“WHAT IS THIS PLACE?” ERIK asked. I’d done my best to make it cozy, sneaking in with a basket full of candles and blankets midday, and another full of food when everyone left for dinner.
Erik said he was sick, I said I had work, and we met in an inconspicuous spot on the second floor. One of the easiest passages that led down to the massive safe room was by my mother’s old bedroom, the one she’d had during her Selection. Sometimes she took pilgrimages there, like it was the calmest place for her to be in the palace.
“Back when the rebels were a deadly threat, the royal family used to escape down here,” I told Erik as we made our way through the passage. “But this place hasn’t been used in well over a decade, and now I think it may be the palace’s best kept secret.”
“In other words, no one’s finding us,” Erik responded with a smile. “Not if we don’t want them to.”
He took a deep breath. “I’ve felt so guilty today, torn between how excited I was about your invitation and how guilty I feel since I’m not even a choice.” I nodded, pulling plates from the basket and setting them on top of the blankets. “I know. I’ve been cursing the Selection in ways I haven’t since my parents first mentioned it. And then I take it all back, because if it had never
happened . . .”
We shared a long look. I broke it with a sigh, continuing to set out our candlelit picnic.
“You know, my father wasn’t supposed to marry my mother.” “You’re kidding,” he said, joining me.
“Apparently my grandfather had handpicked the girls who came to compete. He only threw in three Fives to appease the lower castes, and he hated Mom from the get-go. On top of that, I found out my parents used to argue all the time.” I shrugged, still surprised by their rocky history. “I grew up thinking that they were a fairy tale, you know? It turns out they were just like anyone else. Somehow that makes it even more magical.”
I let the words hang, thinking of everything I knew now.
“They slow dance when it rains. I have no idea why, but every time the sky turns gray, you’ll find them together.” I smiled. “I remember once Dad barged into the Women’s Room, which is completely improper. You’re
supposed to be invited in. But it was raining, and he wasn’t going to wait to sweep her away. And one time he dipped her in the hallway, and she just laughed and laughed. She was still wearing her hair down then, and I’ll never forget how it looked like a waterfall of red. It’s like no matter what happens, they can find themselves again there.”
“I know what you mean.” Erik eyed the bottle of red wine I’d snagged and grinned. “My parents find themselves over omenalörtsy.”
I wrapped my arms around my knees, tucking my dress beneath me. “What’s that?”
“It’s like an apple doughnut. My mother made him a batch when they were dating, and it became their thing. When something good happens: omenalörtsy. When they’re making up after a fight: omenalörtsy. When it seems like a particularly wonderful Friday: omenalörtsy.”
“How did they meet?”
“This will sound strange, but through bolts and screws.” I squinted. “So . . . are they mechanics?”
“No,” he replied with a chuckle. “My parents have known each other basically their entire lives. They grew up in the same small town in Swendway. When they were eleven, some guys at school were picking on my dad, throwing his schoolwork in the mud. My mom was even smaller than him at the time, but she went right up and yelled at them and pulled my dad away.
“He was embarrassed, but she was enraged. She forced him into an alliance, and that night they met each other on a back road, ran to each of the three bullies’ houses, and stole the screws out of their bike wheels so they’d have to walk. For weeks after that, any time they saw that one of the bullies had replaced the screws, my mom and dad would go steal them. After a while the bullies gave up and walked.”
“I like your mom,” I said through bites of bread.
“Oh, you guys would get along great. She loves food and music and is on a constant hunt for a good reason to laugh. My dad, on the other hand— Well, if you think I’m shy, you should meet him. He’s much more comfortable with books than people, and it can take him a while to warm up to strangers. Anyway, my parents grew up, and because they were very different people, they ran in different circles. Boy after boy came by for my mother, while my dad was spending weekends in the library.
“When my dad got older, he bought a bike. And one morning he woke up and found the screws for his wheels were missing.”
“No!”
“Yes. And she did this until he wised up and started walking with her to
school. And they’ve been walking together everywhere since.” “That is amazing.”
He nodded. “They married young but waited awhile to start a family. They tell me not to take offense but that they weren’t ready to share each other with anyone else, not even me.”
I shook my head. “I really wish I could meet them.”
“They’d have liked you. Dad might have spent most of the visit hiding in his room, but he’d have liked you all the same.”
Erik uncorked the wine, and we shared fruit and bread and cheese. For a long time we didn’t speak. The silence made everything feel bigger, better. There was no rush to fill the space, and after days and days of sound, the comfortable quiet with Erik was the most soothing thing in my world. It was like being alone without really being alone.
“I have to ask an embarrassing question,” I admitted after a while. “Oh, no.” He took a deep breath. “All right, I’m ready.”
“What’s your full name?”
He nearly spit out his wine. “I thought I was going to have to confess some dark secret, and that’s it?”
“I feel bad that I’ve kissed you and don’t know your last name.” He nodded. “It’s Eikko Petteri Koskinen.”
“Eikko Pet . . . Petteri?” “Koskinen.” “Koskinen.”
“Perfect.”
“Is it okay if I call you that? Eikko? I like your name.”
He shrugged. “I only changed it because I thought it was too strange.” “No,” I insisted. “It’s not strange.”
He looked down, toying with the blanket. “What about you? Full name?” I sighed. “There was some debate over middle names, so it’s Eadlyn
Helena Margarete Schreave.” “That’s a mouthful,” he teased.
“It’s pretentious, too. My name literally means ‘princess shining pearl.’” He tried to hide his smile. “Your parents named you Princess?”
“Yes. Yes, I am Queen Princess Schreave, thank you.” “I shouldn’t laugh.”
“And yet you do.” I brushed the crumbs off my dress. “It makes me feel like I was predestined to become a brat.”
He grabbed my hand, forcing me to look at him. “You are not a brat.” “The first time we really spoke, I corrected your manners.”
He shrugged. “They needed correcting.”
I smiled sadly. “I’m not sure why, but that makes me want to cry.” “Please don’t. That was a good day for me.”
I questioned him with my eyes, holding on to his hand as he continued. “When you got up onto the float and you were speaking with Henri? After you were done, you looked down to let me know everything was okay. You didn’t have to do that. You were busy and in a rush, and you still acknowledged me. Even after knowing I was the type of person who bit my nails when I was nervous.”
That made me want to cry even more. “Did it start then?”
“Pretty much. And I’ve chastised myself for it every day since. But, of course, I assumed no one would ever know, least of all you.”
“I was a bit slower,” I admitted. “I think it was when you pulled me from the kitchen. You weren’t worried about what was happening, or how we might look running through a crowded room, or anything else in the world, it seemed. I was unsettled, and you brought me back to earth. So many people are in charge of keeping me in line, but no one seems to make me feel quite so normal as you.”
He swallowed. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to do that much longer.” “You have no idea how much I wish you could.”
After a strained moment of silence, he cleared his throat. “Would you please be so kind . . . when this is over, would you please not contact me? I’m sure you could find me any time you wanted. But please don’t. You have been a wonderful friend to me, and so have these men. I don’t want to become the kind of man who betrays his friends.”
“And I don’t want to become the kind of woman who deceives her husband. When it’s over, it’s over.”
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“But nothing is over tonight,” I reminded him.
He looked down, smiling a bit. “I know. I’m trying to decide if I have enough courage to ask you for another kiss.”
I moved closer to him. “You can ask for one. Or two. Or twelve.”
And he laughed before he toppled backward, the rush of our movement knocking over his glass of wine and sending the candle flames dancing.
