The Thing About Trivia

The thing about trivia was, it was fucking stupid.

Leave it to Elodie to turn something she loved into something cringey and pointless. Delia couldn't wait to see which unfortunate soul could spout the most useless textbook information about the Illéan Reconstruction or post-war economics. Truly, the recitation of boring facts about dead people and places that no longer existed was the defining factor of a good Prince Consort. The whole day was going to be a waste, and it took everything Delia had to pull on a pair of star-printed flare jeans and a black crop top and drag herself to the Men's Room.

(It was really just one of the third floor sitting rooms that had been repurposed as a hang-out space for thirty guys, but tradition was tradition and so the Men's Room™️ was born).

"No Elodie today?" Delia asked upon seeing her mother of all people loitering outside the door.

Loitering was the wrong word. Patiently waiting with two maids flanking her and a host of camera crew was more appropriate.

"No, just us. Won't that be fun!"

The sad thing was, Mom actually believed that.

A whole five days had passed, and still no sight of Elodie. It was like she was a ghost in her own home. Not even the staff had gotten within eyesight her. One maid claimed to have seen Elodie in the bath when she went to clean her room (which the maid also claimed to be in complete disarray, which was the first hint that she was a big fat liar). It would not have been wild to guess that Elodie was not in the palace at all; a popular theory was she had magically up and disappeared to Italy or France for an impromptu vacation, which could work except for the fact that Essie was still in the palace.

And so was Jordan Reinhardt.

Delia tried not to think about the implications.

"So, what fresh Hell awaits me inside?" Delia asked, already itching to return to her room.

"We are hosting a friendly game of Jeopardy," Mom said as one of the camera crew reached over to powder her perfect nose. "The winner gets to go on a date with you, tonight."

"Tonight?" Delia couldn't help the way her voice climbed two octaves. "I'm busy tonight."

"Doing what?"

"I don't know, not date things!" The nerve these people had, totally overhauling her life. "It's a Friday night!"

"Exactly," Mom said, like that cleared anything up. "I am aware you and Elodie struck a deal to avoid as much Report time as possible. Placing this date on a Friday night is a perfect excuse not to host."

"There has to be a catch." Delia was no fool. Elodie wouldn't have planned things this way without purpose. "There's always a catch."

"Instead of an interview segment, the date will be live-streamed. The people will expect a formal dinner date at seven sharp."

"You have to be fucking kidding me."

"Language."

"Mom, it took thirteen takes to get the garden date right," Delia hissed, trying to keep her cool and failing. "Do you really think I can pull off a flawless, live dinner date? I'll piss this guy off, or I'll tell a waiter to suck a dick, or - "

"That's enough of that," Mom said, flustered at the display of vocabulary as if the cameras were already rolling. She took Delia by the shoulders and fixed her with her most queenly look. "You are going to be marvelous, sweetheart. You're too hard on yourself. Besides, this is the easy part. All you have to do is stand up at the podium and read the questions. The Selected will do the rest."

"Easy part. Right," Delia repeated, taking in a deep breath. She could do this. She could do -

"And at some point, we are going to have to talk about the Andre Thompson situation."

Delia choked. "The wha - "

"If you're going to start bringing boys into our wing of the palace, we will need to put extra guards out at the very least."

All Delia could do was stare at her mother, mouth open and catching flies.

"I was young once, too." Mom shook her head, a mix of amusement and exasperation crossing her regal face. Her brown eye always looked a little sadder, a little more soulful than the blue one. "I'm not going to tell you how to conduct your relationships. You're an adult. But darling, please be careful about who you choose to love."

"I don't love Andre," Delia was quick to correct. Her head was spinning. "I...I just - "

"This is a confusing time in your life. Heaven knows my heart was pulled in a dozen different directions during my Selection, and I wasn't even the one who had to do the selecting. I had the chance to be with someone else. My best friend, actually. I had loved him for so long. But your father..." Mom sighed and shook her head, thin blonde strands flying free from her low bun. "The love I had for him burned stronger than my infatuation with the past, but in the moment, it felt like my world had torn in two and I was being pulled in both directions. I didn't know what to think or who to pick."

