How to Love a Prince

SEVEN

Roselia

The charity dinner was a spectacle, a glittering, suffocating affair that felt less like a gathering for a noble cause and more like a carefully curated exhibition of wealth and power.

“Let us all give praises to our humble beginners of change for Hounds Key Foundation—Mr. Alistair Deveraux, together with his newly wedded wife, Madame Roselia!”

The grand ballroom, adorned with cascading floral arrangements and chandeliers that dripped diamonds of light, hummed with the low murmur of hundreds of conversations, punctuated by bursts of tinkling laughter and the clink of crystal glasses. The air was thick with the scent of exotic perfumes, expensive cigars, and the unspoken weight of expectations.

“I think I shouldn’t have worn heels.” I whispered as I clung to Alistair’s arm, my hand resting lightly on the expensive fabric of his suit jacket, a silent anchor in this swirling sea of strangers.

My blush gown, chosen by his stylist, felt like a costume, beautiful but utterly alien. Every movement, every forced smile, felt like a performance, a meticulously rehearsed dance I was desperate not to mess up.

“No can do, darling. Even the floors have eyes, if you know what I mean.” He smoothly whispered back as he smiled and lovingly tucked a few locks of my well-styled hair.

Alistair, of course, was in his element. He moved through the crowd with effortless grace, a true prince of this gilded world.

His smile was dazzling, his eyes sparkling with an easy charm that captivated everyone he spoke to. He introduced me with a practiced ease, his hand often settling at the small of my back, a possessive gesture meant to convey intimacy to the onlookers.

“My wife, Roselia,” he’d say, his voice smooth as silk, and I would offer my rehearsed smile, my “private and magical honeymoon” line ready on my tongue since almost everyone asks for details about it.

***

Hours had passed as we continuously fulfilled our roles—and I must say, the spotlight is not for me.

“Your wife is a rare gem, Alistair. Such a shame we can’t know the story behind her charms to lure you in.”

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she? How come this is the first time I’ve seen her, hm?”

I felt their judgment like a physical weight. It was the same look I’d seen countless times as a waitress, serving champagne to these very people, their eyes sliding over me as if I were invisible, or worse, a smudge on their pristine world.

While lost in my thoughts, I heard his voice, snapping me out of my silence as we moved from one table to another, “You’re doing well, Perignon. Just keep smiling.” His words were devoid of warmth, a professional assessment, but in the chaos, even that detached acknowledgment felt like a lifeline.

“I know.” I looked up and smiled. “I am here with you, Alistair.”

I didn’t know what changed, but in that moment, I felt a momentary shift in his blue eyes that used to shine in saccharine sapphire orbs—almost as of it became softer and more empathetic.

Before I could put a word for it, he chuckled and held intertwined my fingers with his, returning back to his acting self. “Let’s go, darling.”

We navigated the ballroom for what felt like an eternity, a constant cycle of introductions, polite exchanges, and my internal monologue screaming with anxiety. My cheeks ached from the forced smile, my feet throbbed in the unfamiliar heels, and my mind raced, trying to keep track of names, faces, and the subtle social cues of this alien environment.

Then, Alistair turned to me, his smile still fixed, but his eyes holding a hint of impatience. “Darling, I need to speak with Senator Albright about the foundation’s next initiative. It’s a crucial conversation. It’ll be just a moment.” He planted a kiss on my cheek, and then, with a final, charming nod to a nearby group, he melted into the crowd, leaving me standing alone.

My heart plummeted. Alone. I am currently alone.

All of a sudden, the low hum of conversation suddenly became a thousand indistinguishable voices swirling in my head, overwhelming me—the chandeliers, once sparkling, now seemed to glare, their light too bright for my fragile sense of belonging that depends highly on his presence beside me.

I felt a cold sweat break out on my palms. My breath hitched, shallow and rapid. My gaze darted around, searching for Alistair, for Lucien, for any familiar face, but they were all swallowed by the glittering throng.

I am doomed.

“There you are, dear.” One of the guests we greeted earlier, Mrs. Warner, approached me, together with his son who’s holding a glass of whiskey even when he seems too drunk himself.

“Ah, greetings, madame.” I smiled, trying to keep up with my act. “My husband just left for a little while to-”

“How much did he paid you?” her drunk son, whom she introduced earlier as Joseph, asked, inhibitions gone from the liquor. “Since you’re not a public figure, you must be someone from the underworld with, you know, those jobs.” He smirked.

Mrs. Warner laughed softly, patting her son on his arm. “Joseph, you shouldn’t ask such things.” She spoke—obviously not meaning it at all. “Forgive my son, young madame, he’s just,” she gestured at his drink.

“A little tipsy. You know what alcohol does to one’s head,” she said with a slight edge of sarcasm.

“Oh, it’s okay. I don’t mind at all, Madame Warner.” I spoke, unable to hide the slight tremor in my voice on the last parts.

My childhood fears, the ones I thought I’d buried deep, clawed their way to the surface. The feeling of being small, insignificant, of being judged and found wanting. The memory of my father’s drunken rages, my stepmother’s cold disdain, the loan sharks’ menacing glares – it all converged, surrounding me like a blanket of fears.

“Actually, I am not from that place. It just so happened that Alistair and I met each other by chance. And we hope to keep such romance to ourselves as a proof of our devotion to each other.” I gripped my champagne glass, my knuckles white, the condensation cold against my trembling fingers.

“Of course, of course, with how many places Alistair visited to film his projects, he for sure stumbled upon you in some picture perfect sight, yes?” she asked, enjoying the time to openly pry about us now that Alistair isn’t around to put her in her place.

“Yes, that’s right.” I wanted to run, to find a dark corner, to vanish from this overwhelming display simply. My vision blurred at the edges, the faces of the guests becoming indistinct blurs, their laughter a mocking chorus. I was drowning in the sheer sensory overload, the weight of their collective gaze.

Just as the panic threatened to consume me entirely, a voice, deep and resonant, cut through the din, startlingly close.

“Lost, little bird?”

I gasped, spinning around, my eyes wide and unfocused. Standing beside me, as if he had materialized from the shadows, was a man.

He was probably just a few centimeters shorter than Alistair, with a broader, more athletic build that strained the fabric of his impeccably tailored dark suit. His hair, a rich, dark brown, was worn slightly longer than Alistair’s, falling artfully across his forehead, giving him a more rebellious, less polished look.

“Uhm,” Before I could formulate a response, before I could even gather my scattered wits, he reached out. His hand, warm and surprisingly firm, closed around my elbow.

“Come on,” he murmured, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, a hint of disdain in his green eyes. “Let’s get you out of this suffocating little gathering before you faint. Wouldn’t want to ruin Alistair’s perfect evening, now, would we?”

And with that, he began to guide me, not gently, but with a decisive pull while I followed, too stunned and too overwhelmed to resist.