in despondence. Even though the Baron was her friend, he was duty-bound to report what he'd seen to her father, which would only lead to one thing—the very thing she'd been trying so hard to avoid.
Marriage.
In front of her, Seifer tensed at the sight of Zell. It was likely that he'd reached the same conclusion that she had, but he was in a much more difficult situation. After all, he was the one who was already engaged, even if he didn't seem to be the biggest advocate of his fiancee.
Knowing that she'd have to be the one to try and diffuse the situation, she let out a sigh and stepped around the Marquess, meeting Zell's irate and slightly baffled gaze. She knew that if Seifer tried to explain anything to Zell, it would likely go in one ear and out the other. Zell wouldn't listen to reason from him, even if there had been any present. In any type of scandalous situation, the blame was always pinned on the man involved. In this particular situation, it didn't matter how many excuses she or Seifer tried to offer—they were actually guilty. Their best bet lied with her.
She approached Zell with her hands in front of her, trying to mollify his irritation at Seifer. "Zell, listen to me. I know it looks bad, but—"
That had apparently been the wrong thing to say. Incensed, Zell pointed at Seifer repeatedly, emphasizing his every word. "I find that it's exactly what it looks like, Quistis. I trust him to be alone with you for an hour or two, and this is what I come back to! He took advantage of you, Quistis! He—"
"Zell, Zell, stop. He didn't take advantage of me," Quistis insisted.
Surprised at her words, he glanced over at her with raised eyebrows. "He didn't?" he echoed in disbelief. Clearly, he didn't buy that in the slightest.
"It was as much my fault as his," she whispered in response. "He might've initiated it, but I chose not to walk away."
"That doesn't matter, Quistis, don't you see? He's the gentleman. It was his responsibility to not initiate it. Especially considering the fact that he's engaged." Zell didn't bother to hide what he thought about Seifer's actions. As much as he and Seifer were friends, Zell had always taken his responsibilities as a member of the peerage to heart. The fact that Seifer had thrown all propriety out the window to make a move on Quistis, one of his close friends, was unacceptable.
Finally, Seifer spoke up. With a slight curl of his lip, he spat, "I never asked to be engaged."
Zell swiped his hand out before curling it into a fist at his side. "That isn't the point, Almasy! You keep missing the crux of the situation!"
When the murmur of other conversations traveled around the corner at the end of the hall, Selphie stepped forward, wringing her hands in front of her. "Perhaps we should take this back into the box? Away from the public eye?"
"A sound idea, Selphie," Quistis noted, and led the group back into Marquess Almasy's box.
Once the heavy velvet curtain had fallen shut behind them, Zell whirled around to face Seifer again. "What are you going to do about this, Almasy? Are you going to rectify the situation like a respected Marquess should?"
Even though Quistis had suspected that being discovered would lead to marriage, she still sucked in a surprised breath when she heard the words leave Zell's mouth. It was silly to be shocked. Both society and the peerage had their rules for handling these situations, and in all possible outcomes, marriage was the ending point. She'd simply hoped that, knowing how she felt about marriage, Zell would opt to let it go.
Desperately, she lunged forward and grabbed Zell's forearm. "Please, Zell, don't tell my father. I realize he wanted me wed within the next few months anyway, but this...he'll be incredibly upset at the way this occurred."
Torn between propriety and his loyalty to her, Zell furrowed his eyebrows. In a low voice, he muttered, "Quistis...I have to."
Apparently, Seifer didn't see eye-to-eye with Zell either in regards to his responsibility. In a terse voice, he said, "Besides, as you've mentioned Zell, I am already engaged."
"That didn't stop you from forcing yourself onto Quistis, did it? So it shouldn't stop you from saving her reputation," Zell replied from between clenched teeth.
Quistis glanced over at Seifer and saw that he was clenching his jaw so tightly, the muscle in his lower cheek was twitching. A few tense seconds passed before he inclined his head in Zell's direction. Afterwards, he faced Quistis with cold, distant eyes. She cringed at how differently he was looking at her now compared to only a few minutes ago, when he'd had her pressed up against the wall.
"Lady Trepe, I beg your pardon for overstepping my boundaries. I can only hope that I've not offended you," Seifer apologized, his words more formal than they'd ever been between them.
"Please don't apologize. It wasn't entirely your fault," she mumbled, both grateful that he was willing to take all of the blame, and feeling abashed for him even having to offer. Clearly, as he well knew, she'd been just as eager.