"Mom, I'm glad you picked Dad, for my own sake, but I'm trying to tell you that I don't love Andre at all."

"But you might grow to love him - "

" - them."

"Them. Or any of the wonderful men lined up behind these doors." Mom took Delia's face in her hands, fingers brushing over Delia's cheeks gently. "You give your heart away so easily. I just want you to be sure you're giving it to the right people."

Delia didn't like the implications of being called soft, or stupid. She was a grown woman, and she could make her own decisions about who she dated, slept with, or loved without her mother's input.

It was hard not to add sarcasm when she said, "I promise I will guard my delicate little heart with my life."

Mom smiled and freed Delia's face, but not before placing a kiss to her forehead. "Let's not tell your father about this."

"Good idea."

The door opened just wide enough for a mousy-looking butler to slip out along with a burst of sound. Whatever was going on in there, it sounded frantic.

"Your Majesty, Your Highness, they're ready for you."

"Wonderful." Mom turned on her serene, queenly smile. "After you, darling."

Inside, the Men's Room had been rearranged to resemble some sort of classroom. Not that Delia knew what a classroom looked like outside of the movies, but the rows of tables and chairs facing a center podium could be described as nothing other. Except maybe a press conference. Each of her remaining suitors sat at one of these tables, dressed in their various palace-approved casual-wear, staring at Delia as she made her way slowly to the front of the 'class'. The podium wasn't hers, not yet. Though Delia had entered the room first, the Queen of Illéa always got the first word.

"Good afternoon, Gentlemen," Mom greeted with her warmest, brightest smile. She had a way of putting people at ease that came so naturally it made Delia jealous. "I hope lessons have been going well and that we have managed to teach you enough to hold your ground during today's activity. As we all know, the past is not something to ignore. We must respect our origins and learn from our past mistakes in order to build a better future. It is this skill of reflection and understanding that will make not only an exceptional Prince Consort, but an exceptional man."

No applause was expected, but a couple stray claps escaped the nervous crowd.

Mom took her seat in a high-backed chair near the window, and Delia took the podium. There was no script, no right or wrong thing to say, which meant Delia just had to say the wrong thing.

"I'm not sure if you know this about me, but I am a two-time trivia champ - bowl to remain anonymous, unimportant - but all that to say, if you are looking to impress me, boys, you'll need to have more than a big brain and a quick tongue." Delia winked into the crowd of suitors. It got mixed responses: some of the guys were clearly uncomfortable and trying not to react for the camera, while a couple managed to laugh. One winked right back. It was Andre. Fuck. Delia blushed. "So, let's get to trivia, yeah!"

Delia pumped a single fist in the air, a vain attempt to seem enthusiastic.

Kill her now.

Staff came out of nowhere to move the "desks", pushing them further apart so that each Selected had more space between competitors. It was then Delia realized that this entire set-up was for show; wherever the guys did their lessons normally, it wasn't here. It wasn't a practical space, and Delia had to stifle a laugh as buzzers were passed out one of the maids tripped over a cord. No one knew how to navigate the mess.

When all was settled, there was a little how-to segment on manipulating the buzzers - i.e hit it as fast as you could when you knew the answer - and then it was time for the games to begin.

Delia was to do the honor of reading out the questions, as this was, after all, her show.

"First Question!" she announced dramatically, really playing up the theatrics. "Who was the last President of the United States of America?"

Multiple buzzers went off. No surprise, this was something any fifth-grader could answer. But there was one clear front-runner.

"Yes, Mister...?"

"Ezra," said the young man with the puppy dog face. Delia hadn't spent much time with him, but, if memory served, he was particularly fond of Queen. "The answer is President Wallis."

"Correct, Ezra."

Delia drew a tally mark on the tablet in her hand, and that tally translated to the projector screen behind hte podium that listed everyone's stats. So far the score was Ezra 1 - everyone else 0.

