Chapter Text
Ophélie stared at her reflection in the mirror. The mirror was slightly fogged up from the steam filling the bathroom.
After a hectic day, the hot bath cleared Ophélie's mind, allowing her to reflect on her situation.
She needed to leave, quickly.
She had already caused too much trouble, and it was only a matter of time before they found her again. She didn't want to cause trouble for Thorn.
She smiled when she thought of him.
They had kissed again when they arrived at the apartment.
So scandalous, she thought mischievously.
If she had the courage, she would do more than just kiss him. She might not understand certain things, like the value of money, for example, but she knew very well what a woman and a man, married or not, could do alone if they harbored feelings for each other.
But she knew she couldn't do that. It would be more than scandalous if anyone found out. She already had enough problems.
Her clothes were drying on the clothesline, and she was wearing a brown robe that Thorn had lent her. She had to fold the sleeves and hold the collar, which hung loosely, revealing more of her skin than it should, with her hands.
Her hair, damp, looked different after getting wet. It was more voluminous. She tried to style it with a comb, but gave up. She would leave that job to her hairdresser when she returned to the Palazzo Barberini.
She opened the bathroom door slowly.
The truth was, she was stalling, making the most of her time.
Thorn was facing a high table, filling two glasses with a dark liquid she assumed was wine.
He was smiling at her like a silly little boy. She smiled back like the silly girl she was.
"Did you ruin your clothes?" she asked.
"No. They'll dry in a minute."
She was smart enough to grab some light cotton clothes before leaving the Palazzo.
But it wasn't the clothes she was worried about, but rather the way Thorn looked at her body.
She felt her face heat up.
"It looks good on you. You should always wear my clothes." He pointed to the robe. The brown color suited her well, she had to admit. She didn't wear dark colors, only in case of mourning.
"I always wear them," she teased. It was true that during those 24 hours she had been in his company, she had only worn his clothes: pajamas and the robe. If she stayed with him a little longer, maybe she would wear one of his suits too.
He had changed his clothes, replacing his other suit with a white button-down shirt and black trousers.
He laughed at her response and offered her a glass.
"I thought perhaps some wine would go well."
Ophélie took it, grateful. She was drinking more alcohol in just one day than she was allowed.
"Would you like me to cook something?" she asked, offering to help with something. Sometimes she felt this kind of helplessness taking hold of her mind when she saw the people around her working and she standing there doing nothing.
"There's no kitchen. I always eat out," Thorn replied.
She had never noticed, but there really wasn't a kitchen in the apartment. Just the bathroom, the terrace, and an open-plan room that served as bedroom, living room, and office.
"And do you like this?" Ophélie asked. If someone asked her if she enjoyed the countless dinners, lunches, afternoon teas, and brunches, she would say no. When she had her own family, all meals would be eaten together.
"Well, life isn't always as we want it to be," he philosophized. "Or is it?"
"No, it isn't."
The sentence had saddened her.
She wondered how it was possible that she had everything that many people desired while having so little.
She took a sip of wine to dispel her dissatisfaction and sadness. He drank too.
Ophélie sat on the bed and Thorn sat beside her at a respectable distance.
With his nerves on edge, it wasn't prudent for him to sit too close to her, especially since he was only wearing one piece of clothing.
"Tired?" he asked.
"A little."
"You had a long day."
"It was a wonderful day," she replied, smiling. She had experienced emotions so abrupt and different from those she felt in her daily life, but it was incredible, and she would do it all again.
"This is American Hour, with a special bulletin. There is no further news about Princess Ophélie, who fell ill yesterday, on the last leg of a European tour. Rumors suggest that her health is in serious condition, causing anxiety and concern for the citizens of her country."
Ophélie stood up and turned off the radio. The last thing she needed at that moment was an announcer talking about her health. What caught her attention most was the fact that the radio was tuned to an American program.
"The news can wait," she said. "May I have some more wine?"
Thorn took the bottle and filled his glass.
"It's a shame we can't make dinner."
"Did you learn to cook in the hospital?" Thorn asked, with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
She almost laughed.She had private lessons with renowned chefs and knew how to cook many things. Even her mother praised the food she made, preferring to eat the dishes she prepared instead of the elaborate meals that the palace chefs prepared.