From the lack of change in his tight expression, she knew that he'd either chosen to ignore her peace offering, or was far too upset to care. From the moment she'd met the Marquess, she could tell that he was a mischievous, impassioned man, albeit a tad bit more sarcastic than she'd expected from a member of the peerage. It was a refreshing change from the rest of the ton though, and she was surprised to realize that she enjoyed their banter. It kept her on her toes, and excited her far more than any conversation she'd had in the past few months.
Now that he was closed off and acting completely opposite than she knew his true personality to be, she found that she missed the other side of him—the true side of him. She also felt wary of the coming days. If they were to be married, is this the Seifer she would know as a husband? Not the one she thought she knew?
"Please expect a visit from me in the morning. It seems I have matters to discuss with Viscount Trepe," Seifer said in a low voice, before bowing to her respectfully. Once he'd straightened, he added, "If you'll excuse me. I find that I no longer am able to enjoy the opera. Feel free to use my box for the remainder of the night."
Quickly, he about-faced and strode out of the box, and the curtain fell back with a heavy swoosh. Again, Quistis cringed at his stiff, proper words. With a deep sigh, she faced Zell and Selphie. The Baron had his arms crossed tightly over his chest and was glaring down at the floor, while her handmaiden was watching her closely, her eyebrows lowered in concern.
"M'lady…" Selphie started to say, before trailing off in uncertainty.
Quistis shook her head slowly, offering a small and unconvincing smile. On the inside, she dreaded tomorrow's events with all of her being. But it wasn't proper to fall apart at the seams at the opera house, of all places. She'd save that for the safety of her own room. In an attempt to stay strong, she reassured, "It's all right. It is my own fault."
That elicited a snort from Zell, who looked up at Quistis. "Hardly your fault, Quistis. Seifer is a rake and a cad, and I shouldn't have trusted him enough to leave you alone with him."
"Zell, please. It really isn't entirely his fault. I had the opportunity to stop him, and I'm afraid my...curiosity got the best of me," she admitted, looking down at the floor.
"Curiosity?" Zell echoed, looking confused.
Embarrassed that she'd admitted that aloud, Quistis shook her head again. "Nothing, I don't know what I meant. My thoughts are all muddled from the past few minutes."
Derisively, Zell raised an eyebrow at her. Quistis had never been one to swoon or be overtaken by emotions very easily. In fact, she prided herself on being one of the more practical ladies of the ton. So not only had her last statement been rather uncharacteristic, but her reaction to Seifer's advances had also been out of order for her. The "Ice Queen" simply didn't lock lips with a marquess in dark opera boxes, and yet, that's exactly what she'd done.
Out of concern, he laid a hand on her arm and asked, "Do you wish to stay and finish the opera? Or do you want me to take you home early?"
She glanced over at Selphie, who looked ready to burst from curiosity, and stifled a laugh. Despite the bleak outcome of the night, she could always count on her friend to lift her spirits. "I think perhaps it would be best if we headed home. Perhaps I should explain what happened to my father before the Marquess comes to call in the morning."
Zell grimaced, before reluctantly nodding in agreement. The Viscount wasn't strict with only his daughter. He was strict and generally unfavorable with nearly everyone he came in contact with. When they were younger, Zell had had his fair share of interaction with the Viscount, and he clearly didn't think that Quistis' talk with her father would go well.
He led them out of the opera house and once they were standing outside, he ordered for his carriage to be brought around. While they waited, he offered Quistis his coat, which she politely declined. It was spring in Deling, and the cool night breeze was a welcome respite from their prior excitement. A few minutes later, Zell's carriage pulled up to the end of the walkway. The Baron helped the ladies climb in before he too stepped inside, and his groom shut the door behind them.
With a whoop from the coachmen, they were off and heading back for Trepe Manor. Much of the ride was spent in silence, with Selphie occasionally nudging Quistis in the side. Every time she did so, Quistis glanced over at her with a meaningful look in Zell's direction. Their gossip would have to wait; there were certain things she didn't wish to say in the presence of the Baron, no matter how close of friends they might be. Besides, they'd just gotten the chance to reconnect. She didn't want him thinking she was a wanton now, did she?
Then again, her actions tonight probably proved that to be more true than any words she could've said.