"That was an easy one," Delia said, feeling playful. She thumbed to the next question. "This one is a little more challenging. What is the provincial flower of Carolina?"

This time, it was Dante Wallace-Chavaria, the disgruntled doctor, with the quickest hand on the buzzer.

"The lily is the provincial flower of Carolina, Your Highness."

"Okay, that's enough freebies." Delia tossed the pad to the side. She knew more history than this sanitized sampling. "Following the Russian invasion, Gregory Illéa led a small battalion of men across enemy lines to turn the tide of World War III in which battle?"

That was when the real game started.

Questions came as rapid fire as the answers. Delia wasn't lying when she told them she loved trivia. She was good at it. She was good at a lot of things when she applied herself, and she was learning some of her Selected were, too.

Most of them tried to keep up, but before long, everyone was falling behind Ezra and Dante. It was eerie how perfect Ezra's answers were, like he knew every question before it was asked, every answer poised on his curved lips. She would suspect foul play, but Dante was going toe-to-toe and not backing down, showing off that perfect memory that could recall maps of vessels and tissues as easily as 21st century facts.

When it came time to crown a winner, Delia was breathless from the sheer high of competition, and there was a tie between the two.

"Alright, okay, one last question." Delia had run out of ideas, her head swimming with genuine mirth and way too many historical facts. She reached for her tablet, scrolling until she reached the last and presumedly the hardest question. Whoever got this right, whoever broke the tie, would be the winner. "The assassination of this political figure created a domino effect of dissent and chaos throughout Illéa that ultimately culminated in what is now known as the failed...New Years...Coup."

Delia's tongue felt like sandpaper. Her heart beat heavily in her chest. She dropped the tablet, and for a moment, the sound of metal on wood drowned out the sound of a buzzer.

"Who is Priya Bloomsdale...Your Highness."

Dante's voice was quiet yet strong. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Yes..." Delia wasn't paying attention, right answer or not. She was focused on her mother's face, how it shuddered and crumpled but tried to pick itself back up a moment later. Delia snapped her attention back to Dante. "Yes, that's the, uh, right answer."

Applause broke out, tentative and then overwhelming as everyone except Delia realized the game was over. Dante had won.

Mom stood next, her smile back to being serene even if it didn't quite reach her eyes. She didn't have to look at Delia to prompt her to follow suit, to smile and cheer and pretend that everything was fine.

"Congratulations, Dante," Delia said, and then it hit her. She was going to go on a date with this man. Tonight. She swallowed down her nerves. "I'll see you later, I guess."

He smiled tightly and nodded before returning to share his victory with the other Selected. None of them looked too upset that Dante had won the date and they hadn't. All except Ezra, who looked like someone had run over his cat, but that could have just been the disappointment of coming in second. Maybe it was because Delia looked like she had swallowed sour grapes. Her stomach turned like she had, and no one, not even her mother, stopped her as she made a swift exit from the Men's Room.

All she could think about the entire way back to her room was how the hell did that question make it past screening?

.o.O.o.

Four hours later, both doors to Delia's room swung open dramatically, revealing the Queen of Drama herself.

Hayden stomped over to the window where Delia sat and yanked the joint from her fingers, crushing it under the weight of her designer heel.

"Are you seriously getting high right now?"

"What? It helps with my nerves."

"You smell like the third day of Woodstock." Hayden rolled her eyes and walked her way over to the wardrobe, dodging multiple piles of junk Delia meant to sort but never did. "I forgot how much of a wreck your room is."

"Good thing you don't have to live in it."

Hayden stopped by the coffee table, aghast. She poked at the box, then cracked it open in morbid fascination. "Is this...half-eaten pizza?"

"I'm saving it for later."

"It's got mold."

"Feed it to Titus."

At the sound of his name, Titus perked his ears up and whined.

"Titus actually has standards, unlike some people." Hayden cut Delia a nasty look as she shut the pizza box and shuddered. "Get in the bath. We need to clean this cesspool off of you immediately."

