A/N: TW for abusive relationships starting at "I'm going to Paris"
That Meghan Markle interview...dear LORD do I have some feelings about that. I pulled a ton of inspiration from that interview to make the end of this chapter. I'd like to think the Illéan government is past pulling the race-card, but we all know Kiera's world was as white as Wonder Bread, and Elodie's an heir with a Hispanic husband and mixed daughter. Cue the bigotry and the fallout of this chapter. The alternative title was "The Thing About Dante and Ezra's Bromance". Enjoy!
The Thing About the Press
The thing about the press was, it was a necessary evil.
Personally, Elodie hated the cameras, and she knew her siblings did too. Growing up in the midst of it all was not easy. Living in it now was even worse. But Elodie understood that in order to justify a lifestyle paid for by the people, they had to be seen by the people. Seen and approved.
Fridays night were for The Report, the pillar upon which the royalty-commoner connection was founded, and this episode was highly anticipated. Delia held up her end of the bargain, which meant that the stage was set with rows of chairs. The Selected would be here any moment...what was left of them. But Elodie wasn't going to go there.
Technically she didn't have to be present for tonight's episode. Mom and Dad had done their bit, and Elodie didn't have a spot this week. Everything had gone to the wayside for these 'exclusive interviews', a worthwhile sacrifice in order to drive up Selection approval ratings. Less than a month in and they weren't as bad as Dad's, but they were pretty close, and Dad's was after a Selected was executed. Elodie blamed the lack of footage. Hopefully these interviews were just the thing to swing the ratings in the crown's favor.
Hopefully.
The lights went up and Midas stepped on stage, taking his place at the podium. He had cue cards in his hands, along with a teleprompter if he got lost, but he rarely needed them. Running The Report literally ran in Midas' blood. He wasn't who Elodie was worried about.
Midas waved his hand and the Selected filed on stage and took their seats, each dressed sharply in a suit of their choosing. Some of them had interesting choices, but nothing Elodie worried about causing a scandal. She wished Jordan was here; he'd know what to say to calm her down. He told her he would meet her before they started rolling, but there was less than a minute to show time and he wasn't anywhere in the crowd.
Stage technicians shut the doors. The cameraman started the countdown.
"We're on in three...two...one - "
"Hello citizens of Illéa and welcome to a very special edition of The Report! For the next thirty minutes, we will get up close and personal with Princess Cordelia's Selected, and hopefully get to learn a little bit more about the one who will eventually become Illéa's future prince." Midas turned away from the camera to face the rows of seated Selected "Gentlemen, thank you for joining me tonight. You all look very sharp, I must say."
A few of the Selected preened. Others sat up a little straighter, their confidence boosted and nerves soothed. Midas really did know how to break the ice.
"Now, before we get into things, I just want to say congratulations on making it this far. I hear there were some unexpected goodbyes this morning."
"Yeah, Ronan and Chuck left right before we came on set," Teo said. His hands shook as he wrung them. Clearly, he was still coming down from the high of not being eliminated. Elodie remembered those days. She couldn't stop shaking for hours after she sent someone home, constantly asking herself if she had made some terrible mistake.
"Were any of you close to them?" Midas asked the group. There were a few nods, a few muted yeses and nos. Midas nodded and asked, "So, what does one do to get the boot from the princess? Eat with their mouth open? Forget to compliment her dress?"
"Nah, man. Hard to tell. It could've been anything," Andre said, shaking his head. There was a smile on his face but it was a little more bitter than amused.
"Oh? Please elaborate."
"What he means is that the princess has high standards. She should only expect the best from a future husband and a future prince." Jae lounged back in his chair, face split in an arrogant grin like the Cheshire Cat. "Perhaps Ronan and Chuck just weren't fit to wear the crown."
That was a bold statement if Elodie ever heard one. Someone in the audience gasped, another snickered. A few of the Selected shifted in their seats; glares were shot in Jae's direction.
Midas took a second to recover and regain control of the narrative.
"You are absolutely right, Mister Kim. Why should we not want anything but the best for our princess? Am I right folks?" The crowd applauded in support of Midas, who shuffled the cards on his podium and devoted his attention to Jae. "But the question remains: who is the best? There have been reports of some tension between you, Mister Kim, and the other Selected surrounding your status as a participant."
If there really was tension, Jae wasn't bothered by it. He flicked an invisible speck of dirt off the cuff of his ridiculously expensive suit. "Yes. There are some who definitely make it known that I am not welcome here."