Sooner than Quistis would've liked, the carriage came to a stop in front of Trepe Manor's grand entrance. Now that night had fallen, the staff had lit all of the lanterns lining the circular drive. When Zell climbed out of the carriage and turned to offer his hand to her, a soft halo illuminated his silhouette. Oddly enough, despite the fact that she'd never once harbored amorous feelings towards her friend, she wondered why she didn't just marry him. As soon as that thought flitted across her mind, she immediately squelched it, and placed her hand in his with a light smile. He was a wonderful friend, and she knew that he meant well, but she'd avoided other suitors for the very same reason she couldn't marry Zell: it would be a loveless marriage, and she couldn't willingly subject herself to that.
No, instead she'd acted rashly and mistakenly done it.
After Zell helped Selphie out of the carriage, he escorted them to the front door. He offered a customary bow, and once he straightened, he looked at Quistis with an expression akin to regret. "Quistis, I'm so incredibly sorry for what happened tonight. I know you've been avoiding marriage to the wrong man like the plague, and all I've done is bring it upon you."
Frustrated at his insistence of taking the blame, Quistis exhaled as she briefly shut her eyes. "Zell...it is not your fault. The blame lies with the Marquess and myself. It was a stupid thing to do, and I knew it was even as it happened. I don't want you to leave tonight and continue thinking that you caused this. You didn't."
"But what if after you two wed, you realize that Almasy is a horrible man? Or what if he's abusive? Or—"
Quistis held up her hand, cutting Zell off. "I highly doubt you would be close friends with such an atrocious man. He is your friend, is he not?" Zell nodded, and Quistis finished with, "Then have a little more faith in him. I do admit that I don't know him at all, beyond the two times we've seen each other, but...it could be worse. It could be the Marquess of Esthar, or the Duke of Dollet."
Zell frowned and commented, "The Marquess of Esthar isn't that bad. I consider him to be somewhat of a friend."
"That may be, but I've heard he isn't exactly amiable."
"Well...no, I suppose not. He is rather hard to speak to," Zell begrudgingly admitted.
She waved her hand in the air dismissively. "Anyway, my point is...as unfortunate as it is, what's done is done. If the Marquess does indeed appear tomorrow to speak with my father, then...well, at least on the positive side, he's respectable and responsible."
"Hardly two words I'd ever use to describe him."
"That's not reassuring in the slightest, Zell."
"Sorry, sorry." He took her hands in his own, despite the fact that it was generally frowned upon to do so unless they were courting. Surprised, she glanced down at their joined hands, before meeting Zell's bright blue eyes. "Quistis, promise me that if he ever treats you wrong, you'll tell me. I know you've told me not to feel responsible, but I couldn't ignore the guilt if he made for a bad husband."
Warmth spread through her chest at Zell's kind-heartedness. She smiled and said, "I promise, Zell. Thank you."
He glanced at the door behind her. "I'll let you speak to your father, then. If that's what you prefer?"
She smiled and returned the gesture. "It is. It would be worse coming from you than from me, though I know that seems impossible to believe."
With that, the Baron nodded and placed a chaste kiss on the top of her hand before returning to his carriage. As his coachman whipped the reins and the carriage lurched forward, Zell nodded once in Quistis' direction. She raised her hand in farewell, and once he was gone from the driveway, Biggs opened the door for her and Selphie.
The second the door shut behind them, Selphie grabbed Quistis' hand and darted directly in front of her. "M'lady, what are you going to do?" she hissed under her breath.
"The only thing I can do, Selphie." As much as she didn't wish to be married at all, she'd gotten herself into this mess, and knew that there was only one way out of it. Thanks to Zell's reprimand, the Marquess now felt that it was his duty to marry her. If the few, brief glimpses of his personality that she'd gotten thus far rang true, he was every bit as likely to show up in the morning as he'd said.
"But, but, you don't even know him!"
"I didn't know any of the previous suitors, either. At least I've held a conversation with the Marquess. That's more than I can say for anyone else," Quistis mumbled, in an attempt to reassure both Selphie and herself.
"M'lady…"
"Selphie, please...stop. I know that you're concerned, but I—" Quistis broke off and took a deep, shaky breath. "I'm more upset than I seem to be, trust me."
"Oh dear, I've gone and made it worse, haven't I?" Selphie exclaimed, stomping her foot in frustration.
Quistis reached up and touched her friend's cheek in an attempt to comfort her. "I'm not sure that anything could have made this worse, Selphie, let alone you."
