Chapter 3

The next day had me poring over my drawings. Sketches of tentative silhouettes and half-finished lines met my gimlet-eyed perusal. I had resolved, somewhere between crying my eyes out and cursing my fate, that I'd take up where I left off in plotting my mock label.

Madame Bijou--the woman I was interning under this break--had tasked us--the interns--with releasing prototypes of our designs.

It was a far cry from the normal fetching of swatches and giving photoshoots, but after a month under Madame Bijou's supervisorship she'd dubbed us 'diamonds in the rough.' Us being the thirteen interns lucky enough to be employed into 'La Présent.'

And after another taxing fortnight she'd declared us 'fit to carry on the legacy.'

So here I was, rapidly shedding off braincells in an aim to come up with the perfect fashion line.

Possible fashion styles clamoured around in my head; grunge? Preppy? Bohemian? Chic? Goth? Sexy? Punk? Or even lolita?

I released a frustrated breath and slapped my palms on the desk; glaring at the diagrams below me.

It was either this or think about my engagement to Castello tomorrow. Which was no decision at all to make.

A curdle of bitterness pushed its way into my throat, and I swallowed it down immediately before it could burst out of my mouth in hateful sobs.

I knew why I was getting married. Protection.

Protection for my family against the fudging Romanovs. I knew they accused my father of murder, but I knew he didn't, couldn't, kill a child; he'd had children of his own then for godsakes.

I sighed. But all that didn't matter, the Romanovs have been out for blood since, and now that I was of age; I was being married off to someone for protection.

I could find a way to escape, elope to Japan.

I couldn't care less if anything awful happened to my parents--okay, I admit, I could care a little what happened to them. But if anything bad happened to my sisters... Happened to my little eight year old sister, Tura... I swallowed hard, dread making my stomach twist, I woul--

My thoughts were interrupted by someone throwing open my door with so much force it rattled against the walls.

Luna.

If I didn't have an inbuilt best-friend-cator within me I would've thought she was a hobo.

Because she sure did look like one.

She was panting heavily, her hair sticking out at different angles allover the place; her shirt was worn backwards and it looked like she'd just dragged on the first pair of sweats she'd come across.

My inner fashionista bawled.

Her wild eyes roved over me disbelievingly. And accusingly. "You're... Alive?" she breathed out.

I nodded brightly. "Surprising, isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes and I smiled.

Marching over to my bed, she fell on it heavily, slumping down flat on her back. "You texted me... your life as you knew it was about to go up in flames, and your charred remains dispersed onto a sea of blight," she gasped out disbelievingly, heaving.

I propped myself on the desk and snorted. "And they are. I'm getting engaged tomorrow."

Her heaving chest stilled.

She shot up to a sitting position. "What?!" she screeched. "YOU DIDN'T TELL ME YOUR LIFE WAS IN DANGER!"

I slapped my hands over my ears with a wince. "Stop shouting, it's still six in the morning."

Luna, as usual, threw my admonitions were she'd flung the previous ones I'd dealt her with since third grade. To the wind.

"WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO NOW, EM?!"

She stood up sharply and paced my room, her palms flat on her forehead. She turned to me, still moving, and asked, "Elope to Japan?"

I shook my head. "Already thought of that."

She stopped and turned to face me fully, folding her arms in front of her. And narrowing her eyes at me dangerously.

Oh no.

I'd documented this look as 'LATBF.'

Luna About To Blow A Fuse.

"You thought about it, and then what?" she asked slowly.

"And then nothing," I murmured, looking down at my feet.

I'd resolved I wouldn't be able to escape my engagement, wouldn't be able to go against my father. Call me a pushover but I just couldn't run away and leave my family unprotected. I couldn't allow Ardoo face the same fate I was facing, even though deep down I knew it was inevitable. And Tura, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything bad happened to her.

So nothing. I did, and would do, nothing.

"Emily!" Luna snapped, disbelief and irritation written allover her face. "You can't just sit here and allow your ass of a father to sign away a good portion of your life over to some complete stranger.

Who is he?! Who's the scumbag he's planning to hand you over to?"

I repressed the urge to twist my hair around my finger so tightly my head would hurt, a stupid nervous habit. "Castello," I supplied.

"CASTELLO?!" Luna yelled, visibly hyperventilating. "BUT HE'S, LIKE, TWICE YOUR F*CKING AGE OR SOMETHING!"

I sighed. "Stop shouting, and, you owe me five dollars."

She stared at me incredulously, and finally reduced her voice. She didn't just tone it down, she whispered, "You're getting engaged tomorrow, and all you can think about is that stupid notebook...?"

I bit my lip, feeling the tendrils of anxiety I'd been trying to suppress spring to the surface. "You're panicking enough for both of us as it is."

She stared at me unbelievably. "Emily," she whispered again, a strained look suddenly tightening her features. "Don't you dare give up on our escape plan."

I stared at her, confused. "We don't... Have a plan."

Her mouth silently formed the word 'Japan.'

I puffed my cheeks and let out the air slowly. "And how are we going to pull that off?" I asked skeptically.