"I'm a good cook. I could make a living doing this if I wanted to. I also know how to sew, clean the house, and iron," she replied.
She had already imagined opening her own restaurant and living a happy life, alone. Until that moment.
For a brief moment, she imagined herself doing all this with and for Thorn. She would run away with him, leave her birth behind, and live a life with him.
But the thought died instantly. All of that was impossible, and she was a fool.
She had a duty to her mother, to her country, and to her people. She couldn't daydream about things that would never happen. That would only bring suffering.
She stood up and began to walk around the room, trying to make the thoughts dissipate.
"Well, I guess I'll have to move to a place with a kitchen," Thorn replied.
That was enough to make Ophélie look at him. Thorn also seemed sad, as if he sensed what was about to happen.
She finished her second glass of wine, and Thorn stood up to take it from her hand and put it back on the table.
"I need to go," she said finally. She had been putting off saying those words for a long time. She didn't want to go, but she knew she had to.
She walked toward the bathroom, but Thorn hugged her before she reached the door.
That physical contact was enough to release her emotions.
She snuggled into his chest and cried.
"Lilie, there's something I want to tell you," Thorn said, his voice choked with emotion.
Ophélie looked at him.
"No, please. Don't say anything."
Instead of answering, Thorn kissed her face all over: her eyes, nose, cheeks, mouth, and forehead.
"I have to get dressed," she said.
She needed to do it soon. If she kept hesitating, she would throw her common sense out the window.
Thorn let her go back to the bathroom.
~
The deafening silence in the car bothered Thorn. He had nothing to say, anyway.
He felt tired, exhausted actually. His mind was spinning with memories of that day.
He wondered how it was possible to meet a woman, whom he presumed to be a drunk, on the street, and how much he could change his life.
"Stop at the next corner, please," Ophélie asked.
He wanted the silence in the car broken, but not like that.
He drove slowly to have more time with her.
He felt like a fool. An idiot. Greedy.
If he had known he would end the day feeling this way, he would have enjoyed it more.
The interview and the photos he had promised would never see the light of day if it were up to him. He couldn't betray her like that.
She had opened her heart and mind to him; it would be disloyal to let the world see it.
His memory had never been so fresh, constantly reminding him of everything from the moment he found Ophélie lying on a bench to the kiss by the river.
He wouldn't say it aloud, but he felt a little strange for having kissed Ophélie. She was a Princess after all, and it didn't seem right to have kissed her.
However, he did not regret it and felt grateful for having taken the initiative and having been reciprocated.
Ophélie did not let him say who he was and what he felt for her, and she did not say who she was and what she felt for him.
That was enough. He didn't want her to leave with bad feelings towards him.
He stopped at the corner and saw the gates of the Palazzo Barberini in a distant corner of the car. He had been there for press conferences before. It was logical that Ophélie would be staying there.
"Here?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes," Ophélie replied, downcast.
Silence reigned again.
She is very beautiful, he thought.
He had only known her for a day, but he felt as if they had known each other for many years.
How this was possible, he didn't know.
What he did know was that he was in love with a Princess and that he couldn't do anything about it except accept that he couldn't have her and continue his life.
Ophélie had a strong, free spirit, she was courageous and kind, and he admired and respected her for it.
She would be a good Queen when the time came, and he hoped she would find her own happiness, no matter how much circumstances tried to prevent it. "I'm going to leave you now," she said, interrupting his thoughts.
He would have liked to postpone his departure, but there was no more time left.
"I'm going to walk to the corner and then I'll turn. Stay in the car and drive away. I want you to promise you won't look after I turn the corner. Drive the car and leave me, just as I'm going to leave you."
The words pierced Thorn's chest. He hated goodbyes, so he avoided them whenever he could. At that moment, he couldn't avoid it.
"It's okay," he replied. His voice didn't sound as choked as he expected, but his eyes were full of tears that hadn't yet been shed.
Ophélie wept silently.
Tears streamed down her beautiful face, and she refused to look at him.
"I don't know how to say goodbye," she confessed.
He wished he didn't know either.
"I can't find the right words." His crying was becoming less restrained.
"You don't need to try, I understand," he said.