This was news to Elodie. The crowd murmured amongst themselves, intrigued.
"Why is that?"
"They think I have no right to be part of the Selection because they believe I am not Illéan."
"And are you? Illéan?" Midas pressed.
"I don't see you asking anyone else to prove their citizenship on live television, Midas. Why is that?" Jae flashed his most winning smile as he turned the table on Midas. Midas flushed red enough to bleed through his heavy foundation. He was treading thin ice and he knew it. Jae looked rather pleased with himself, as if tricking Midas into a sticky situation was his end goal. The little shit. Politician's son through and through.
Elodie gave Midas a look that told him to change gears. Better an abrupt stop to conversation than allegations that The Report host was a racist.
"If you married Princess Cordelia, would you insist on moving to New Asia?"
"It is definitely a discussion worth having. After all, my family is very influential in her Imperial Majesty's court. Princess Cordelia has four older siblings to rule Illéa. I see no reason why our arrangements as a couple could not be more flexible."
"Definitely something to consider for the future," Midas agreed. The lack of a question meant that Jae's segment was over. Elodie didn't blame Midas for cutting that bit short; she was glad she didn't need to hit the emergency commercial break button.
"Speaking of someone with lots of options to consider, Mister Thompson, you received a hefty scholarship to play football, isn't that right?"
"Yeah, Bonita University offered me a full ride to be their first-string wide receiver, going on three years now. Been to the playoffs twice, won the championship last year."
The crowd applauded Andre with gusto, and Andre ducked his head at the attention. He ran one hand over his head to hide his blush. It was actually endearing that a man so used to spotlights and crowds was so humble in front of a camera. Elodie had expected Jae's ego to belong to Andre, if she were honest.
"Congratulations. That's no small feat."
"Thank you."
Next to Andre, Dante couldn't stop smiling and staring like an idiot. It was like he couldn't help himself, and Midas took notice.
"What's going on, Mister Wallace-Chavaria?" Midas asked, amused. "You having a moment?"
"Yeah, yeah." Dante took a breath and shook his head, but the goofy smile never left. "It's just surreal. I love college football. I watch the Jaguars play religiously. Like, never miss a game. I still can't believe I'm sitting next to him."
Andre threw an arm over the back of Dante's chair, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him in to a side hug. "He says that like I haven't already whooped his ass in a pick up game."
Dante let Andre squeeze him a little longer before he squirmed to get out of Andre's grasp. It was a good thing that the Selected were getting on so well. At least that was one less thing Elodie had to worry about.
"Do you guys do that a lot? Pick up a ball and toss it around," Midas asked.
"Yeah. Whenever it's nice out, we're all outside." Andre shrugged and looked at the other guys. "You know, when you can't leave the palace you gotta find ways to keep yourself busy."
"And you just gave that fame and freedom all up to be here with us, huh?"
"Well, I didn't give it up," Andre clarified. "Scholarship's on deferral until the next semester, though I wouldn't be surprised if they passed me up and signed my baby bro, Khalil."
"Is that right?"
"He's already taller and faster than me so, there's that. Plus I've been kinda lax on the workout routine, been hitting more steaks than weights," Andre shrugged and got a laugh out of the audience. Tension released from Elodie's neck. This was going much more in the direction she had hoped. "But who knows, maybe they'll see me in time for playoffs."
"You don't think you''ll be here long, is that it?" Midas asked.
"Nah, nah I wanna stay. This is all pretty new, and we're all getting to know each other. Just playing the field."
"Usually that means you've got other players on the sidelines," Midas said, pun so blatant he might as well have just cut to the chase. He leaned in like Andre was going to tell him a secret. "Anyone special at home?"
Andre laughed, his cheeks reddening a shade darker. "Nah, no one. I've only got eyes for the princess."
If Delia was here, she would have gagged. Elodie bit her lip not to laugh at the thought.
"Aw, isn't that sweet?" Midas asked and the audience 'awwed' appropriately. "We have ourselves a heartbreaker here folks, watch out! And on that note, we will take our first commercial break. More time with Princess Cordelia's Selected when we come back."
The cameras turned off and everyone relaxed. Selected talked amongst themselves, checked their phones, even pulled out snacks - how the hell did they sneak roasted peanuts in here?
Midas exited the stage and made a beeline to Elodie, a makeup girl trailing after him. Elodie's phone buzzed in her pocket, but she had to ignore it in favor of entertaining the entertainer.
