butterflies | ✓

cynosure.

Marisole Anders, the beautiful Two from Zuni, let out a dreamy sigh as she gazed at Prince Gabriel. Obviously she was one of the few that were "truly" in love with him. "Our date last night was fantastic." She sighed again. "He was so...so perfect."

Marisole's gown was long and emerald in color. All of her other gowns had been pastel and rosy shades of pink, and seeing such a bold color on her was strange. Even stranger was that it made her blue eyes appear brighter.

"What did you do?" I asked as I picked at my food. I looked from my plate up to her.

She smiled adoringly at him once more before looking at me. Gabriel had not looked our way once. "We took two horses out at night and rode to a little spot on the other side of the lake, and we sat and talked and gazed at the stars."

Waverly Major, the girl from Lakedon, leaned around me to look at Marisole and smiled warmly. "You're so lucky, Marisole."

"Have you done anything with him yet?" I asked her.

She looked a little saddened by this question. "Yes," Her voice was quiet. "There was...nothing there. As much as I love it here, I might ask him to send me home. But I'll probably stay a little longer. For the money."

I gave her a baffled look. "But you're a Two. Why would you need the money?"

"We donate it to families in need," She explained. "I know a few families that need the money, and I'd been sneaking some to them for a while. My parents promised that they would alternate the  family that receives the entire paycheck that comes every week."

"That's so sweet of you," Marisole said. "What do you mean that there was nothing?"

Waverly just shrugged. "There was just nothing. No spark, no butterflies. Nothing that should indicate that I love him. I don't even feel very attracted to him." Her eyes drifted over, and I watched them land on Gabriel's younger brother, Michael. They lingered for a moment before she turned back to us. "I think that in another week or two, I'll ask him to send me home. He knows why I'm staying, and he agreed that there was nothing."

"That's very kind of him," Marisole said.

Waverly grinned. "Yes, it is." She turned her grin to me. "You know, Lysel, I think you and him would make a lovely couple."

Marisole said nothing.

I looked at Waverly. "Really?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "I mean, you already get along well with his female cousins and his sisters. And he looks at you the way his father looks at his mother."

Marisole still remained silent.

I shrugged and look down, using my hair to hide my face and my blush. "I'm not here for love," I mumbled. "I'm here to observe."

Corinna Ember, another Two from St. George, leaned around Marisole to address me. "I really hate to butt in and admit to eavesdropping," she said while brushing a curl of dark hair behind her ear, "but Waverly does have a point. He looks at you like..."

"Like he's the moon and you're his sun." Delilah Gibson, a Three from Columbia, chimed in from the other side of Waverly.

I looked over at Marisole. She stared down at the table blankly, her posture stiff and her hands clenched into tight fists over the edges of her chair's armrests.

I rolled my eyes at them and took a bite of my food. "You all are crazy," I finally replied. "Prince Gabriel feels no affection for me. I'm sure that in a few weeks, I'll be sent home." Marisole seemed to brighten at my reassurance, but something in me twisted. I felt a little sick. She engaged Corinna in a conversation about the prince and how kind and lovely he was to her, and I quietly ate my food, staring at the table in front of me. The idea of Marisole with Gabriel felt...wrong. For some reason, I felt dirty and disgusted even thinking about it, even if she was a beautiful and lovely girl and he was a handsome and kind man.

But no, that was stupid.

Marisole wasn't exactly a friend, but I knew that if we had time, we could have eventually become friends. I should have been happy for her. I wanted to be happy for her, but the mere idea of her and Gabriel together made bile rise in my throat.

I set down my fork, the little bit of an appetite that I had had gone.