Their eyes met at the same moment, and that was more than enough for them to embrace.
Ophélie's body trembled beneath his.
Unable to hold back his tears, Thorn cried like a lost child.
There was no reason to repress his emotions. He wanted Ophélie to know that he had feelings for her and that these feelings would remain until the end of his life.
She had left her mark on him, and he would never forget her, even if he tried.
They let go of each other at the same moment so they could kiss.
That discomfort Thorn had felt before about kissing her had disappeared. It felt right, and that was the feeling that should prevail in his heart.
Ophélie's mouth was soft and delicate, but that gentleness didn't make the kiss any less intense.
She kissed his face and snuggled back into his neck.
After what seemed like an eternity, she broke free from the embrace. She looked at Thorn and caressed his face with an affection she had never received before.
Ophélie said nothing more after that, just got out of the car and ran towards the corner.
As promised, Thorn didn't look.
She had difficulty getting home because tears blurred her vision.
~
The Princess had finally returned.
Lazarus was going to bed when the Countess came to tell him that Ophélie had returned.
The news was so disconcerting that he thought he was dreaming.
He only began to believe the story when he saw Ophélie herself standing in the middle of the room. Her hair was incredibly short, and that was enough for him to know that the Princess had left the Palazzo to enjoy a day off.
She seemed different, more mature and decisive. Lazarus could see it in the way she carried herself.
The Queen's Advisor, His Honorable Augustin, was a relatively tall man, with a large belly and blond sideburns.
Lazarus particularly disliked him, but the Queen thought it pertinent that he come to help in the search for the Princess, which had proven to be a failure, with several agents arrested due to a mix-up near the river, and at the same time a success, since Ophélie was there.
"Your Highness, twenty-four hours have passed. They couldn't have been in vain," said Augustin, with a hint of reproach.
"And they weren't," replied the Princess calmly.
Augustin snorted.
That was so rude that even the Countess Roseline frowned.
"And what explanation am I going to give Your Majesty?" she asked.
"I was unwell and now I feel better. That's what you're going to say," she replied firmly.
She changed, Lazarus thought. He couldn't say what she had done while she was away, but whatever it was, it did her very well.
"Highness, I have a duty to do, just as Your Royal Highness does too." He said, as if it wasn't already obvious.
"Your Honorable," she raised her voice, without losing her elegance "I hope you don't think it's necessary to repeat those words.
Those words shocked everyone in the room.
Lazarus saw the Countess put his hands on his mouth and the Counselor tensed up.
Ophélie had spoken in a tone of voice that allowed no reprisals or counter-arguments.
Her word was final.
Lazarus felt proud of her. His certainty that she would be a great Queen had not changed, and he hoped to be alive to see it.
"You have my permission to leave," she said categorically.
Lazarus bowed deeply and left, satisfied.
~
Thorn was sitting facing the window, watching the enormous church clock.
He was completely silent, not saying a single word since the previous day.
He felt half dead inside and tried not to think about Ophélie, which wasn't working.
His face was a little swollen because he'd spent the whole night crying, plus he'd barely slept.
He needed to leave for work soon, if he even still had a job.
He enjoyed the silence of the room a little longer when someone knocked on the door.
Whoever it was, they seemed impatient.
He got up reluctantly and went to the door to dismiss whoever was bothering him.
He turned the doorknob and could hardly believe who was on the other side of the doorframe.
"Did you manage it?" Farouk entered his apartment uninvited and with a strange energy: he was less apathetic, almost excited.
He wore a somewhat old-fashioned cream-colored suit that contrasted with his light hair.
Of all the people Thorn expected to see, he was the last.
The first was Ophélie.
"What?" he asked, astonished that his boss was in his apartment.
"The interview with the Princess. Did you manage it?"
Thorn felt his head throb.
"No, I didn't manage it." He replied, dejectedly.
Farouk didn't notice, or didn't care about, Thorn's appearance and mood.
"What? That's impossible! First, you suggest an interview with the Princess and then disappear for a whole day. Then, I hear rumors that she was seen strolling through the city accompanied by two men."
"Do you believe every rumor you hear?"
"There are rumors about a commotion by the river and the arrest of eight people believed to be Special Agents. On top of everything, she has a miraculous recovery. Everything fits together."
