//CLARA//

I couldn’t sleep.

The ocean had struck me as a liar the moment I waded in. Promising calm while hiding depths that could swallow a woman whole. My robe lay abandoned in the sand behind me, a dark puddle of silk against the pale beach.

Soon I was floating on my back, staring up at a sky that refused to offer any answers.

I waited for him. Pathetic, perhaps, but true.

I half-expected his silhouette to cut through the shadows, his voice sharp with reprimand, his hand rough as he dragged me to shore or pinned me against the rock.

I wanted the bite of his temper. I wanted the friction of his skin against mine, even if it was born out of fury. I wanted him to be so goddamn furious that he couldn’t help but touch me.

Punishing me for being cruel to him. I wouldn’t have minded that. In fact, I was practically begging for it. I would have let him break my will just for this evening, if it meant I didn’t have to be alone in this freezing silence.

But the shore stayed empty.

I stayed longer than I intended, my skin prickling with the kind of cold that starts to feel like a burn. Then I swam until my arms felt like lead, until my lungs begged for air, until I couldn’t remember why I was running from the very thing I’d spent the last forty-eight hours trying to provoke.

Then I went back inside. Just an hour before I heard Aunt Cornelia shuffling.

The morning came. I sat at the vanity and just... stared.

Felipe’s diamonds were back in their velvet box, winking at me in the weak morning light like they knew a secret I didn’t. I touched one stone. It was cold, flawless, and disgustingly expensive. Then pulled my hand back like I’d been burned.

I shoved the box to the back of the drawer, burying it under a pile of lace gloves and ribbons I never wore. Out of sight. Not out of mind.

I dressed without looking in the mirror. I didn’t want to see my reflection.

Breakfast was a wall of silence.

We took it on the private terrace attached to our wing. Just a small wrought-iron table overlooking the ocean, far from the Goulds’ lavish dining room.

Casimir was at the head of the table, his newspaper spread out like a shield. He didn’t even look up when I sat down.

"Good morning," I said, trying to sound normal.

"Morning."

One monotonous syllable. He turned a page with a sharp snap.

I pushed a piece of toast around my plate until it was cold. "Did you sleep well?"

"Fine."

His eyes never left the print. I tried one more time, because I’m a glutton for punishment.

"The ball was... eventful."

Nothing. Just the scrape of Aunt Cornelia’s spoon.

The old witch just sat there, her eyes darting between us like we were some strange specimens that had just dropped from the sky.

Two different species who didn’t share a single word of the same language. She looked from my perfectly pinned hair and ironed skirts to his rigid posture.

She watched the silence stretch between us, getting thin enough to snap.

Then, she spoke.

"The weather should hold for the journey," she said, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "I’ve instructed the staff to have the New York house aired by the time we arrive."

"Good thinking," Casimir replied in full sentence. "I’ll review the week’s correspondence once we’re settled."

"Your secretary has been sending urgent telegrams."

"Nothing that can’t wait."

They continued easily. She mentioned a charity event. He agreed to attend.

I sat there, invisible, my cold toast growing colder.

Then Aunt Cornelia’s gaze drifted back to me for a beat too long. Her eyes glittering with something that looked like satisfaction. The corner of her lips lifted.

I bet she was enjoying this. A lot.

I said nothing. I mean what’s even the point?

She returned to her tea, and went on telling Casimir about the preparation of our departure.

Casimir answered in full, polite sentences.

The perfect nephew she’d always bragged about. That was who he was supposed to be—who he was—before I crashed into their lives and ruined the finish.

Felipe found me in the garden afterward. His carriage was idling at the curb, luggage strapped down, horses restless.

He looked so... easy. A man with a kingdom waiting for him and not a single dark thought in his head.

"Eleanor." He took my hands. "I wish I could stay longer."

"Madrid calls," I gave him a bright smile.

"It does." He studied my face, something flickering in his eyes. "I’ve been thinking. About us."

I stiffened. "Felipe—"

Us? Is there an us?

"Let me finish." He squeezed my fingers. "I know we haven’t known each other long. I know this is sudden. But I’ve never met anyone like you, Eleanor. You’re not like the women at court. You’re not trying to impress me or use me or trap me into something I don’t want."

I didn’t know what to say to that. So I said nothing.

"I’m not asking for an answer today," he continued. "But I want you to know my intentions are serious. When I return to Madrid, I’ll be speaking with my father. About you."

My throat went dry. "Your father. The King."

"The King," he confirmed, a hint of amusement in his voice. "He’ll want to meet you, of course. But I don’t think he’ll object at my request. You’re an heiress. You’re intelligent. You’re beautiful." He said it simply, as if stating facts. "And I find myself thinking about you when I shouldn’t be."

I should have been thrilled. A prince. A royal future. A life that didn’t depend on him. A life far from ruin.

For a breath, I almost let myself want it.

Then a pair of stormy eyes flashed in my mind. A guttural voice whispered in my ear, and my spine tingled.

I was already lost. Oh, damn. I’m in deep.

"Felipe—"

"Once my duties in Madrid are settled, I’ll come to New York. I’ll call for you." He lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. "We’ll talk properly then. Just us. Or maybe along with your guardian."

My guardian. The thought of him hit like a stone in my belly.

Yeah. I bet he would be delighted to talk about this.

Instead, I nodded and smiled, did whatever it required of me.

Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek.

"Write to me," Felipe called as he climbed into the carriage.

"I will." I don’t know if I will.

The carriage rolled away, and I stood there in the damp garden, feeling the promise I hadn’t asked for. It pressed against my ribs tighter than the corset.

The next morning, we left Newport.

The train compartment was exactly the same as the one that had brought us here. On the way to Newport, Casimir had sat across from me and tracked my every breath. We’d almost got—

I crushed the memory. It hurt too much to breathe.

Now, he sat across from me and stared out the window, watching the coastline bleed into a dull, flat grey. He hadn’t looked at me once since we boarded.

"Casimir."

Nothing.

"Casimir," I said again, louder this time.

His jaw tightened. That was it. I took a deep breath and spoke anyway.

"I wanted to thank you," I whispered, my heart thudding against my teeth. "At the ball. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t—"

"Not now."

Two words. He didn’t even turn his head.

But I’m a stubborn ass, so I kept talking. Because I knew if didn’t I would lose my mind.

"Felipe said he’ll visit," I pushed, desperate for any reaction—anger, shouting, anything but this. "He wants to talk properly in New York—"

"I said not now."

The tone of his voice could have frozen the tracks beneath us.

Aunt Cornelia was snoring softly in the corner, oblivious, while I sat there watching the man who had once bent me over the window refuse to even acknowledge I was in the room.

This was worse than his fury. Fury meant he still cared enough to be hurt. This quiet...

The hours crawled by. Farmland turned into factories, and into the grey outskirts of the city. Casimir never moved. Never spoke. I traced the pattern on the velvet seat and wondered how it was possible to be so close to someone and feel a thousand miles away.

The train pulled into New York just as the sun was bleeding out across the horizon.

I’d never been so relieved to see the city. And I’d never been so terrified to go home.