"I know just the thing to get your mind off of this! At least, for tonight. It's a good, piping hot bath! I'll go and get it ready but, m'lady, are you going to go and tell your father?"
"I should at least try to warn him…"
Selphie winced, not unlike the way Zell had when Quistis had mentioned her father at the opera house. After a comforting squeeze of her hand, Selphie bounded off and headed upstairs. Once her handmaiden had disappeared down the hall, Quistis let out a long, drained sigh as she knocked on the door of her father's study.
This wasn't bound to end well.
The next morning.
Quistis woke to the sound of birds chirping, and the warm slant of the sun's rays coming in through her arched window. Groggily, she cracked open her puffy eyes and squinted up at the brightness, irritated that the creatures of nature could start their day on such a positive note. Today was officially the end of her life as she knew it, and here they were, serenading her back to the land of rules and propriety.
Oh, how she wished she could tell propriety, responsibility, and frankly, all of society, to sod off.
With a groan, she turned away from the window and pulled her thick comforter over her head to block out the light. Not a minute later, her bedroom door cracked open and Selphie's voice called out to her.
"M'lady, are you awake?"
She let out another groan, and Selphie giggled in response as she approached the bed. Gently, the blanket was tugged down, and Quistis opened her left eye to glare up at her handmaiden.
"I'm sorry, m'lady. We've got to get you ready. The Marquess sent a messenger ahead of time to let us know that he'd be here in a couple of hours."
"Oh Hyne, don't remind me," Quistis grumble, reaching for the blanket again.
"I have to, m'lady. That's my job," Selphie replied, oddly cheerful considering the day's impending event. She tugged the blanket back down, and finally, Quistis gave up.
After sitting up in bed, she stared despondently across the room as she mumbled, "How can you be so happy, Selphie?"
"Well, look at the bright side, m'lady. I get to go with you."
Sharply, Quistis looked up at Selphie. "You do? Did my father agree to this? He told me last night that you'd have to remain here."
During the entire fiasco, Quistis had seemed calm on the outside, taking it all in stride. Truthfully, on the inside, she'd been panicking. She knew that the Marquess was duty and honor-bound to marry her in order to save her reputation, and she'd clung to that knowledge in the immediate aftermath. It was simply duty, nothing more. In fact, that was exactly what her father had said when he'd first announced his stipulation that she marry within six months. Someone needed to inherit the Trepe line, and that someone couldn't be Quistis.
She'd never made it a secret that marriage wasn't what she wanted—or at least, marriage to a man who didn't love her, or even remotely care to know what made her who she was. At first, she hadn't taken things seriously, turning down every suitor that her father had managed to find. As the weeks passed, she came to realize how serious her father had truly been, and was slowly resigning herself to a life of unhappiness.
Last night at the opera, when Seifer's strong, muscular arms had been around her, she'd come to understand just how desperate she was to escape that life of responsibility and duty. Feeling trapped and frantic in the face of her future, she'd kissed him back. Of course it would be that very act of desperation that would send her tumbling down the path she'd tried to avoid.
To top all of that off, her father had informed her that if the Marquess did in fact come to ask for her hand, that certain things would inevitably change. As a marchioness, she'd likely be appointed a new handmaiden, as well as learn how to run the Marquess' household. Once she'd come of age, her mother had started transitioning certain tasks to Quistis' supervision, so running a household didn't particularly concern her. It was the change of handmaidens that did. Selphie had been with her since they were both young, and she couldn't imagine moving to a new and unknown home without her friend by her side.
So, after Selphie had left her room last night, Quistis had finally let go. She'd cried over her lack of luck, about the imminent marriage she'd never wanted, over how lonely she'd be, and finally, over her own stupidity. Once the tears had subsided, she'd laid there in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her thoughts wandered, and finally, she came to the decision that she would make the best of this situation. No, she hadn't wanted this marriage. But at least he was a Marquess, he could give her a good home, and a good life. He wasn't old and decrepit—in fact, he was actually rather handsome—and by Hyne could he kiss…
Selphie smiled and flounced down onto the bed beside Quistis. "Yes! He told me that he'd discuss things with the Marquess, but if you insisted on bringing me, he'd probably let you." In a flurry of movement, Selphie sat up and placed her hand over Quistis'. "You'll insist, right m'lady? I don't want to stay here without you!"
