Chapter 3 THREE

CHAPTER 3

ABRAM'S POV

"We need to get married."

There is no way those words just left her lips, right? It was bad enough that she was talking to me, but cracking a joke like this is just too far.

"What?"

She paused to force a lump down her throat and repeat herself.

"We HAVE to get married."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"Are you crazy?"

"Just, hear me out." She raised her hands in supplication and almost made contact with my chest, reminding us of how close we were standing to each other. On a normal day, an Astor and a King would not be seen within two miles of each other, when we did attend the same events, we sat as far from each other as the venue would allow, exchanging hostile glances while the other attendees caught in the crossfire of rude stares tried their best to act as if they did not know what was happening.

I shrugged and allowed her to speak.

"They want to marry me off to Baron. We are bethrothed."

I raised an eyebrow, wondering why any of that was my business.

"And?"

"And I'm not going to do it."

I chuckled. "You're talking like you don't know how things work. Aren't you twenty? Your parents were kind enough to give you two extra years to prepare yourself."

"Come on, Astor." She called me by my family name. "I know you're heartless but, Baron... really? You would watch your younger sister get married to Baron?"

"That's none of my business honestly, and that's my sister. Now imagine how much less I care about you. So I should throw my happiness away, be with you so you won't marry Baron?"

She threw her head back and exhaled loudly.

"It's mutualistic. You want to pretend as if you love Patricia?"

I licked my lips while thinking of what to say. She was keeping tabs on me? No, information like that was an open secret. Everybody knew everybody's bethrothed long before the actual marriage.

"That's not your business, and frankly, I think I have had enough of this conversation."

I wanted to leave but she held me by the shoulders, leaned into my ear to yell as this was the mode of communication in a party environment.

"I told my father you got me pregnant."

There was no trace of humor on her face when I frowned into it. Without a word, I grabbed her by the wrist, pushed past Shelly and Shirley who had found us and dragged her outside the party.

Now, with only the hum of bass from the speakers, we could talk better, and I could ask her what the hell she just said.

She looked flustered.

"You're kidding." I said after a prolonged period of silence. There was no way she would say such an outrageous thing to her father, because there was no way her father would believe such an outrageous claim.

"I wish I was."

I laughed, still refusing to believe her. "Okay. Why would you do that?"

"Because, I told you, I am not going to marry Baron."

"And so you lie that I, an Astor, got you, a King pregnant?"

"I was desperate, and it worked."

"Well, he's going to be so relieved when he finds out it's all a lie."

"Abram-"

"Please. This is the last I want to hear of this. See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow" was Bridgette's wedding, and I knew the Kings would be in attendance. The Kings are fellow aristocrats, and for as long as I can remember, we have not been on good terms. That's a very mild way to put it, really. The Astors and the Kings have a generational feud which, as very good children, we have inherited. Some of the deaths that have happened within our circle in the last decade, I can bet my inheritance that they relate directly to the feud. It all goes back to an argument between my greatgrandfather, Jacob Astor and Henry King, Anya's greatgrandfather. This argument that started from a business deal gone sour, has snowballed into a generational cold war with intense hatred and mistrust on both sides. My conversation with Anya might be the longest Astor-King interaction in over fifty years.

Bridgette and Hans' wedding was what ordinary people would call a grand occasion. She was getting married to Johannes Berger, or just Hans, a short, red faced, blond guy who wore his decorated military uniform to every occasion, despite him never seeing real combat. He liked to talk loudly and was the type of guy who would hit you in a fit of laughter. Bridgette on the other hand was tall, slender, and beautiful with a constant facial expression that made you wonder where her mind was. She spoke little and one could not recall a time where she had laughed in public. They were an awful mismatch, but they were matched regardless, and I had been cajoled by our families into playing master of ceremonies for Hans' wedding. Well, I didn't have much to do; just call up the priest and announce when the couple would have their first dance, and when we could all dance with them.

Standing and making small talk with some royal guests from Italy, I sensed a presence behind me, and my interactants' eyes acknowledged the presence of someone. To my utmost shock, I turned to see Adline King, Anya's stepmother waiting for me.

"Excuse me." I smiled at my Italian friends and they responded with respectful nods before walking away.

"Can I help you?"

"They're a beautiful couple, aren't they?"

Unsure of how to respond, or if I even wanted to, I furrowed my eyebrows and stared at her.

"How is Patricia? I expected to her with you."

I looked around. People had not yet noticed that I was talking to a King, and I was relieved, even though it won't be taken too seriously. Adline had married into the family and was not a descendant of Henry King, so she would be seen as a spokesperson for her husband before being seen as herself, which was why I was wary about being seen speaking to her.

"I-" This was still so strange, and I had not prepared myself to speak to two Kings in two days. "Why would you assume we would be together?"

"Is she not your dearly bethrothed?" She had a mocking look on her face. My irritation was creeping in.

"And where did you hear that?"

"Is she your bethrothed or not?"

I straightened up to reassert dominance by towering over her.

"I don't know what gives you the impression that you can ask me questions, Mrs King."

"Look, my step- my daughter, Anya, said something yesterday, and... I just need to confirm if-"

"What did she say?" I smiled, remembering yesterday's conversation. That wench really meant it.

"She said she was going to bring shame upon our family," She said dramatically. "She said she's-"

At that very moment, I felt someone push themselves against my side. It was Anya. She interlocked our fingers and beamed at her stepmother whose jaw fell. I heard some gasps around but I refused to make eye contact with the onlookers. Why didn't I just separate myself from her immediately? That would cause a bigger scene than what had already formed, and for some reason, the thought of embarassing Anya King then and there did not possess the gleeful delight it usually would.

"I suppose it's true, then." Adline finally said.

"Yes." I heard myself say. What?

I saw some movement in the corner of my eye. I turned and stared back into my parents shocked eyes.

What have I done?