"Easy," she imparted, settling down on my bed gingerly and raking her fingers through her ragged blue curls. "My father's scheduled to go on a trip to New Jersey this evening."

Although our fathers were recently going through a major fall out, I doubted Luna's would allow me to elope on his flight just to spite my father.

Not when my marriage could possibly help him out as well.

And I opened my mouth to tell Luna exactly that, "I d--"

"Ah-Ah-Ah," she cut me off, a maniacal gleam suddenly infiltrating her eyes. "His traveling bag's large enough to fit in two teenage sized girls."

This time I did roll my eyes. "That's crazy, Luna."

Her eyes dimmed. "I know."

Then she looked at me, understanding suddenly suffusing her eyes--a rare occurrence.

She sighed, her voice starting gently, "I know the only reason you're not considering our escaping in my father's bags--don't look at me that way--Is because you don't want your family to get harmed by those mysterious Romanovs--hey, that rhymed, didn't it? Oh, I don't think it did. Bummer--sorry, I'll go on now. Yeah, and if you don't get married to Castello, Ardoo would be fated to do so--a vicious chain if you ask me. And knowing you, Em, you love your family so much you'd consider getting married to," she shuddered. "Captain butt grabber."

A smile started to form on my lips, but it was gone the moment I remembered the sensation of his podgy fingers squeezing my behind. Tightly.

I and Castello had crossed paths in the past a few times. And those times, though scarce as they were, had been long enough for him to leave a lasting impression.

"We should party, Em." Luna sighed, falling flat on the bed and staring up at the ceilings miserably, "dance and drink away our coming years of sorrow. I'm not delusional enough to think I wouldn't face the same fate as you soon. A fate filled with wrinkled balls," she finished gravely.

I scrunched up my nose, restrained myself from mentally picturing up anything wrinkled, then shrugged; if Luna thought a night of recklessness was what it would take to lessen the impact of tomorrow, then... Who was I to think otherwise?

"Have you... Have you told Jerry about any of this?" she asked.

My shoulders caved in, sadness seeping into my every word. "No, I haven't." I didn't know how he was going to take it. But I did know 'not happily' was one.

"Well, I think you should tell him later tonight when we're at the party. And," she added, suddenly looking anywhere but at my eyes, "I'm bringing Steph along, too."

My black nail paint and genie rings suddenly looked interesting.

I shrugged jerkily. "If you want to. I mean, I'm not stopping you, or anything... like that."

Stephanie Reece was a girl Luna had met in her ballet class three weeks ago, and they've been friends since; so it was only natural Luna wanted to add her into our friendship duo.

Except I didn't have a good feeling about her, stupid: I know. But it was what it was.

"Okay," Luna chimed, I could hear the wheels in her mind turning as she sought to bring up a topic that'd shatter the awkward silence hovering around us, "So. I suggest we do something that'd take your mind off tomorrow!"

My feet landed on the floor instantly. "Was already on it."

"What?" Luna's brows rose.

I waved my hand grandly, encompassing my sketches and the mannequins at the far end of the room with fabrics hanging off of them.

Luna released a deflating sigh, her shoulders slumping as if one of my mannequins had been placed on them. My eyes narrowed on her. I had attended most of her ballet classes--I'd even learnt some expert moves myself. But Luna, for the life of her, couldn't seat still to listen to me talk about fashion. Not even for a minute.

For two hours, we methodically went on and on about procedures it took to launch mock-lables.

I'd known it was time to send Luna on her way home when I'd said, talking about target audience, "I guess it'd focus more on people that... are pretty much me: thin, 5'4--"

And she'd said, "party poopers, annoyingly level-headed, ice cream mongers, juvenile diary keepers, Aladdin w--"

She'd closed the door she'd ran through abruptly with a grey, fluffy pillow bouncing off it.

Standing in the middle of my empty room now, I puffed my cheeks and released the air sharply: blowing away a curl of hair in the process. It was almost time for breakfast. Almost time for me to face reality.

I glared at the expensive Versailles-esque drape, from Marie Antoinette, that covered the length of the north window. I glared at it if it was the reason I felt like the universe was conspiring against me.

Fudging Romanovs, I gritted out mentally. Fudging. Romanovs. I thought spitefully, increasing my glare on the drapes a notch. It would have helped if I had a face to picture while shooting daggers at the curtain. But the Romanovs just... simply didn't exist, on the internet, or anywhere. An impossible feat.

They were the cause of everything, I thought, why I was getting engaged to be married soon, why I felt like my life was hanging on by a single bobby pin; why I felt like I and Jerry were slowly drifting apart.

My shoulders slumped. He'd forgotten our first-date anniversary last Tuesday. Forgotten to get me my favorite genie ring bands.

My shoulders caved further, what would it matter though? I was ruining our relationship by getting engaged tomorrow.

Shutting my eyes tightly, I expelled a slow breath, mentally gathering all my problems and stowing them away in a box I'd name... Romanov, yes: Romanov. Fitting name.

I pivoted on my heels after shooting the pale drape one final scathing glare. Then I groaned when I remembered the pending interview I was to give a prissy model from an equally prissy fashion house.

I mentally opened Romanov and crammed the fudging snob into it.