Delia rolled her eyes and stomped reluctantly to the bathroom, Titus close on her heels. The dog sat obediently by the sink as Delia filled the tub with water hot enough to peel her skin off and added lavender and salt to the mix. Normally there were maids to do this for her, but Delia always liked doing this part. The stupid cows never got the ratio of bubbles to water right. Besides, they were scared of Hayden.

Steam rolled over her skin as she stepped into the water, letting it warm her from toe to roots. Bangs clung to her forehead, obscuring her vision. Delia still wasn't used to them. She kind of hated them, actually, but she was stuck with them. Just like she was stuck going on this shitty date.

When the water went cold (or slightly above room temperature depending on one's preferences) and the bubbles all disappeared, Delia grabbed a towel and got out of the tub. Normally she wouldn't bother covering up in her own room, but she didn't feel like hearing more complaining from Hayden. Water dripped from her hair onto the carpet as she joined her sister back in the bedroom.

Hayden stood at the foot of the bed with a satisfied smile on her face. That was never a good sign. Delia quickened her steps, and when she finally laid eyes on the source of Hayden's perverse joy, she couldn't help but shout.

"What the hell is this?"

There was a monstrosity on her bed. And it was pink.

"Mom put me in charge of dressing you tonight," Hayden said, bounding over to the bed. "Do you like it? I put a lot of thought into what I thought you would be comfortable in."

"You're joking, right?"

Leave it to the girl in a head-to-toe purple mini skirt suit to completely misunderstand Delia's style.

Another eye roll from Hayden. She thrust the dress in Delia's arms. "Put it on, you little rat."

Delia didn't look...atrocious. The blush turtleneck underneath was an added layer of comfort Delia did not expect, but clung to. Otherwise, she would be terribly out of her depth in the spaghetti-strapped pink slip. Hayden had laid out a pair of strappy nude heels, but Delia opted for her usual beaten black Doc Martins.

"You just have to ruin things, don't you?" Hayden asked with a roll of her eyes when she spotted the shoes.

Delia flipped her the bird.

"Now, don't forget, tonight's date is live, so try not to go full on bridge troll." Hayden circled around Delia, assessing until she nodded with approval. "I think you're ready."

"Just what I was waiting for: your approval."

"Go," Hayden said with an imperious point of her left hand. "And don't do anything embarrassing enough to end up on page one."

Normally, there would be someone to escort Delia down to dinner like a proper member of the royal family. But Hayden was clearly at her wit's end and Mom was busy and Elodie was still MIA, so Delia was allowed to navigate herself to the private dining room. That left plenty of time for Delia to get acquainted with her thoughts.

As badly as it started, Delia had to admit that she had fun on her date with Teo. He might have been skittish and awkward and foolishly in love with a version of her that no longer existed, but he was a good guy. And he was hot as fuck. When Delia returned to her room and got in the shower, she may or may not have fogged up the mirrors fantasizing about Teo laying her on the grass, pressing all that glorious weight on her body, and doing terrible things to her.

Maybe she would actually have a good time with Dante as well. Maybe, just maybe, when she looked back on the memories tonight, this date would covered in a pleasant, golden haze.

Or maybe it was the marijuana.

At the bottom of the stairs, a camera crew waited to capture Delia's grand entrance. Dante stood off to the side, fiddling with the buttons on his jacket. He hadn't caught sight of her yet, but one of the coordinators did, gesturing with wide, sweeping motions for her to stop before she took a single step down the stairs.

Delia did as she was told and waited at the top of the stairs, clacking her teeth together as the cameras got into position and someone dragged Dante to the foot of the stairs.

The look Dante gave Delia as he looked up must have been rehearsed. Someone must have whispered in his ear and told him to look awestruck, to stare at her like she sparkled brighter than all the stars in the night sky or some such bullshit. That was the only reason she could think of why a man who only ever frowned at her in disappointment before look at her now as if she were beauty incarnate.