"Oh Selphie, I could hardly go without you. Of course I'll insist!"
Relieved, Selphie pushed herself up off the bed and held her hands out, palm up. "Well come on, then. Let's get you ready for a marriage proposal!"
Over the next hour, Selphie made sure every inch of Quistis' body was cleaned and shined to perfection. Her long, blonde waves were softer than a down feather, and perfectly coiffed up in a formal up-do, complete with pearl pins. Though she normally abided by the rules and wore dresses in more demure shades, when Selphie held up a gown that was a deep, rich crimson silk, a slow smile spread out across Quistis' face. Let the Marquess know he wasn't receiving a docile, prim and proper wife then, if that's what he truly preferred. He'd commented on her love of propriety more than once, and what better way to shock him than appearing in this?
Selphie lifted it up and over her head, and once it was settled on her, she started buttoning the trail of fastenings that ran up along the back of the dress. Once she was finished, she procured a glossy ribbon in the same shade and tied it around Quistis' waist, forming a neat bow in the back. Quistis reached for the long pair of white gloves that lay on her vanity, and concentrated on tugging them up to her elbows, while Selphie applied a light layer of makeup to her face. She'd never cared for makeup, but her friend insisted on accentuating her "already gorgeous features". More often than not, she cut Selphie off after a bit of lip rouge and eye kohl. Anything more made it feel like she was wearing pounds upon pounds of product on her face.
When Selphie stepped back, she tilted her head from side to side as she inspected Quistis' finished appearance. After she nodded in satisfaction, Quistis rose to her feet. As if on cue, a light knock rapped at the door and Selphie hurried over to it. When she opened it, Biggs was standing on the other side. Quistis opened the door and stood behind Selphie, which prompted a bow from the butler.
"Lady Trepe, your father wishes to see you in the drawing room. Your guest should be arriving within the next few minutes."
"Thank you, Biggs. Tell my father I will be there momentarily."
Biggs bowed again before heading back down the hall. Quistis and Selphie stepped out, and after closing the door, Selphie slipped her hand into Quistis' as they followed the butler's path. "M'lady, are you nervous?"
She hadn't wanted to admit it aloud, but as she pressed her hand to her stomach, she found that it was shaking ever so slightly. "Perhaps a bit. What if Zell's right and he's an awful man, or expects me to stay home and knit doilies all day, or—"
Selphie rushed forward and grasped both of Quistis' hands. "M'lady, don't think that way! It'll work out, you'll see! After all, you enjoyed his company at the opera, didn't you?"
"I suppose in more ways than one, yes…"
"Then it'll be great! 'Course a husband is pretty different from a regular man, but—"
"Thank you for the encouraging words, Selphie." Quistis let out a deep sigh and added, "I don't think we can stall any longer. Let's go see my father."
After they reached the bottom of the stairs, Biggs opened the door to the drawing room for them, and the girls headed inside. Viscount Trepe was standing at the opposite end of the room, facing away from them with his hands held behind his back. Selphie offered one last encouraging hug to Quistis, before joining the small gathering of servants that stood along the perimeter of the room.
Once Quistis was standing just behind her father in the middle of the room, she cleared her throat to gain his attention. Slowly, at a perfectly measured speed to keep his guest waiting longer than was polite, he faced his daughter. It was a measure of his control over the situation, and it never failed to irritate Quistis. The coarse hairs of his mustache twitched in displeasure when he took in the color of Quistis' dress, as well as the risque shade of her lips, but he didn't comment otherwise on her appearance; she surmised that he must've decided to choose his battles wisely today. After all, he was getting what he wanted out of her.
In his usual commanding, brisk tone, he said, "Marquess Almasy should be here within a quarter hour. Though it astounds me that you've managed to land yourself a fiancee who is a member of the peerage, I must applaud you for a job well done."
The fact that her father had twisted his praise and congratulations into a backhanded compliment offended Quistis, and she bristled. Apparently, she wasn't even deserving of an honest compliment. "It's hardly a job well done to become engaged. He wasn't some animal I needed to catch."
"Oh, my daughter. He was exactly that. Considering the far from ideal reputation you managed to give yourself amongst the ton, I have to admit that 'catching' a husband was a challenge I did not expect you to overcome. Even if it was in a manner less than proper."
Surprise overtook Quistis, and she repeated, "A manner less than proper? What do you mean?"
