Chapter Eighty-Eight

Chapter Eighty-Eight
What Gracie said lingered with me through the long hours of the night, refusing to leave me in peace. I lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling as her words replayed over and over in my mind, echoing like a relentless whisper that refused to fade.
I could not understand how she had found the courage to say such a thing to me so directly—to look me in the eye and suggest that I did not love Rex. How could she believe that? How could she not see what I feel? I do love him. I know I do.
Our relationship has not been perfect; it has carried its share of fractures and silences. We met, shared a fleeting month together, and then parted ways for three long years. Yet, even in our distance, life seemed determined to place us back into each other's paths. Every time we drifted apart, we somehow found our way back, as though the world itself conspired to pull us together. Every road I have taken, no matter how far I strayed, always seemed to lead me back to him.
And yet—here I am, unable to sleep, haunted by the suggestion that perhaps my love is not what I believe it to be.
The pale light of dawn begins to press against the curtains, and I realize it is nearly six in the morning. Sleep has abandoned me entirely. I rise from bed and move to the bathroom, my body heavy with exhaustion, my mind heavier still. I brush my teeth, splash cold water onto my face, and finally lift my gaze to the mirror.
There I stand, searching my own reflection as though it holds the answers Gracie's words have shaken loose.
There I stand, gripping the sink, staring into the mirror as though my reflection might defend me from Gracie's words. My eyes are ringed with exhaustion, yet beneath the tiredness there is something fiercer—an ache, a quiet indignation.
You don't love him.
The memory of her voice stings. How could she think that? How could she look at me—at us—and believe my love for Rex is anything less than real?
Because I do love him. I know it as surely as I know the rise and fall of my own breath. Loving him has never been a passing fancy or a fleeting dream; it is a thread woven into every chapter of my life. We met, we were torn apart, we found each other again. Time and distance never unraveled what I feel for him. Every path I've walked, no matter how far it strayed, always curved back toward him. That cannot be coincidence. That is love—stubborn, unshakable, alive even in silence.
I study my own face, as though searching for proof of this truth in the reflection staring back at me. Do I look like someone uncertain? No. My heart knows what it holds. My love for Rex may have endured storms, it may have been tested by absence and by circumstance, but it has never left me.
Perhaps Gracie cannot understand. Perhaps from where she stands, love must be simple, bright, and obvious. Ours has never been that. Ours has been wild, fractured, stitched together by fate and choice in equal measure. But if anything, that makes it stronger.
I breathe in slowly, fogging the mirror with warmth. When the glass clears again, my reflection does not look lost—it looks resolute. Gracie's words may echo in my mind, but they do not define my heart.
Because I love him. And nothing—no time, no doubt, no sister's question—can take that away from me.
A firm knock at the bathroom door jars me from my spiraling thoughts. I pull it open and find Rex standing there, his expression a mixture of worry and restraint.
"Are you well?" he asks, his voice low yet insistent. "I have been knocking for some time, but you did not answer."
"I am fine," I reply quickly, forcing steadiness into my tone. "I was simply in the bathroom."
His brows draw together. "All truly well? I ask because the news I bring today is... difficult. Perhaps not good at all."
My breath catches. "What is it?"
He hesitates only a moment before speaking with the clarity of a decision already made. "My parents will be arriving today. I intend to inform them of our engagement, for next week it must be announced formally to the public."
The words strike like a gavel sealing a verdict. I manage a faint chuckle, though it feels hollow in my chest. "Now it begins to feel real."
"You are not reconsidering, are you?" he asks, half in jest, but there is an unmistakable edge of concern in his eyes.
"Never," I assure him with a wink, though anxiety coils in my stomach. "But what am I to wear? How should I conduct myself before your family? Perhaps I should begin learning Spanish immediately. You must give me guidance, Rex, so I do not disgrace you—or myself."
He shakes his head with a faint laugh. "There is no need to overwhelm yourself. We will take this step by step. Nothing must be perfected in a single day."
Still, my unease spills through. "I am frightened," I admit, my voice softening. "You know I love you. You know I would do anything for you."
His eyes widen, almost pained. "Violet, do not speak as though love requires sacrifice beyond reason. You have already done more than enough. I never needed you to change for me."
"But what have I given you, Rex?" The question escapes me with unguarded honesty. "I do not know how to be a queen. My life has been shaped by opposition to kings and presidents, to politics itself. I cannot speak Spanish. I do not know your laws, your traditions, your courtly expectations. I cannot even pretend to belong in that world. I know nothing."
He studies me for a long moment before replying. "From the day we met, I knew your heart was set against power and the institutions that wield it. But do you not see? That was what drew me to you. You never treated me as a king, and in your presence I was not one. And whether you realize it or not, you ceased speaking of politics with that same fire some time ago."
I roll my eyes faintly. "Because I was distracted."
"No," he corrects gently, his lips curving into a knowing smile. "Because you were already stepping into this world. Mine. Ours. You are becoming one of us."
The realization falls on me like cold iron. One of them. One of those who hold the reins of power—the very system I once despised for its silence in the face of injustice. My chest tightens, yet Rex sees it. He reaches for my hands, his touch steady, his gaze unwavering.
"Listen to me, Violet," he says with quiet conviction. "From the outside, you could fight, yes—but always against an immovable wall. As queen, you will stand inside that wall. You will have the ability to shape decisions, to influence laws, to protect lives. Do not think of it as betrayal of your beliefs. Think of it as their fulfillment. You are not abandoning the fight—you are taking it to the highest ground."
His words strike deep, stirring something that frightens me as much as it steadies me. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps change is not achieved by shouting against the gates but by stepping inside them. The thought terrifies me—but it also awakens a dangerous kind of hope.
I swallow hard. "What did I do to deserve this? To deserve you?"
"You need not earn it," Rex replies simply, his voice firm. "Your existence is enough. And that existence, Violet, has the power to alter history—if you choose to wield it."
For a moment, the air between us is heavy with both love and burden—the weight of what is to come pressing against the fragile intimacy we share. I meet his eyes and find no escape in them, only a reflection of my own fate.