Chapter Eighty-Seven

Chapter Eighty-Seven
Gracie's question hangs in the air, delicate yet heavy, like a whisper that refuses to dissipate. "What does it feel like... living the dream I always wished was mine?"
My chest tightens, an invisible hand pressing against my ribs. I swallow, searching for a way to untangle the sudden weight settling in her small, eager heart. How do I tell her the truth? This life—this gilded, glittering life—is not the fairy tale she imagines. Not even close.
I glance at her, and a pang of guilt pierces me sharply. She has dreamed of this, longed for it, imagined it in the quiet of her nights, and here I am, fumbling through it, struggling to keep up with a world that never asked if I was ready. I don't want to shatter her illusions, but I cannot paint lies across this reality.
My mind races, tumbling through the labyrinth of obligations and secrets: the rigid rules, the endless ceremonies, the shadow of Rex's uncle's death looming over everything.
I exhale slowly, trying to steady the tremor in my voice. I lean closer, searching for words that could balance honesty with the tenderness she deserves. "Gracie... it's complicated," I begin softly, letting each syllable carry a cautious honesty. "I can't say it feels like the dream you imagine—at least, not in the way you think it would. There's... so much pressure, so many rules, expectations I never asked for, and responsibilities I can't ignore." I force a faint, almost apologetic smile. "I know there's a story waiting for you too, a kind of love story written for your life. It's just... a matter of time."
Her brow furrows, and she shakes her head, her small hands trembling with insistence. "You don't love him."
I blink, stunned. Her certainty hits me like a gust of cold wind. "What?" I murmur, my voice barely hiding my shock.
Her gaze sharpens, piercing through the layers of hesitation and doubt I try to maintain. "If you truly loved him, all of this—the rules, the pressure, the things you're forced to do—wouldn't matter. You'd embrace it, willingly. You'd want to learn, to understand, to be part of his world, because love makes the impossible feel effortless." She pauses, her voice trembling but steady. "What were you doing this whole time? If you loved him, you'd have been learning his language the day you met him, not years later. You wouldn't hesitate. You wouldn't hold back."
Her words echo in the space between us, sharp and unrelenting, leaving me breathless. The innocence of her observation carries a cruelty I wasn't ready for—a truth I am not sure I can face.
I stare at Gracie, and a flash of irritation heats my chest. How can she speak so simply about something I've been living every day, carrying on my shoulders like a weight she can't even imagine?
Her words, so earnest and probing, feel sharp, like they've pierced something tender and raw inside me. "You don't love him," she says, so certain, so small yet so daring.
I open my mouth before I think, my voice sharper than I intend. "Gracie, enough!" I snap, the words leaving a bitter edge in the air. Her eyes widen, hurt and surprise mingling on her face, but I don't soften. "You can't just say things like that. You don't know what it's like, what it's really like to live this life!"
Her frown deepens, and for a moment I see the question lingering in her gaze, the innocence that refuses to understand the pressure, the rules, the constant weight of expectation. I bite the inside of my cheek, swallowing the rest of my frustration.
I force a tight smile, letting my voice soften just enough to mask the storm beneath. "Some things... you just can't understand until you're living them."
She nods slowly, still puzzled, still disappointed, and I turn away, heart thudding. I don't say another word. I can't. My doubts, my questions, my confusion—they're mine alone. And I don't have to justify them to anyone.
I turn sharply, brushing past Gracie before she can respond. My steps are quick, sharp, carrying all the frustration I can't put into words. Her eyes follow me, wide and uncertain, and I can feel the weight of her gaze pressing against my back.
I don't stop until I'm alone, somewhere quiet, where the soft rustle of the trees and the distant hum of the world can't reach her. My chest heaves, and my hands tremble slightly—not from fear, but from the tension I've been holding in for so long.
I press my palms against my eyes, willing the storm inside me to settle. But it doesn't. Thoughts of Rex crawl into my mind unbidden—the way he smiles, the way he expects me to navigate a world I barely understand, the way he looks at me as if my every action should match a script I've never written.
I shake my head, frustrated at myself. Do I even know what I feel? The question is sharp, unrelenting, and yet I can't answer it. I can't admit it to Gracie, not now, not ever. She doesn't need this confusion. She doesn't need to see the cracks in my certainty.
I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to smooth the ache in my chest. My fingers dig into my palms, grounding myself, reminding myself that some things—some feelings—have to remain mine alone.
After a long moment, I lift my head, forcing my expression into something calm, composed, untouchable. The anger toward Gracie has faded, leaving only a quiet tension that hums beneath my skin. I still don't know what I feel, and I'm not ready to find out.
So I turn back toward her, a faint smile on my lips, like nothing happened. And inside, the questions remain, unanswered, tangled, and entirely mine.
I step into the library, letting the door click softly behind me. The familiar scent of old books and polished wood surrounds us, but it does little to calm the tension coiling inside me. Gracie is already there, perched on one of the chairs with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes wide and cautious.
"Vee... are you okay?" she asks, her voice quiet, almost reverent in the hushed space.
I take a deep breath, forcing my voice to stay level. "I'm fine," I say, though the edge in my tone is unmistakable. I drop my bag onto the floor and lean against the edge of a tall bookshelf, crossing my arms. "But Gracie... you can't just say things like that. You don't know what it's like, not even close. And it's not fair to make assumptions about me—or anyone else."
She flinches, but her frown deepens, the curiosity in her eyes unwavering. "I'm just trying to understand," she murmurs, careful not to raise her voice in the quiet room.
I shake my head, frustration simmering under the surface. "Trying to understand is one thing," I say firmly, "but accusing me of not loving someone is another. That's... not okay." My voice softens slightly, but only just enough to mask the sharpness I feel. "I don't need to explain my heart to anyone, not even you."
Gracie bites her lip, hurt flickering across her face. I glance at her, feeling a twinge of guilt, but I keep my expression neutral. I can't let her see the storm raging in my chest.
"I... I didn't mean to hurt you," she whispers, glancing down at her folded hands.
I give a small, tight nod. "I know," I say, my voice quieter now, steadying myself. "But some things... some things you just don't understand until you're living them."
She stays quiet, letting the weight of my words sink in. The library is silent except for the faint tick of a clock and the soft rustle of pages somewhere in the distance. I let the pause stretch, a necessary barrier between her curiosity and my private thoughts.
Finally, I release a slow breath and push myself off the bookshelf. "Come on," I say, forcing a soft smile, "let's find something else to do."
Gracie nods, still watching me with that cautious curiosity, and I know she senses the distance I've put between us. That's fine. Some things are mine alone, and in this quiet library, I can hold onto that for now.