Chapter 18: Don’t You Think We’ll Get Along Pretty Well?
The square bustled with life.
A three-person band played a lively tune in the middle of the plaza, while nearby, people danced with unrestrained joy. Just a little further away, painters were sketching quick portraits of travelers. Cotton candy machines spun pastel-colored clouds, and vibrant balloons floated on strings, adding a playful charm to the scene.
It was the epitome of a peaceful late afternoon—if not for the man standing beside her.
“Stop glaring.”
Francis Adele’s sharp tone barely registered with Mellie, who continued to throw daggers at him with her eyes.
Even if her fist wasn’t still sore, she’d have happily punched him right in the face.
As compensation for dragging her here…
But what good would that do? What’s done was done.
Mellie tore her gaze away and sighed heavily. At her side, Francis
spoke again.
“Stop sighing, too. It’s annoying.”
“You dragged me out here, and now you’re trying to control my sighs?”
Francis chuckled at her biting retort.
“I’m sorry for dragging you along, but isn’t this better than sitting alone in your room, scribbling in that diary of yours?”
At the mention of her diary, Mellie barely managed to hold back her anger.
“And how long are you planning to hold that over my head?”
“As long as it’s useful,” Francis replied with a mischievous smirk.
It was the last straw for Mellie. Deciding it was better for her sanity, she stopped responding to him altogether and turned her attention to the bustling square. She watched the musicians and gypsies, the painters and their models, the dating couples, and the children devouring cotton candy.
Anyone, anyone, would have been better company than this man.
“I’ve been thinking about something,” Francis suddenly said, his voice interrupting her brief peace.
Mellie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She didn’t need to turn around to know he was smirking again.
“He’s surprisingly temperamental, isn’t he? I often wonder how people put up with him.”
“Put up with who?” Mellie asked, despite knowing about the topic of their conversation.
Francis leaned back on his seat, folding his hands under his chin.
“Edric Felton, of course.”
Mellie narrowed her eyes at him, her irritation was palpable.
“First of all, no one ‘puts up with’ him. People choose to stay in his life. And second, why do you even care?”
Francis shrugged casually, as if discussing the weather.
“I find it fascinating. You know, watching him try so hard to keep up that charming façade. It’s almost admirable, in some way.”
Mellie stared at him, baffled by his audacity.
“Is this your idea of small talk? Insulting people behind their backs?”
“Not behind his back,” Francis corrected with a wink.
“I’d say it to his face. Trust me, I’m an equal-opportunist critic.”
“Unbelievable,” Mellie muttered. She didn’t know why she kept entertaining his nonsense.
Francis grinned at her reaction, clearly pleased with himself.
—
Earlier that day, Mellie had been in the lobby, contemplating a peaceful walk. She hadn’t expected to run into Francis Adele.
He’d claimed he was there to see Edric, but Mellie quickly realized it was not a coincidence. Francis had timed his visit perfectly, knowing Edric would be out.
Feigning regret, Francis had cornered her.
“Since His Grace isn’t here, why not spend some time with me?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because,” Francis had said with mock sincerity,
“I know a place you’d enjoy.”
She’d ignored him and started to leave, but his next words froze her in place.
“Milo Square. Street performers, crowds of people, lively energy… It’s just like you wrote in your diary, isn’t it?”
The color drained from her face as she realized what he was doing. He was quoting from her diary—her private thoughts.
Before he could say another word, Mellie grabbed his arm and dragged him outside. She didn’t care about the onlookers’ curious stares; she just needed to get him away from the house before he revealed any more of her secrets.
Now, sitting in the square he’d forced her to visit, Mellie glared at Francis again. He, however, seemed utterly unbothered.
—
“For the next hour,” Francis said, holding up a single finger, “just
stay with me. No need to buy me dinner or anything.”
Mellie frowned. She would have preferred to buy him dinner and get rid of him, but if this arrangement meant an end to this ordeal, she’d take it.
“Fine. One hour.”
Francis smiled. “Great. Let’s talk.”
Mellie crossed her arms. “What’s there to talk about?”
Francis tilted his head thoughtfully. “Why do you like Edric Felton?”
Mellie blinked, as she was caught off guard. “What?”
“You heard me. What do you see in that pompous, self-absorbed man?”
Mellie bristled. “That’s… that’s harsh. He’s not like that.”
“Oh, come on,” Francis said, waving a hand dismissively. “All nobles are self-absorbed. Edric just hides it better than the most of them.”
“That’s not true!” Mellie snapped.
“Edric surely has his flaws, but he’s kind and thoughtful in his own way.”
Francis raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.
“If you say so.”
Mellie clenched her fists. She hated how effortlessly he got under her skin.
“Fine,” she shot back.
“What about you? Why do you like Rosaline? In my opinion, she’s not much more than a pretty face.”
Francis surprised her by nodding.
“You’re right. She has her flaws too.”
Mellie stared at him, stunned by his honesty.
“But despite her flaws,” Francis continued, “she was captivating. I loved her unpredictability, her confidence, even her arrogance. She was like a storm—messy, chaotic, but impossible to ignore.”
His voice softened, and Mellie noticed he was speaking in the past tense.
“Did something happen?” she asked cautiously.
Francis leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. A sly smile tugged at his lips.
“Maybe,” he said cryptically. Then, after a pause, he added, “You know, I’ve been thinking.”
“About what?”
“Don’t you think we’d make a good match?”
Mellie blinked, taken aback by his sudden question.
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re from the same world,” Francis said simply.
For the first time, Mellie saw something genuine in his eyes—something that unnerved her more than his usual smugness.