Impossible, Delia knew. She had seen her bangs.

By the time Delia reached the bottom and Dante offered her his arm, her smaller body tucked against his larger, stronger one, and walked into the dining room, Delia had forgotten about the cameras. At least, temporarily.

The smaller dining space had been outfitted for a romantic dinner for two. The round table was covered in linens and topped with fine china, a bouquet of red roses, and two tall candlesticks already burning an intimate glow to match the low-burning fire in the fireplace. This was the exact room Dad had used to go on his dinner dates for his Selection. Elodie had foregone this room during hers, choosing to carve her own path separate from Dad's. She didn't have a single dinner date until the Elite, but by then everyone knew she was going to choose Felix. He had been the frontrunner since he kissed her hand during initial interviews.

Dante was a gentleman. He pulled Delia's chair out for her, then pushed her in before taking his own. He looked so handsome in his caramel-colored suit, offset by the black of the shirt he wore underneath, a striking combination with his dark skin. In the candle-light, he seemed to have a halo. It was hard to see his face. He could have been anyone, and the details of the room shifted...

...A mahogany grandfather clock. A skull on mantle. Papers on the floor.

"You missed dinner."

An hour spent sitting alone at a table meant for two, smiling at a waiter that kept coming back to refill her water, too polite to ask if the Princess of Illéa of all people had been left waiting.

"Did I?" Misa looked over at the clock and clicked her tongue. She smelled of stale beer and sweat. Her clothes were rumpled, and there was a stain on her white blouse. "I must have lost track of time. A couple faculty members at the university wanted to take me out for drinks to celebrate the success of my latest lecture series."

Delia set her purse down on Misa's overcrowded entryway table, then walked over to where Misa lay sprawled on the couch.

"I wanted to celebrate, too. That's why I wanted you to come tonight."

"You wanted to take me out and show me off like a good little trophy girlfriend?" There was something mocking to Misa's tone that Delia didn't like, something patronizing that made Delia feel small and stupid. Then, Misa laughed, but it was a far cry from her genuine belly laugh. "Oh, Cordelia, that's so...sweet. Sometimes I forget how naïve you are."

"My parents were there."

"You don't want me to meet your parents."

"Yes, I do."

"Oh, pet," Misa sighed with her whole body, her shoulders slumping forward as she caught herself on her elbows. "I'm simply not the 'meet the parents' type, especially when those parents are royals. It's not my style, and they wouldn't like me. Trust me."

Misa got up, a stagger to her usually fluid movements. She passed by Delia without a single touch or acknowledgment. It hurt Delia more than she wanted it to. Tears stung at her eyes, not knowing why she was being rejected repeatedly by the person who was supposed to love her the most.

"Don't mope. I hate it when you mope," Misa sighed, returning to the couch with another glass of wine. Misa hated tears, hated any display of strong emotion, really. Delia tried to make them stop, but the more she held them in, the more it hurt. That only made Misa more aggravated. "It's not as if I told you I was coming. You got this little fantasy in your head that I was going to spin dazzling circles with you in a crowded ballroom, and that's all it was: a fantasy. Let it go."

Misa was right. She never promised Delia anything. Delia needed to get over it. She needed to stop feeling things like a child and act more like an adult like Misa always told her. She couldn't get everything she wanted.

But why couldn't she have this one thing, just this once?

"Come here," Misa said, patting the seat on the worn out couch next to her. Reluctantly, obediently, Delia went and sat next to Misa, allowing Misa to pull Delia into her arms so that her head rest against Misa's chest, her ear pressed against Misa's heart. Misa ran a hand through Delia's hair, combing out the tangles in soft, gentle strokes. "I'm sorry if I upset you. Let me make it up to you." Her other hand reached for the remote to her old, box TV. The ancient device flickered to life, releasing a storm of static before Misa typed in the magic numbers. "We can have our own special movie night. I'll even let you pick one of those ridiculous romcoms you love so much."

A movie wouldn't fix everything, but it was a start. Misa hated romcoms. If she was willing to sit through one, she must really care about making Delia happy.

