28. We're Not Broken, Just Bent

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I turn away, and walk back to the drawing room.

"Ah, there you are, my dear."

Elena is smiling, and glances beyond me to the hidden corner.

"You are alone? Where is Mark?"

"He is in there - with Rosita. They are - preoccupied."

My voice is toneless.

I wonder what I look like - a numb, wooden dummy probably, because she stops smiling, and is frowning, and taking my cold hand in hers.

"My dear," she says, and her voice is full of pity. "My poor child."

I look at her, into her pitying, understanding eyes.

"They - " I swallow. "Is there something between them?"

"My dear - "

"Please." It is a pained whisper. "Please, I need to know. So I can understand. So I can - cope..."

"It's just a flirtation, my dear. Nothing serious..."

"How long?" My voice is hollow.

"A few years. On and off. She is my husband's niece, his sister's daughter."

Family. Like me. 

I have a sudden, hysterical desire to laugh.

She is looking at me, her eyes concerned.

"Don't be upset, my dear. You know how men are..."

"No, I don't," I say slowly, drawing myself up. "No, I don't know how men are." 

I look straight into her eyes. 

"I wasn't brought up like that. I was brought up," my voice cracks a little, "to respect fidelity."

Elena's eyes waver before mine, and she says, a little uneasily, "You're still very young and romantic." She pats my hand kindly. "One does not marry one's first love. Mine was a handsome young bartender, but my father disapproved. Peter has money and a fine place. We've been very happy and I've never regretted leaving my bartender."

"Yours was an arranged marriage too?"

"Yes. These old, fine families prefer this form of marriage."

I suddenly feel very tired.

"If you'll excuse me, I'd like to go to bed."

Elena rises to her feet. "But of course, dear, I'll come and see you've got all you want." 

As we cross the flower-decked hall, Mark and Rosita come out of the opposite room. 

He looks a little flushed, and his hair is rumpled, and my heart twists a little in pain, but the girl's eyes are triumphant. 

"There you are. Finally." Elena says, a tone of rebuke in her voice. 

She flicks a look at Rosita. 

"You shouldn't be here." Her voice is cold. "It is very late." 

She turns to her brother.

"Yiseul is tired. She wants to go to bed."

"Already?" He comes towards me, but I retreat to the stairs.

"It's very late, or rather early," I say, miserably aware that there is a slight quiver in my voice. I go on, more firmly, "Good night, Elena. Good night, Rosita. Good night, Mark." 

I hurry up the stairs, without looking at any of them.

Alone in the sanctuary of my room, I walk to the window and throw it wide open, without bothering to switch on the lights.

Prince Caspian -Jung Yoonoh NCTWhere stories live. Discover now