The Plan (EDITING)

CHAPTER THREE

Before going to the garden, Anastasia changed into a pastel yellow high neckline dress. One of the servants rushed into her bedroom chambers.

"Your father needs you, your highness. In his office."

After getting dressed, she travels to his office, praying that whatever he needs her for is quick and precise.

"Father," she says, folding her hands in front of her dress as she curtsies.

"You and Alfonso are set to be married! How wonderful is that!" He smiles, adding a paper to another pile and smiling obnoxiously.

Married? She is engaged? How come no one asked if she wants this? Her eyes fog and water, her cheeks hotter than the fireplace behind her father. This is not fair, she thought, grabbing her handkerchief– one that Mr. Allen gifted her, and dabs her eyes.

"Stop your tears. I am so tired of you being this dramatic."

"I do not want this, papa. This is for you, not me. You promised me Mr. Allen, whom I love! You– you betrayed me!"

"Oh, you do not love him." His smile melts, his blue eyes meet hers, his hands bend into a fist. "And this is not your decision to make," he says, his voice raising. "This is not your country, this is not your doing– it is mine." He picks up a paper, his hand shaking, showing his signature and Spain's King signature. "It is already done." He smiles. "Do not question me, Anastasia. You know it isn't appropriate." She folds the handkerchief to wipe her face again, her face now a blush of red. "You always wanted to be worth something, didn't you? Now is your chance." More tears crash on her neck. "Look at you." He stands from his chair, making Anastasia back away towards the door. "You are pathetic," he says. "Useless. No one would ever want you if it wasn't for your title. The title that you have because of me. I am doing you a favor– you should be happy."

She puts her handkerchief in her pocket. "I apologize, Father." A portrait of her mother and father lines the center of the office. If she was still here, wouldn't life be much better for Anastasia and her family? Would her father be as cruel? "May I be excused?"

He says nothing, forwarding himself towards the chairs and folding a letter. The gray hairs spike from his chin as he dips the pen into the ink, scribbling something down. Sun shines a facade of red, yellow, and blue on the side of his glasses. Her hands tighten together, a handful of silk drenching into her palm. He opens his drawer and pulls out a cigarette box, uttering that she is to be dismissed.

Once in the garden, Anastasia leans over the fountain, her eyes stuck on the letter.

Dear Anastasia,

Good morning. I have missed our daily telegraphs and visits at your palace for quite a while now. With the visit of the Spanish Royal Family I assume you must be busy with other intentions. I happened to run across your sister the other day at dinner. She said you are well– I am very happy to hear that.

Why don't you write to me as you used to? Or call on me to your palace? I must see you again sometime. I fear that I might die without your smile. And for dear God (I must get my point across) I hope that you are not vexed with me. It would kill me.

I picked the flower for you on my walk with my sister. Hyacinths, your favorite. She wishes to see you, too. It is Saturday– I assume you are having tea and gardening before luncheon as usual. I would travel with her, but I do not want to interfere with Prince Alfonso and your father.

There are rumors of you two and I wish them to be false. Can you assure me, yes or no, no in between, that they are false? As much as I should not say or admit...but I wish them to be false.

You must forget what I wrote. It is not appropriate for me to admit that.

You must come to dine with us tonight. My grand-mama is here from Wales and she would love to meet you. Sister Rose would be delighted, too.

I must go now, but I hope to see you again.

Your Dearest,

Leopold Allen

She folds the letter back and slides it in her pocket. Has he not received her letters? She sends one nearly everyday– there must be a misunderstanding. Oh! To think he worries about her true affections towards him.

Even he knows of Alfonso's potential engagement. Perhaps he regrets not engaging sooner. A caterpillar crawls and forms into a butterfly in the base of her stomach, another creating a cocoon to hibernate in. Of course, this must happen to her– of all people.

She cannot marry Alfonso. She will not marry Alfonso. Not under anyone's orders– even if her father is the king. Leopold will be distraught and heartbroken– not to mention Anastasia's. Wind knocks the letter out of her hand, blowing it miles away from her reach.

Cobblestones around the fountain scrape her ankle. The slight fall of water drips upon her neck and face. An overgrown thorn from the bush besides her scrapes her forearm.

In the distance, her father and Prince Alfonso walk down the stairs. The thorn pokes through her bodice, stabbing her heart. Her father points Anastasia out. Alfonso walks to her, smiling and waving.

"My beautiful Princess," he says, meeting her gaze. He lightly grabs her hand, kissing her knuckles.

She backs away from him, her hands going to her pacing heart. "Sir– this is my place of privacy. My sanctuary. I do not permit you– or my father to be here."

The brown in his eyes enlarge. He sits on the edge of the fountain next to her. "We are to be one– in marriage. Therefore, this is my sanctuary too." He gazes at the fountain. "I cannot wait for our future together."

"Future?" she asks, a tingling sensation burning through her wrist. "There shall be no such thing between us."

He swings a piece of hair behind her ear. "Your naivety is captivating."

"Naivety? I am not naive." She fixes her hair. "You are a nice man, I do not doubt that. Though– I cannot see myself–"

"Shh, that is enough talking." he whispers, closing the gap between them. His hand collapses over hers. "You are such a diamond. The richest treasure one could find."

She ignores any sentiment granted, watching her father gaze at the fallen letter, staring Anastasia down. Her life is nearly over now.