The movie started playing, and Misa's fingers kept running through Delia's hair, and eventually Delia started to relax. Everything would be okay. The dinner didn't matter because she had this, right here right now. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else -

"Hey!"

Delia zoned back in to Dante waving a hand in front of her face, an irritated frown on his own.

"Where'd you go?"

"Hmm?"

Dante sighed and leaned back in his chair. He actually tossed his napkin from his lap onto his empty plate. "Look, I get that you don't like me, or want to be on a date with me, and for whatever reason think my entire being here is stupid, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna sit through an entire meal with you pretending you are somewhere else."

Fuck.

"It's not you," By the grace of God and all his angels, she did not add 'it's me'. She took a fortifying breath and tried not to sound pissed off when she continued, "Last time I went out to a fancy dinner, I got stood up, so..."

Delia didn't finish that thought, let the words unsaid speak for themselves.

Dante gave her a strange look, like he didn't believe her. "So you thought you'd just stand me up? Mentally?"

Double fuck.

"No. Look. Listen," Delia scrubbed her hands down her face, forgetting all about the makeup Hayden slaved over. "I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"You think?"

"I didn't mean to call you stupid. That wasn't what I meant," she said before he bulldozed over whatever attempt she made and left. "When you told me you that you gave up med school, when you gave up your spot at a future for me, yeah, I said that decision was stupid. Because I'm not worth all that. You had everything in the palm of your hand and then you just let it go. For me? Why would anyone do that? It blows my mind."

Silence was all she got in response. Not that she expected Dante to fall at her feet and accept her apology. Life was rarely ever that easy, and Delia was far too accustomed in sitting in the uncomfortable aftermath of her messes. This time, though, she had to at least try to fix things. She was on camera, after all.

"We should just start over." Delia stuck out her hand across the table, not caring how improper that looked. "Hello, I'm Delia. Nice to meet you."

"Dante." His grip was firm, his palm a little callused and rough, but Delia didn't mind. "The pleasure is mine."

Their hands returned to their laps as the butler returned with a bottle of champagne. Two glasses were poured with professional ease and deposited into eager hands.

"To new beginnings," Delia said, raising her glass in Dante's direction. Maybe it was overkill, but a little champagne never killed anyone. Besides, it would be wrong to partake in bubbles without a toast. This was a celebration, after all.

Dante nodded and clinked his glass with Delia's before raising it to his lips and taking a small sip. He didn't make a face, but Delia could tell that this was not his drink of choice. It wasn't hers either; a strong vodka soda would be absolutely heavenly right now, but she still washed it down her throat and let the bubbles soothe her nerves.

"So...does my Dad know you're chasing after my Mom?"

"It's not like - "

"Because I won't call you Step-Daddy, no matter how much you beg."

Dante choked. Dark as his skin was, Delia could still pick out the flush high on his annoyingly-perfect cheekbones.

"Dude, I'm messing with you. Relax," Delia said with a smirk, enjoying the way Dante squirmed in his chair before finally settling. "We can renegotiate the Daddy thing later."

"We are on live TV," Dante reminded, jerking his head not-so-subtly to the camera crew stationed around the table.

The cameras were impossible to miss. To one side, this looked like an average dining room, but to the other, it was a full on sound stage with a white curtain, lights, and everything. Delia even had a mic attached to her hip, giving some crazy feedback in her left ear. Thankfully, her hair covered the mic to make things look as 'natural' as possible.

"Oh, I know." The wink was gratuitous, but Illéa was waiting for a show. Why not give them a show?

Dante blinked slowly, trying to process exactly what he was experiencing. She was giving him emotional whiplash, and he knew it. "Anyone ever tell you you're a little...much?"

"All the time." Delia smirked and swirled her champagne in her glass, watching the bubbles pop and fizz. "Why, does it scare you?"

"A little," Dante said honestly with no hint of backing down. "But I never run away from a challenge."