Thorn was tired of that conversation and wanted to kick Farouk out of the apartment. However, like a greedy fool, he owed him an interview and was still at risk of losing his job.
As tired as he was, he needed to sort out his situation.
"We have a deal. Where's the interview?"
"I didn't have any interview." He filled a glass with water, to have something to do with his hands.
Farouk didn't have time to retort because a cheerful voice called from outside.
"Thorn!"
Footsteps approached until the door opened, revealing a neatly combed head of blond hair and a smiling face.
It was Archibald.
He entered the apartment uninvited, holding an envelope.
"Hi, Mr. Farouk," he greeted him. "Thorn, just wait until you see the photos." He raised his hand with the envelope, eager to show them.
Of all the moments, this was the most inopportune.
Thorn's melancholy was rapidly being replaced by anger.
"Why does he show up when he shouldn't?" he wondered.
"Archibald!" Thorn knocked the glass of water over on him.
"What was that?" exclaimed his friend, astonished. He had washed and ironed his pants the day before, and now all his work was ruined.
"You come in knocking things over!" Thorn scolded. He would torment him like he did at the Café when he was almost ruining Thorn's disguise.
That would cheer him up a little, even if it infuriated Archibald.
"Me?" Archibald shouted.
"I already warned you." He grabbed the envelope from Archibald's hand and held it as if his life depended on it.
"Look at my pants." He pointed to the wet garment.
Thorn really wanted to laugh at that moment. It was very good to torment Archibald, but he would apologize to him later for that.
"Go dry yourself in the bathroom." He tried to push his friend into the room, in an attempt to get rid of him while getting rid of Farouk. However, it didn't work.
"Did you tell him about Lilie?" Archibald freed himself from Thorn's grip and took the envelope back.
"Who is Lilie?" Farouk asked.
"Wait until you..."
"Archibald!" Thorn put his foot in front of Archibald, causing him to fall face-first to the ground.
"There you go again, Archie," he scolded, as if reprimanding a child.
"He's going to kill me later," he thought.
It was like tormenting a brother.
Archibald stood up, furious, and punched Thorn in the shoulder.
"Have you gone mad?" he exclaimed.
Farouk didn't understand what was happening.
Thorn barely felt the punch and grabbed Archibald's shoulders.
"Be quiet," he said in a low voice.
"What are you hiding? Who is Lilie?" Farouk asked, fed up with the interaction.
"Someone we know," Thorn replied, wanting to change the subject quickly. The last thing he needed was to cry in front of his boss and his friend, even though Archibald had seen him cry before.
"What's in there?" Farouk asked, taking the envelope from Archibald's hand.
"Just some of Archibald's new girls. You wouldn't like them." Thorn took the envelope back.
Farouk lost interest in the envelope, but he hadn't forgotten about the interview.
"Don't change the subject. Yesterday you said..."
Thorn didn't let him finish.
"I had a good lead, but I was wrong. There's no interview." He lied. He was going to lose his job, he was sure of it.
Farouk stared at him, serious, and to Thorn's surprise, said:
"She'll be at the press conference today. It's your chance to get that story."
Thorn felt his heart clench. Seeing Ophélie again would be both torment and suffering.
Archibald stared at him, curious.
He would lose a good amount of money because his foolish friend was in love.
Without saying anything more, Farouk turned his back on the two and left.
"What happened? Did we get a better offer?" Archibald asked.
Thorn found his hope amusing.
"Archie, I don't know how I'm going to explain this to you, but..."
"Wait until I sit down."
Archibald grabbed a chair near the bed and sat down.
"Well, as for the article that accompanies the photos," he handed the envelope to Archibald, "there won't be an article."
He felt lighter after confessing this.
"Why not?" he asked, confused.
"At least not from me."
He filled a glass with water and drank it. It was a hot day.
His friend nodded. Thorn sensed that he understood what he meant.
Archibald had spent the previous day with him and Ophélie, so he probably understood the situation, even if he didn't say it aloud.
"The photos turned out very well. Do you want to take a look?"
Thorn shrugged and didn't answer. Archibald took that as a yes and turned the envelope upside down, letting the photographs fall onto the bed.
He picked one up and showed it to Thorn.
