How to Love a Prince

THIRTEEN

Roselia

Being a star means no rest—and I learned it the hard way.

The morning air in the penthouse was thick with a palpable tension, a foreboding hum that vibrated through every silent, sterile surface. Today is the anticipated day of our move into the Deveraux estate: the place where his stepmother rules, his stepbrother mocks, and his father colder than ice.

“Did you memorize everything in the notebook, Perignon?” he asked while fixing his appearance in front of the full-body mirror.

“I did.” Even with that answer, my response was a little shaky so he stopped combing his hair to stare at me through our reflection.

“Don’t be scared of those fools. If you can stay in the same room as I, then you can do the same to them,” he spoke with a definitive tone, making my shoulder sink even more.

That’s the problem! I couldn’t even face Alistair without chanting a mind conditioning mantra 10 times in a row!

***

The drive to the mansion was a blur of cityscapes giving way to rolling hills and manicured lawns. As we passed through the iron gates, the Deveraux estate revealed itself in all its imposing, archaic glory. It wasn't just a house; it was a fortress, a sprawling monument to old money and quiet power. Stone walls, ivy-covered and centuries old, stretched out on either side, and the air seemed to hum with the weight of generations of secrets.

“We will live in this place?” I can’t begin to guess how much this place is worth!

The mansion itself was a magnificent, gothic structure, with high, arched windows that looked like a thousand indifferent eyes staring down at us.

"Yes. Welcome home, dear wife," Alistair said, his voice flat, a hint of dry sarcasm in his tone as the car pulled up to the grand front entrance.

The door was opened by a stern-faced butler, and as we stepped inside, the sheer scale of the place took my breath away. A massive, sweeping staircase dominated the entrance hall, its polished wood gleaming under the light of a chandelier that must have cost more than my family’s entire debt.

Marble floors stretched out in every direction, and the walls were adorned with what looked like priceless portraits of stern-looking Deveraux ancestors, their eyes following us with silent judgment.

Alistair led me through the cavernous halls, his pace brisk and purposeful. And soon, we finally arrived where his family is.

Eleanor Deveraux was a vision of glacial elegance, seated regally on a velvet settee. Her silver hair was styled into a flawless chignon, and her posture was so perfect she looked like she had been sculpted from ice.

“I hope our lovely newlyweds didn’t find it hard to travel all the way here.”

Across from her, lounging in a manner that was both a parody and a deliberate act of defiance, was Damian. He wore a crisp white button-down, the top buttons undone, his dark hair a charming mess, just as I remembered.

“I bet they didn’t, mother. She looks as stunning as their wedding photos.” He met my gaze with that same infuriating, knowing smirk, a subtle challenge in his green eyes that told me he knew exactly who and what I was.

“Mother. Damian,” Alistair said, his voice smooth and controlled, the charming superstar persona back in place. He placed a hand on the small of my back, a possessive gesture that felt more like a brand than a comfort.

“I’d like to reintroduce you to my wife, Roselia.”

Eleanor’s gaze didn’t waver from me. A faint, almost invisible smile touched her lips. “Roselia. A lovely name for a lovely girl.”

When she paused and just stared, I thought she wanted me to speak, so I opened my mouth to flatter her back, but instead, she turned her gaze from me to Alistair.

Alistair, my dear, you have always had a penchant for the unconventional. Everyone, including your father, was so shocked with how unlikely of you to do things spontaneously.” Her voice was like cold honey, dripping with a sweetness that was clearly a lie.

I squeezed my hands into fists behind my back, reminding myself of my role. Perform, Roselia. Perform. I forced a polite smile.

“It was a whirlwind for us, too. A surprise, but a very happy one since we’ve been inseparable ever since.” The words sounded flat and clichéd even to my own ears, but they were the script.

Damian let out a low chuckle, a sound that grated on my nerves. “Inseparable, huh? That’s what they call it these days? It’s a much more palatable narrative than what I’m hearing.” His eyes flickered to me, a glint of mischief in their depths.

“Damian.” Alistair called, warning him, but he didn’t budged and just continued speaking with all his attention to me.

“The tabloids have you pegged as a gold-d*gger, you know. I, for one, find it rather charming.” He chuckled, looking back and forth between my husband and I. “A girl with ambition should be appreciated and rewarded.”

His directness was disarming. He was openly saying what Eleanor only dared to hint at. The taunt was meant to fluster me, to break my poise. But I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

I met his gaze and held it, my smile never faltering. “I’m glad we can agree on something, Damian. It’s so important for a family to be on the same page.” My words were a deliberate jab back, a subtle way of reminding him that I was now a part of this family, and his opinions, charming or not, didn't change that.

Alistair’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly on my back. He stepped forward slightly, subtly placing himself between me and Damian.

“Roselia has a spine, a quality I find rather admirable. It’s something I suspect she’ll need a lot of in the coming weeks.” His smile was razor-sharp, his gaze a silent warning to his stepbrother.

Eleanor stood up and walked over towards us, her heels clicking amidst the tensional atmosphere.

“Spine is all well and good, dear. But a Deveraux wife needs grace. Poise. And above all,” she stopped in front of me, smiling as she held my hand between her cold palms.

“discretion. I have no doubt you’ll learn, with time.” Gently, she pat my hand before giving me a brief hug.

Discretion, huh? This family is full of secrets—not just Alistair, all of them.

When she pulled away, she deliberately held out her hand, and a maid immediately went over to hand her a handkerchief to wipe her hands.

Wow. I nearly rolled my eyes.

“Perhaps we can have the household staff give you a few lessons on the family’s… etiquette.” Her words were laced with a passive-aggressive poison that made me want to scream. She was calling me uncultured, a commoner, all with the pretense of being helpful.

My throat tightened, but I held my composure. “I would welcome that, Mrs. Deveraux. I do love a good challenge.” I said, forcing a cheerful tone.

Damian's smirk widened. “Welcome aboard, sister-in-law.” He walked towards us and attempted to hold my hand, but Alistair came in between just in time.

“We won’t keep you, Mother. Roselia is exhausted from the move. I’ll show her to our wing. She needs to rest.”

He guided me out of the room, away from the icy calm of Eleanor and the cynical amusement of Damian. I felt a profound sense of relief, as if I had just held my breath for a full minute.

"Not bad, Perignon," Alistair said, his voice back to its usual flat, cold tone, as we rounded a corner. "You held your own. But that was only the first act. The real performance starts when father joins in the fray.”