Whether that was a dig at her, or just his way of matching her energy, Delia couldn't tell. Probably both. They could let bygones by bygones, but some of the sting would still linger until they had new memories to soothe the bad.

"It's admirable what you're doing for The Hope Foundation."

Dante's eyebrows raised in surprise, like he didn't expect her to be aware of what was going on under her own roof. Honestly, it was getting offensive how everyone thought she was a dumbass.

It was then that the food came: nothing too fancy, just curried chicken over rice with mixed vegetables. The scents of spices made Delia's mouth water. She didn't wait for Dante to have his plate, or for the waiter to step away and leave the room before she took knife and fork in hand and started cutting away.

"Most people show up here and are only out for themselves, lining up to collect their ten cents," Delia continued, spearing a piece of chicken.

"And you thought I was just like everyone else?" Dante ate much more elegantly, though there was something stiff and practiced about his eating habits that suggested he was trying to remember what the palace taught him about salad forks versus dinner forks.

"Thirty strangers show up at my house, I expect them most of them to be the same. It's good to know that some of you have souls."

"Is charity a passion of yours, Your Highness?"

"Delia, please," she insisted, the use of her title crawling like ants up her spine. "And you might say that charity is the family business. The government is constitutional thanks to my father, which means the provinces have more say in their politics and we royals can take a back seat. Women in our family are already reduced to ornamental roles - with the exception of my disastrous aunt and my sister - so that leaves plenty of time to throw our exorbitant amounts of money to things that matter."

"I don't think ornamental is the right word. You're selling yourself short."

"Am I?" She asked, a flirt and a tease. "Then what would you call me?"

"Influential."

Delia snorted and rolled her eyes.

"I'm serious. Everyone who doesn't want you wants to be you. All it takes is a single post on any of your platforms and people will say or do or buy whatever you want them to. That's a kind of power not even wealth can buy."

"Maybe that's true for Hayden, or even Elodie, but not for me." Delia placed her cutlery down on her half-finished plate. She suddenly wasn't hungry anymore, her appetite gone. "Most people only see me for entertainment value. They want to stalk my next scandal or read about my latest wild night out. They don't care about me."

Dante remained quiet for a minute. He didn't look at her any differently, didn't request to get up or leave again. He just stared at his plate, thinking.

"If we were to get married, we would have to take on a philanthropy, correct?"

"Yeah."

"The Hope Foundation will still be run by your mother, and I'm not sure what else is out there." He took a sip of water and looked Delia straight in the eye. "Which one would you like to sponsor?"

"I...don't know. I've never had to think about it," Delia said, confused. "There's about ten different kinds of cancer funds, animal shelters, environmental organizations, wildlife conservations...take your pick."

"I asked you."

"I would want to start a fund for survivors of domestic abuse. Maybe create a shelter or something, I don't know." Delia looked away, feeling uncomfortable. For the first time that night, the cameras bothered her. And Dante...well, Dante just kept staring. "What?" she snapped, fighting the urge to fidget. "You wanted my answer. Was it not what you were expecting?"

"Not at all."

The way he said it, Delia got a distinct impression that it was a good thing. She didn't know if she liked how that made her feel either, a prickling sensation down her arms and legs that made her itch. His stare was like the heat of a dozen stage lights, and Delia so hated being on stage.

"Aren't you going to finish that?" Delia cut her eyes to where Dante's champagne glass sat untouched save for the first grimacing sip. "Not many people can stand to leave a glass of vintage Dom Perignon sitting on the table."

He pushed the glass towards her, a silent invitation to take it. "Drinking isn't really my thing."

"It's definitely mine." Delia took the glass and finished the contents in two swallows. Just because it was fancy champagne didn't mean she had to savor it. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"I don't like what it does to people." Dante gave her an assessing look, a battle of wills playing between his dark eyes and her steely ones. "But it's fine...for now."

The rest of dinner passed with a fair bit of silence and a couple safer topics of conversation like if Dante had made any friends so far and if Delia had any hobbies that she suspected would be used as ammunition for future dates.

