Blue Blood and Belgium Chocolate

|23| My Birthday

PRINCESS FABIANNE

A pinch of rebelliousness 

I'VE ALWAYS IMAGINED that the day you remember the love of your life is a day that you will hold and cherish for the rest of your life. Unfortunately, the day I met Luke was a day that's blurred out and out of focus. There's enough pieces for me to rationalise what had transpired but a lot of it was filled in by my mind. 

I was 24. I don't remember most of it, for the simple fact it was one of the handful of times I've had one too many to drink. We were in one of the many rooms in the Johor (in Malaysia's) castle. We were partying with the upper crust of society, the 0.01%.

Most of them, like me, inherited their wealth.

But there was one, who didn't. 

Little did I realise then, that that was the night I'd meet him. 

The room we were drinking in and socializing was well out of the public's eye. Unlike in Belgium, Aisha isn't always hounded for pictures by the press. Still, with so many of the incredibly wealthy present, Aisha took no chances ensuring that no matter what else, we were safe. 

The room is dark, lit up in warm artificial lights with blue and purple neon lights flashing. There's a lot of men, but also a lot of women. By the time one in the morning came along, most of us were staggering on our feet, laughing a little too loudly and some of us were dancing. 

Aisha was 25 then. Engaged to marry the Sultan of Kedah's son Putera Adam. "This party," Aisha had declared earlier that day as we applied make-up on to ourselves "is going to be the best one yet!"

Judging from how she was grinding someone on the dance-floor, I'm inclined to believe her. I can feel that I've taken a little too many drinks and the floor threatens me with a hug. I stumble moving slowly to a private lounge where I might get some privacy while I sober up.

When I enter it, I'm surprised to realise I'm not alone.

There's a man sitting there.

 A well-dressed man in a light orange fitted shirt and brown slacks. He turns to glance at me.

My throat dries up.

I've met my fair share of celebrities who've boasted beautiful looks, I've met models, I've met so many attractive men. What I'd never had the grace to meet was a man who might actually make me believe in God.

I'd read of angels, of handsome men, who fell in love with mortals and stayed on earth. This man looked like he'd fallen in a blaze of heat for a mortal women. If not the angel himself, he looked like an offspring of one unlawful relationship.

His lips which are perfectly sculpted, quirk up.

"I don't think I've had a pleasure of meeting you." He stands up, and the room suddenly became small. Suddenly, I'm too close and there's not enough space in this room for the two of us. It's by no means a small room to begin with. He reaches one perfectly carved hand out to me. "I'm Luke Paul."

I'm not sure if it's the sudden proximity or the accent that makes me a minute late to replying. "Elle," I lie, "Elle Smith."

His eyebrows quirk up, "That's an unusual fake name." 

I don't want him to talk, him taking is incredibly utterly distracting. I've heard Australian accents before and while they're mesmerizing, they've never made me utterly weak in the knees and a little less sharp than I normally am.