"I was told that Princess Cordelia would be joining us?" Midas said, turning his face to the side so his cheek could be blushed an even darker red. The downside of working on camera: having to look like a clown in order to not look washed out.
"Not tonight, sorry," Elodie apologized. She's too busy sleeping off a hangover. "Next time, I promise."
"I hope so. This is all well and good, but the people will eventually demand the princess' appearance. She hardly has any footage, and that bowling segment will only hold over for another week at most."
Elodie knew all this. She didn't need Midas to remind her of one of the many reasons she couldn't sleep at night.
A cameraman waved at Midas.
"That's my cue," Midas said with a sigh, shooing away the makeup girl. "How am I doing so far?"
"Perfect, Midas. You always are."
Midas preened as he walked off. He deserved the praise. The crowd was genuinely invested and the boys, for the most part, were genuinely likable. Elodie wished Jordan was here to watch with her. He told her he would meet her at the first commercial break, but as she scanned the crowd, he was nowhere to be found.
Elodie's phone buzzed again. She pulled it out of her pocket. Three missed calls from Felix. She pocketed it again.
Where the hell was Jordan?
Midas took center stage once more, staring down the blinking red dot and plastering on his best smile in three...two...one...
"Welcome back everyone. If you're just tuning in, we have already spoken to Mister Jaesung Kim and Mister Andre Thompson, and right before we left we were just teasing Mister Dante Wallace-Chavaria about his star-struck moment." Midas turned from the camera to Dante. "How're you feeling now, Dante?"
Dante nodded, cool as a cucumber. "Good, yeah."
"Not like you need a doctor?"
"I hope not. Doctors make the worst patients."
"You know that Mister Sigurdsson-Esser is in the medical field as well?"
"Yeah, I was giving him a hard time the other day about how my hospital has a better EHR," Dante said as he cut Ezra a grin.
"Not all of us can work in the Ritz, man," Ezra sighed shook his head.
Midas looked between the two, enchanted, before focusing back on Dante. "Do you miss giving that all up?"
"Kinda like with Andre, my place in the program isn't revoked. I'm a doctor. I passed all my boards. It's just my residency is on hold. Kinda like I'm taking a gap year."
"Gap year? More exciting than backpacking through Europe?"
Dante's smile widened. "Most definitely."
"So how do you stay on top of your studies? Seems like the medical field is always changing."
"I've got some journals mailed to me while I'm here. New England Journal of Medicine. The Lancet. Nature."
Ezra let out a whistle. "You mind if I borrow those when you're done?"
"You two should start a book club," Midas said in what was clearly a joke, but Ezra and Dante shared a look like that could be a great idea.
"That's a thing. It's called journal club. My preceptors went nuts for them. I remember when I was like, an M4, I spent more time reading more journal articles than preparing for rounds. I could recite whole methods sections by memory."
"And the confidence interval on this Kaplan-Meyer survival curve means - " Ezra pushed his finger up the bridge of his nose like he wore a pretend pair of glasses, and Dante shoved him.
"Shut it, man!"
"Sounds like two tons of fun," Midas gave the audience a look that screamed 'YIKES!' and they all laughed, Dante and Ezra with them. Then, Midas focused solely on Ezra. "What about you, Ezra - can I call you Ezra? What do you do for fun? Are you an avid football fan as well?"
"Can't say I am, no offense to Andre."
Andre shrugged and slapped Ezra on the shoulder, no offense taken. Something told Elodie that Ezra had gotten his 'ass whooped in a pick up game' as well.
"So what are you a fan of?" Midas asked.
"I like to mountain bike, hike, camp - that kind of sport. But my true love is baking."
"Baking?"
"Oh yeah. I love to bake. Just ask the guys." A chorus of praise and agreement rose up in response. "I made these blueberry lemon breakfast bars the other morning. Absolutely delicious."
"And you didn't save some for me?" Midas asked, fake hurt with one hand over his chest.
"Next time! Just tell me what you like and I'll make it."
Elodie had no doubt that Ezra's offer was genuine. A genuinely nice guy. What was he still doing around Delia's Selection?
"What got you into baking?"
"It's a funny story. For Hanukkah one year, my sister, Riva, she meant to get me this set of pins I'd been eyeing for my bike. But we were young and, at the time, the language barrier was still an issue and she misinterpreted the description. She ended up buying me rolling pins instead."
"Language barrier?"