She hadn't told her father last night exactly how she and the Marquess had come to be acquainted. She'd simply said that he could expect a visit from the Marquess in the morning, provided he'd meant what he'd said. Livid at first at the unexpected delivery of her news, his anger had quickly transformed into satisfaction at the knowledge that his lineage would continue on, and that for once, his headstrong and wayward daughter had actually done as he'd asked. So how did he find out about what had happened at the opera?
"I have my informants, Quistis. While I didn't specify how you needed to find a husband, I would've expected you to exercise caution, and to exhibit decorum in your search. Throwing yourself to a marquess in his private box is hardly proper."
Quistis gasped at her father's words, and his harsh judgment of her character. He'd never been a kind father; he wasn't prone to offering affection, praise, or encouragement, but he'd never been downright cruel. The fact that he was more willing to believe his "informants" over his own daughter, and to basically outright call her a whore, hurt more than she'd ever thought it could have.
"Forgive me, father," she muttered, her voice shaking with both hurt and anger. "Perhaps you should have specified, then. I was under the impression you didn't care what I did, or who I married, so long as I was out of the house within six months."
"You're right, I didn't. But somehow, you managed to disappoint me still," he replied, his expression devoid of any emotion.
Quistis blinked back the sudden sting of tears, before clenching her jaw. Before she had a chance to respond, Biggs knocked at the door to the drawing room, entering once her father called out to him.
Their loyal butler adjusted his tailcoat and pulled his shoulders back, standing prim and proper in the doorway. "My lord, the Marquess of Balamb is here to see Lady Trepe."
"Let him in," Viscount Trepe instructed, beckoning for Quistis to stand by his side. Though it left a bitter taste in her mouth to stand at her father's side so soon after he rebuked her, she acquiesced and folded her hands in front of her once she'd faced the door.
Biggs moved out of the doorway and bowed, holding his arm out to the side. Marquess Almasy, in all of his tailored, suited glory, stepped into the room, removing his top hat before inclining his head in her father's direction. Afterwards, he approached Quistis and bowed a bit deeper than he had in greeting to the Viscount, grasping her gloved hand in his to plant a kiss on top. Surprised, her mouth fell open briefly before she closed it with a snap.
Was this truly the same man she'd met before? Gone was the playful, flirtatious man she'd met on two occasions. This man was the very picture of decorum and propriety.
"Lady Trepe, it is a pleasure to see you again," he greeted in his deep baritone. His gaze flickered up to hers, and she caught a brief glimpse of the brilliant shade of his irises before he looked to her father.
"Viscount Trepe, if you would be so kind as to grant us a moment alone?"
The corner of her father's lips twitched, before he gestured for the servants to exit the room. Following after them, he paused in the doorway and gave Quistis a single, terse nod, before closing the door behind him. Somehow, his last command to her before leaving the room irritated her even further, and she subconsciously tightened her grip on the Marquess' hand.
When he winced, she immediately dropped her hand. "I'm so sorry, my lord, I didn't—"
"It's quite all right. You caught me more by surprise than anything."
She cleared her throat nervously as he took a step back. His eyes drifted down her body, from the perfectly styled up-do to the hem of her dress. It felt like he was undressing her with his eyes, and this time when she cleared her throat, it was sharper than the last. "Marquess Almasy."
A slow grin spread out across his face as he lifted his eyes to hers. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you to wear such an...adventurous color."
I suppose I asked for that, she reprimanded herself. On the other hand, there was the man she knew.
"I've been told that red looks good on me," she offered in a nonchalant manner.
From anyone else, it might sound as if they were fishing for compliments. To Quistis, it truly didn't matter. She'd been told time and time again that she was beautiful, that her figure left little to be desired for she was the epitome of desire itself, and so on, so forth. By this point in her life, they were just words.
"That it does," he murmured, and the deep caress of his voice swirled around her, threatening to pull her in. He'd had much the same effect on her at the opera house, and she cursed herself for acting like a weak-minded female in his presence. It could only harm her to succumb to his charms, as she'd already discovered.
So, defensively, she snapped at him. "I'm afraid we're not married yet. It's hardly appropriate for you to be commenting on my appearance in such a lewd manner, my lord."
At the tone of her voice, he narrowed his eyes. "I am quite aware of that, Lady Trepe. I was simply trying to lessen the tension between us. Listen, this proposal can go one of two ways: I can attempt to be romantic for your sake, or we can bicker our way through it, leaving you with a less than ideal memory of the day you got engaged. I hear women are sentimentally attached to things like that. Your choice."