"That was her first cigarette."
"It was."
He picked up another one.
It was of Ophélie staring at the Wall. Her eyes were closed, with a serene expression on her face.
"This would be the main photo for all the material. 'The Wall Where Wishes Come True.'"
"That would be great. And the next photos would be of the wishes being fulfilled." Archibald smiled, thinking that his friend might change his mind about the story.
He picked up another photo. It was of Ophélie hitting a man with a guitar.
"Wow! This photo is incredible." Thorn praised, almost excitedly.
The photograph was incredible, Archibald had to admit.
However, his friend's slight excitement lasted only a few minutes.
Thorn became taciturn and grumpy again.
He put the photo back on the bed.
"You must have lost your mind." Archibald said, disappointed.
Thorn understood his feelings, truly, but he couldn't do that to Ophélie. She seemed to have too many problems with the Royal Family, and a news report accompanied by photographs like those could compromise her. He didn't know how she was treated when no one was watching; someone could mistreat her because of that.
Besides, he wanted only him to know everything she had told him.
"I know. I can't stop you from selling the photos to someone if you want. You'll get a good price for them. But know that if you do that, you'll never have my friendship again," he warned. He knew he was being cunning by saying that, putting their years-long friendship at risk because of a girl he'd only met a day ago.
However, he felt he was doing the right thing.
"Are you going to the press conference?" he asked.
Archibald gathered the photos, serious. He knew Thorn would break off their friendship if Archibald sold the photos, and he really valued their friendship. In fact, Thorn was his only friend.
"Are you going?" Archibald asked, surprised. He hadn't expected his friend to go.
"Yes. Anyway, it's still work."
Archibald nodded.
He looked at his wet pants and then at Thorn.
They wouldn't dry in time, despite the heat. He would need to change them.
His car keys were on a small table.
"See you later," he said, grabbing his keys and leaving the apartment, leaving Thorn alone once more.
~
The press conference was being held at the Palazzo Colonna.
The place was packed with reporters, journalists, politicians, and photographers.
As usual, Thorn and Archibald were late because of the traffic and almost didn't make it on time.
His friend whistled, admiring the beauty of the place.
Thorn wasn't paying attention to that, as he was too nervous to see any other beauty.
They tried not to bump into several people to get closer to the staircase, the point where all the journalists and photographers would be to see the Princess up close. A red rope security barrier delimits the hall from the staircase.
An elegant chair, similar to a throne, was positioned on a platform above the stairs between two enormous and robust pillars.
An older man wearing an old-fashioned frock coat clapped his hands.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please come closer," he called out at the top of his lungs.
All those who were scattered around the hall gathered in one place, attentive to what the man would say next.
"Your Royal Highness," he announced.
Thorn felt his heart pounding a thousand miles an hour, so frantically that he feared for his own health.
Ophélie came out through a door accompanied by a group, consisting of three women and four men.
One of the women, whom he assumed to be her lady-in-waiting, stood closer to her, almost fearful.
Ophélie was more beautiful than the first time he had seen her.
He hoped his heart wouldn't stop at that moment because he wanted to admire her a little longer.
She wore a cream-colored lace dress with a full skirt and a V-neck. She also wore a hat, very elegant in Thorn's opinion, and a pearl necklace.
She was completely different from the young woman he had found one night lying on a bench in the middle of the street.
He hadn't been wrong when he thought she looked like an aristocrat.
"Your Royal Highness, ladies and gentlemen of the press," said the man who had announced her arrival to her.
Ophélie observed the crowd with kind eyes and a smile on her face.
Until she stopped at Thorn.
Disappointment subtly crossed her face.
She was disappointed in him, obviously. Thorn lied and concealed his true profession, and he hoped she wouldn't misunderstand him and wouldn't be saddened.
He wished he could say something.
She also glanced at Archibald, but quickly looked away.
Ophélie sat down in the chair, adjusting her skirt elegantly so it wouldn't be disheveled.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Her Royal Highness will answer your questions," the man said.
Reporters and journalists from all over the world were in that room, in order to speak with the Princess and try to elicit some personal opinion from her.
"Before we begin," said a man whom Thorn recognized as a politician, "I would like to express our satisfaction at your recovery from your recent indisposition."