"Yes. For the majority of my childhood, my sister and I only spoke in Yiddish. The working theory is that our biological parents were part of a Hasidic community, so we were never raised around the English language. We spent a lot of time in different foster homes, and it is hard to dedicate time to making sure the children you're looking after learn another language when you're more worried if they're getting fed or have a winter coat."
The interview suddenly got very serious. No one knew how to react, Midas included. He wasn't expecting this kind of response. Elodie's fingers hovered over the emergency commercial button, ready to press in three, two -
"I didn't know you were adopted," Dante said, looking at Ezra in a new light. "My sister and I were too, from Dominica."
"Whoa no way." Ezra's face was a blanket of surprise and happiness, like he had found a kindred spirit. "It's weird, right? Trying to figure out which boxes you fit into, which pieces of which culture you held on to, and which bits got left behind. My moms have been so supportive of me and my sister. Truly, the best parents we could have asked for, and I'm so so grateful for all they've given me. But part of me still wonders..."
"What if?" Dante finished. "Yeah, I get that. Most people don't understand what that feels like. It's something you just have to live."
"Incredible stories gentlemen. Truly, you are inspirations. And, if I'm not mistaken, I smell potential philanthropies in the air." Midas smiled, getting everyone back on track from such a heavy detour. "Now, Ezra, you've got me curious - do you still speak the language?"
"Fluently. My sister will call me up, like she did this morning, and just break out into a long stream of Yiddish." Ezra turned to Dante and asked, "Is it like that for you too?"
"Carmen only ever speaks Spanish to me when she wants to curse me out without our parents getting on her."
A muffled laugh came from the back row of Selected. Everyone turned their head to the source.
"Something funny over there, Mister Madden?"
Sidney Madden shook his head, loose long hair falling over his sparkling champagne suit jacket. His smile was small but bright. "Nothing, just sisters."
"Are you familiar with this particular form of affection?"
"Way too familiar. I have four sisters, and all of them would do something like that."
"Right, the Madden girls have taken over the world."
"They would certainly like to think so."
Midas shuffled the cards on his podium until he found the right one. He cleared his throat and said, "Your sister, Aria, she just signed a major deal with the Illéan Women's National Soccer Team to be their starting center. And your other sister, Melody, is the harpist for the Illéan National Symphony. Quite big steps to follow in."
"You're forgetting Jess-Jay is going to cure cancer and that Haylee will be starring on Broadway by the time she graduates," Sidney added.
Midas whistled and shook his head in wonder. "Does it intimidate you? Being the only male in a family of such strong, successful women?"
"Should it intimidate me?" Sydney arched a brow and reclined even further in his chair. "My sisters are my inspiration. I look at all the things they've done and it blows me away."
"Surely you've done some equally great things."
"Not really. I've always just gone where my heart takes me. I'm an artist in that way, even if my art is ancient literature, other people's words. I love to travel, love hearing about other people's travels, love reading stories about traveling. I love the Odyssey. Love, love, love it. I had this grand idea one summer to just fly over to Greece and recreate the path that Odysseus took - barring all the end of the world monsters and such. It was a very humbling, eye-opening experience, and it reaffirmed my passion for what I do. That was probably the greatest thing I've done with my life."
"What's the normal response you get when you tell people that story?"
"Most people think I'm a pretentious ass." Sidney's honest shocked a laugh out of the crowd. He held his ringed hands up in surrender. "I get it, I do. I come from a place of tremendous wealth and privilege; to have been able to do these things is a gift."
"It takes a conscious man to admit it," Midas said. "In a way, we are all privileged to be here, in the palace, participating in this once in a generation event. Do you feel that way, Mister Fernandez?"
"Oh, um, yes! I do," Teo said, surprised to have the spotlight on him. "We are very lucky."
"You look like a very worldly man, Mister Fernandez. Tell me, has there been a culture shock between home and the palace?"
"Yes, a very big one. I actually came straight from the mountains - I was a trail guide for Belcourt National Park Services for a while. Before that, my hometown had a lot of poverty and gang violence. This slice of Angeles is like some kind of utopia."
"Trail guide, you say?" Midas raised a brow.
Elodie knew that look.
Just before she could press her emergency button, her phone rang yet again, and this time she could not ignore it. She abandoned her Report duties and snuck out the back door just as Midas and the Selected started daring Teo to reconstruct a tent on stage, careful not to make a sound. Not that it would have mattered through all the cheering and laughter. This might have been the best Report airing of Elodie's life, and Felix was ruining it. Like usual.
Fuck Felix. Just fuck him.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. Then, she pressed the accept button and raised the phone to her ear.