It wasn't horrible. Far from it, in fact. By the time Dante stood and pulled Delia's chair out to walk her back to her room, Delia had half a mind to call the date pleasant. Dante was a kind man with goals and ambitions that would make any woman lucky to call him hers. She just didn't know if that woman was her, or if she was even possible of performing to the level of perfection Dante deserved.

Outside her door, Dante offered Delia his hand, like they were business partners closing a deal or something.

Delia laughed.

"Aren't you going to kiss me goodnight?"

One moment of hesitation, and Dante's eyes went wide like saucers. The next moment, he composed himself and retracted his hand. Only to step forward and take her by the chin, tilting her head up as she rose up on tip-toes.

Dante's lips were soft, undemanding as they brushed against hers. He kissed her slow and sweet, barely there and all over at the same time. Goosebumps prickled across Delia's arms. She shivered as he pulled her close, one hand anchoring her at the small of her back, then let her go.

"Goodnight."

He didn't come back for another kiss, didn't say another word. Dante simply turned on his heel and headed back to his room with all the confidence of a trivia champion.

Delia touched her lips. Everything tingled from the kiss - from the tip of her nose down to her toes. This nervous energy unnerved her, confused her. She wasn't supposed to want this, wasn't supposed to have her heart skip in her chest at every gentle touch. It was only a peck on the lips for fucks sake! And there she was, heart racing and face flushing like a virgin who had never been kissed.

Anger took confusion's place fairly quick. How dare Dante make her feel this way!

She stormed off towards her room, or at least, she thought she was going to her room. Instead, she threw open the doors to the room at the end of the hall and was greeted with an unfamiliar sight of dried flowers and tartans. A lump lied under a pile of blankets on the oversized bed, a head of dark hair poking out from the top.

Delia shut the door behind her, stripped out of her dress until she was only in the sweater and underwear, walked over, and nudged the sleeping beauty.

"Hey, you asleep?"

"Not anymore." Gabbi shifted over to one side of the queen mattress and let Delia slip under the covers with her. They lied face to face under the countless throw blankets Gabbi kept layered on her bed so she wouldn't get cold. "How was the date?"

"Good," Delia confessed. After a rocky start, she really had fun with Dante. He made her smile, made her forget. She didn't tell Gabbi about the kiss, though. Some things should remain private, even between sisters...for now. "I think I might actually like him."

"That's good. Ezra, right?"

"No. Dante."

"Oh."

There was something off about Gabbi's 'oh', something a little too close to surprise and disappointment.

"Oh?"

"Nothing, just..." Gabbi fidgeted under the sheets, turning so it was hard to see her face. "I heard the name Ezra get tossed around at dinner. I thought he was the one you were going out with."

"He came close, the little history freak." Delia snorted, remembering how Ezra had answered the questions so quickly it was like he already knew what was coming. Which was impossible because Elodie had that binder under lock and key. "Mom was really impressed. But Dante won, so we had dinner and...it wasn't terrible."

"I'm sensing a but."

"I'm scared." Delia confessed, her voice quiet and muffled in the blankets. "This whole Selection was supposed to be some stupid joke. I wasn't supposed to actually like any of them, and now that I'm starting to get to know them..."

"It's hard not to like them."

"Yeah."

For a minute, the only sounds in the room were the ins and outs of Gabbi's breaths. Then, she asked, "Would it really be so terrible to fall in love with one of them?"

"I don't know."

And wasn't that the scariest thought of all? Falling in love again...at the start of the Selection it seemed impossible. Now, it was more like a terrifying reality that Delia wanted to run far, far away from.

"Can I sleep in here tonight?" she asked, not wanting to be alone.

"That's against the rules," Gabbi reminded with a little smirk, and Delia laughed.

"I won't tell if you don't tell."

"Deal."

They locked pinkies, same as when they made their pact to be best friends forever over a decade ago. Pinkies that stayed locked until Delia snuck out of the room some minutes before sunrise.