Ophélie nodded.
"Thank you very much."
It was strange to know that she wasn't indisposed, but rather strolling through the city with him.
"Does Your Highness believe that the European Federation could solve Europe's economic problems?" a woman asked.
Ophélie thought for a moment and replied:
"I am in favor of any measure that leads to greater cooperation in Europe." She answered vaguely. Thorn already imagined she would say that; she couldn't freely express her opinion.
"And what, in Your Highness's opinion, is the future of the relationship between nations?" a man asked, with a strong Italian accent.
"I have great confidence in it, just as I have confidence in the relationship between people." She replied, smiling and turning to Thorn.
That was her opinion, and the proof was in the way her entourage looked at her, disapproving of her response.
"I would like to say, on behalf of my news service, that we believe Your Highness's confidence will be justified," Thorn said. He barely realized he was speaking to her, in public, and so freely.
He didn't know where he had gotten that courage from.
Ophélie smiled more.
"I'm glad to hear that," she replied.
"Which of the cities Your Highness visited did you like best?" asked a man behind Thorn.
That was an interesting question, despite the cliché.
Thorn wanted to know her answer.
"Rome," Ophélie replied bluntly, looking at Thorn. Once again, her entourage disapproved of her answer. The crowd murmured with satisfaction and agreement.
"I will cherish the memory of my visit for the rest of my life," she continued, without taking her eyes off Thorn. He also made no effort to look away from her, for he was mesmerized, just as he was the first time he met her.
"Despite your indisposition, Your Highness?" the man asked again.
"Despite that," she replied, with a certain humor in her voice.
"You may take the photographs," said the man in the tailcoat.
Thorn wondered if the press conference was ending so early because Ophélie was giving personal opinions instead of neutral ones.
She stood up so the photographers could take good pictures. Archibald joined the horde of flashes and pulled his lighter from his pocket, shocking the other photographers who watched the contraption with interest and curiosity. Ophélie also seemed shocked, and from where Thorn was, he noticed she had paled.
He so wanted to talk to her and explain that nothing would compromise her.
"I would like to meet some of the gentlemen and ladies of the press," she announced, to everyone's delight.
Thorn expected everything but that.
She started down the stairs until two members of her entourage tried to follow her. She stopped and looked at them, firmly enough for them to understand that she didn't want to be followed. They understood and returned to their places near the chair.
She went to a middle-aged man with a British accent.
Thorn couldn't hear them from where he was, nor did he want to.
He felt his hands sweating and his face getting hot.
He thought their last moments together had been the night before, but he was surprisingly wrong.
It took forever for her to get close to him and Archibald.
He was so nervous that he forgot his friend was there.
Ophélie soon arrived to greet him, as if they didn't already know each other.
"Archibald, from 'CR Photo Service'." He introduced himself, taking Ophélie's hand and kissing it.
"Delighted."
Archibald patted his pockets and pulled out an envelope.
"Could I offer Your Highness some souvenir photos from your trip to Rome?"
Ophélie shook her head and took the envelope, opening it only to see what it actually contained.
Recognition flashed across her face, and she put the photo back in the envelope.
"Thank you very much," she said sincerely.
Finally, she looked at Thorn.
The gaze lasted only a few seconds, but for them it felt like an eternity.
"Thorn, from the American Press Service," he introduced himself, genuinely this time.
"Delighted, Mr. Thorn." She took his outstretched hand, and it felt more than familiar. She felt as if they had known each other for years, perhaps centuries.
Thorn would never again feel a connection like that.
Ophélie released his hand and moved on to the next journalist, as if the handshake meant nothing, but it meant everything.
After the greetings and introductions, she went back up the stairs to rejoin her entourage and leave.
Someone, Thorn could swear it was Archibald, started a round of applause, causing her to turn to the crowd and smile from ear to ear, scrutinizing everyone present, until she stopped at Thorn and discreetly inclined her head. He imitated the gesture, hoping only she would notice.
With nothing more to say or do, she turned, with her entourage close behind, and went through the same door she had entered minutes before.
Thorn stayed until the very last moment, watching her leave.
Archibald patted him on the back and also left, leaving him alone in that immense hall.
He only left when the security guards escorted him out.