"Why don't you surprise me?" she sneered, irked at his arrogancy.
"Very well, then. You and I will wed in a fortnight. It will be a short engagement, simply for the sake of preserving what little is left of your reputation. You will move into my estate immediately after, so pack your things before the wedding. Do you have any requests?"
By this point, Quistis was nearly shaking with uncontrollable anger. "That sounded more like a demand than a proposal, my lord."
"That's because that's exactly what it was."
"How are you any different from my father, then? Is this how our marriage is going to be? You ordering me about and I'm just supposed to listen to you?" she demanded.
"Oh, I knew from the first moment I saw you in those gardens that you were not a woman who could be controlled. At the time, it excited me, it aroused me." Quistis gasped at his forwardness. Seifer took a step forward and grabbed her chin. "While I can see that you're going to be a handful, I would never dream of caging you and expect you to listen to my every command. In fact, you would disappoint me if you did."
She tried to pull away, but he didn't loosen his grip. "Your 'proposal' did little to reassure me of your character, my lord."
Finally, he let go of her chin and stepped back, running his hand through his hair. His fingers left wide grooves in his golden locks, and he sighed when he looked at her again. "I apologize. Somehow, you rile me up more than anyone else I've ever known."
Uncertain what to make of that, Quistis' gaze flitted about the room before meeting the Marquess' again. "I admit to the same," she whispered.
Slowly, as if he didn't wish to spook her, he stepped forward again. When he stood just before her, he reached out and ran the back of his hand down her cheek. "I know that it's no consolation, but I didn't want this either."
Another flare of anger surged through her, and she indignantly mumbled, "That doesn't help in the slightest."
As if he'd expected her to accept his pseudo-apology, he let out an irritated sigh and backed away, throwing his hands up in the air before letting them drop to his hips. Pacing away from her, he shook his head and muttered something under his breath.
Quistis raised an eyebrow and in a stiff tone of voice, pressed, "What was that, my lord?"
A sharp exhale left him, and he whirled around to glare at her. "Nothing," he spat.
She refused to buy that and crossed her arms, returning his heated stare. A few seconds passed before he strode over to her so quickly that she backed up a few steps in surprise. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small, navy blue, velvet box.
After thrusting it into her hand, he declared, "Despite the fact that both of us would rather remain single forever, fate has decided otherwise for us. Here. Take your Hyne-damned bauble, and I suppose I shall see you at the altar!"
With that, he spun on his heel and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
She stood there, frozen in shock at his abrupt and rather rude departure. I suppose that was his version of a proposal. What a lucky woman I am, she thought bitterly.
A few seconds passed with her seething in anger as she absentmindedly rubbed the soft surface of the box. Eventually, her curiosity won her over and she opened it, intrigued by what could be inside. Somehow, the concept of jewelry hadn't even crossed her mind. When she saw the ring that lay nested within, she gasped.
A large, oval opal rested in the center of the ring, flanked all around by a multitude of sparkling diamonds. The glistening clear gemstones looked like the petals of a flower, and the rose gold band caused the colored veins of the opal to pop even more. It was absolutely breathtaking, and not even remotely close to what she'd expected. In fact, she'd expected not to receive a ring at all.
As she traced the circular edge of the opal, alone in her father's grandiose drawing room, she whispered dejectedly, "Well...I suppose I'm getting married, then."
A/N:
This story liiiiives! Now that the semester is over, I'm trying to catch up on all of my WIPs. Sorry for the long wait D:
This chapter could've easily gone one of two ways. I could've had them not marry, and had subsequent chapters fleshing out their awkward and tense relationship. However, considering the way they were found and that if Quistis herself hadn't told her father, Zell would have, it seemed more likely that they'd have to marry. Also, I read a novel once where the main characters were forced to wed and learning to love one another made for quite a thrilling and fluffy experience. So I decided to go that route. Hope you guys like the path I chose :x
Many thanks to StarryNight101 and Strings805 for beta-reading :)
Also, many many thanks to everyone who still cares about this story, despite my horrendous track record on updating. Special (belated) thank yous to Lecritic, Pirotessa, Sapphire Lazulii, EnigeIets, and StarryNight101 for the reviews. I'm so incredibly lucky that I get the nicest guest reviewers!
See you guys next chapter!