"What?" she hissed, not even having it in her to be civil she was so annoyed.
"Where are you?" Felix demanded. He sounded a lot closer than just across the line.
Of course, because the universe hated her, as soon as she turned the corner she saw Felix. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, a rumpled navy henley and khakis, his hair tousled and a week's worth of stubble on his chin when he knew Elodie preferred him clean-shaven. As soon as he saw her, he pulled his phone away from his ear and raised his arms up in a "what the fuck" motion.
"Where have you been?" he asked again, walking towards her.
Elodie killed the call and crossed her arms over her chest. She was the one with the right to be pissed off. The fact that he was the one with the attitude right now only made her more irritated.
"I told you, I had to run The Report tonight. And it went off perfectly, thank you for asking," Elodie said. Or, more like snapped. No, she wasn't bitter at all.
Felix could have cared less, which meant that he wanted something from her. Elodie braced herself for whatever asinine thing was about to come out of his mouth.
"I'm going to Paris."
No amount of bracing could have prepared her for that.
"What." Flat, emotionless, completely empty. That was how Elodie felt in this moment, and in the next, buckets and buckets of instant rage. "You want to go to Paris in the middle of the night, on a weeknight, with the Reinhardts here? You'd just leave me, alone? What am I supposed to tell them?"
"Oh come off it, cariña," Felix snapped with a roll of his eyes. The once-endearing pet name imbued with such disdain made Elodie's blood quicken to a boil. "Like you wouldn't love to be left alone with that man. Ever since he showed up I've been a third wheel in my own goddamn marriage."
"Yeah? Well join the club," Elodie fired back, shame rolling in her gut. Was her relationship with Jordan really so questionable? If Felix of all people could notice...would anyone else? Would people talk?
"I wasn't asking for permission. I'm going to Paris," Felix said, the fight over. He wasn't going to budge on this; Elodie knew from experience that it was painful to argue when he had already made up his mind.
"Fine. Go to Paris. Ruin my cousin's ballet recital. Make a damn fool of yourself. But you're not taking the jet." If Felix wanted to play this game, then she'd play, and she'd play hard ball. Her arms remained crossed over her chest, holding herself (and her will) together. "If you want to trail after that woman, you're going to do it on your own dime."
Elodie knew Felix didn't save his money. He'd always spent it as fast as he could make it: bought her gifts, sent it home to his abuela and his cousins, or invested it in questionable stocks. He wouldn't have enough to charter a private jet; he'd have to fly economy. Funny, he'd never been on a plane before he flew to Angeles for the Selection. Now, the thought of flying on a passenger plane made him shudder. Spoiled.
Part of her, some small, stupid part, wanted Felix to give up. She wanted Felix to realize that Brayden Malik wasn't worth the trouble, that she was insignificant. But, of course, Elodie had to set herself up for disappointment.
"You fucking bitch," Felix spat.
Before Elodie could process Felix moving, she was backed up against the wall with one hand around her throat. Her hands flew up to grasp at his wrist, his arm, trying to get him to stop. It hurt. She couldn't breathe -
"Elodie!"
Jordan.
Instead of relief, a cold tide of panic washed over Elodie. Jordan couldn't be here. He couldn't witness this.
Felix sneered, as if all his thoughts were validated. "There he is, here to save the day."
Felix let her go, turned around, and walked away before Jordan could get to him. Which was a blessing. Jordan had a look on his face that promised Felix lots of pain. If looks could kill, this look would be it.
"What the fuck was that?" Jordan demanded, his tone something Elodie had never heard from him before, full of barely-restrained rage.
"Jordan, let it go."
Elodie was so tired. Everything about today had drained her. That entire Report was an anxiety attack in the making. It was still hard to breathe. All she wanted to do now was get in a hot bath, drink some wine, and take a long nap.
"Absolutely not. That bastard just hurt you! And you're..." Jordan looked at Elodie, really looked at her, and was completely baffled. Baffled and horrified. "You're just moving on? How long has this been going on?"
"Seriously, drop it."
Elodie moved away, but Jordan followed.
"You never run away from a question," Jordan said. That was true. She was never one to leave things unfinished. But this was one thing she didn't even want to start. "If you don't talk to me I'm going to have to ask someone else - "
To talk to someone else would mean uncontrolled narrative. To talk to someone else was to spread rumors. To talk to someone else was unacceptable.
"This is my marriage. I'm handling it. I have everything under control."
"No one else knows," Jordan said, realization dawning on him. Instead of making him more sympathetic, his anger escalated until it carved deep lines on his face. Elodie had never seen Jordan this upset, this pissed off. "Well you'll have to forgive me for thinking that's absolute bullshit, because what I just saw was the opposite of having things under control."
"You have no idea how hard I had to fight to get this marriage to work. All the begging, scraping, hoops I had to jump through to get the council to approve the marriage license." Elodie fought to keep her tone level but it was just so hard when her body shook with all the anger she wasn't allowed to feel, fighting to scream against the injustice of the memory. "I was told in private meetings that there were concerns that my marriage to Felix would 'damage' the Royal line. That, by being a first born, I had to hold myself to higher standards. What they really meant was that I needed to marry someone white. That, by marrying Felix, I would be 'tarnishing' the Schreave name. When my father found out, he fired half his council. It doesn't look good for a progressive monarchy to employ a bunch of old racists."
Elodie's lips quirked in a facsimile of a smile, but she was the only one. Jordan still wore that grave, upset look that only grew more distressed as she continued.
"Even when the license was approved, we weren't done. We had to win over the press." What a joke, Elodie knew now. What a goddamn joke. "They were ruthless. Every day it was something: Felix said the wrong thing, wore the wrong shoes, didn't bow deep enough to a foreign dignitary. Even if we were absolutely happy together, it wasn't enough. Someone always had something invasive and horrible to ask: if Felix's mom was still an addict, if he spoke to his father, what complexion our daughter would have."
The one thing Elodie would never understand was how someone could be so despicable towards a baby. Poor, poor Essie. One day she would have to read all the terrible things published about her parents, about her. Elodie dreaded that day. She hoped it never came.
"Everyone said I was making a mistake." Elodie dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve before any tears could fall. She wouldn't let herself cry, not outside the safety of her room, and maybe not even then. Anger was safer. Anger was easier. "I'd sooner die than prove them all right."
Spell broken. All of Jordan's sympathy turned back to frustration. "Screw all of that! None of it applies when it comes to what I just saw."
"So what? I tell someone, go get help? Then someone opens their mouth and we become front page news and Felix gets stereotyped as the worst version of a Latino man?"
"He hurt you, Ells." All his former anger disappeared. All that was left was confusion and sadness. Like her pain was his pain. Jordan reached for her gently, his touch whispers on her throat, and yet it hurt. She had no doubt that if she looked in the mirror, she would find a hand-shaped print around her neck. Jordan's breath came as a staggered inhale, wounded. "This is abuse. And you still want to protect him?"
Abuse. That word played pinball in her brain, wrecked the rows of neat little boxes explaining away all of Felix's behavior. She hated that word. Hated its implications, its connotations, its impact. How it would make her look if it ever saw the light of day. Forever the meek, feeble princess who couldn't take care of herself. Who couldn't protect her daughter, so how could she be fit to protect a nation?
Unacceptable.
Elodie threw all her walls up, high as bricks and strong as steel. Jordan could see them, shuddered at the sight of them.
"I don't need you to protect me."
"I never said - "
"It was implied," Elodie cut him off. She didn't want to hear what Jordan had to say. She just wanted him to drop it. She was just so angry. "I'm not a damsel in distress. I'm not one of your goddamn charity cases. I am the Crown Princess of Illéa and you...you are not my brother, my lover, my friend. You are the Governor of Allens. And I am telling you, I have everything under control."
She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Jordan reared back. It might have been kinder to hit him. Elodie knew from experience that emotional damage lasted longer than physical, and the look on his face...she had hurt him right down to the core.
"Alright. Message received, Your Highness."
The title, so cold and detached, turned Elodie's veins to ice. Dread settled somewhere in her soul, screaming, you broke something you cannot fix!
"Jordan - "
What would say say? Sorry? Of course you are my friend, my best friend, the only person in the universe other than my daughter I have ever been able to love unconditionally, and that scares me. It scares me so much. Because I never wanted you to see me like this.
Nothing came out.
"If you don't need me, I have some calls I need to take from my office."
Jordan turned his back and started walking away. Elodie didn't want to leave things like this. All the things she said, all the words she could never take back. It was breaking her heart. Why did this have to be so hard?
"Jordan!" He stopped walking, but he didn't turn around. "Just please...don't tell anyone. Please."
Her voice broke on the last please. Tears stung at her eyes, fell down her cheeks, but he couldn't see them.
Elodie would have liked to think it took everything he had to keep walking.