Chapter 2: A Green Flag Or A Camouflage?

Chapter 2: A Green Flag Or A Camouflage?

She'd arrived at the family hospital and left there surprised, but it turned out to be all false.

Her Father was not in danger. He was totally fine and hearty—she confirmed with her own eyes.

A proportionate mix of outrage and ease steadily pumped from her pulse, leaving her stuck between two decisions: Embracing the relief in finding out he was safe or being angry about being lied to. 

“I'm home like you wanted anyway." She said in a dissatisfied low tone, standing before her Father. She ached with hatred for that soft side of her. 

The silence of the room blaring, she raised her eyes to find her Father's but her Mother's death glare could kill a dead person over and over. 

“You are my child and I always want you here, no matter what issue we have." Her Father said, the smile lines on his face deepening due to age. 

“You don't want me here, you want me in his house." Her smile wasn't real. It was sad.

“You are Scott Heathen anyway, you get what you always want." 

“No, Stella. You know that's not it. It's different with you," 

“Then it's what, Father? What is different about me?" She asked in an unusually calm questioning tone maintaining eye contact till she could no longer hold out.  

"Do not forget who I am, Stella. I am a Royal and it's not to be heard anywhere that a Royal blood is still unmarried at 30—” Her ears ached to hear things like this. All he ever cared about was the things people would say—that was all he lived for. 

“I’m 28, not 30 yet" She objected, throwing her gaze at her Mother like she was waiting for a reminder to be thrown before him. 

He heaved a sigh, then continued, “You're a Royal. You will do as I say—" 

“Father, you are not in line of ruling, we are already successful in business. Fine. You have royal blood but then, your cousin is ruling. Please—” She bit back her words, realizing she'd said more than necessary. 

The fact that her Father missed the throne was one thing she'd never use against him. It was his rightful place, but it was taken away from him, and speaking about it was one thing her Father hated like crazy. 

"Go and prepare dinner. You're going with him tonight." He said in a fixed tone. He didn't need any opinion, not even hers. His was final. 

“But—" 

“You will do as I say!" He roared, his voice sending chills down to her bones. 

****

The sunset cool breeze blew through the car window, her eyes thrown to the other side, ignoring every other thing but nature. 

Stella had finally accepted everything about the marriage. She didn't want it, yet, she had to do it. 

Her eyes ached from the unshed tears that would ruin her makeup if a drop fell off. 

“Text me as soon as you get there. If you ever get nervous, use the bathroom. Love you xoxo. You've got this!" Her eyes ran through Valerie's text, the warm breeze ruffling her hair. 

 It was one thing she needed most at this period of her life, especially when no one cared and even the one who cared, couldn't do anything about it.

"I will, see you later” She slid her phone into her clutch purse as soon as the car arrived at the “dinner venue".

She stepped out, releasing a heavy “I got this" sigh. She didn't know what to expect, especially when her parents were going to join them for dinner to ensure she didn't "spit” in her ‘fiancé’s’ face. 

"And what took you so long Stella?” Her Father's question stung her skin like a triggered scorpion as she entered into the room. 

 Her Mother. Her Father. She didn't find anyone else in the room. 

Her brows pulled together as she settled in a chair opposite her Father's.

STELLA

“Nice dress, Stella. Valerie did some good work,” Father complimented and I flashed a smile, no words leaving my painted red lips. At least, having my pepper red lipstick still intact was far appreciable than having to pretend everything was fine because their supposed son-in-law was far from being present. 

I couldn't hide the joy—the blush on my cheeks was the first sign. 

“Oh! Your husband-to-be will be here soon," My Mother smiled. 

I could swear that the smile on her face was fake—and I didn't even need to be told that she was already dying of anxiety. 

“Do we really have to do this, Father?" I asked again but no one made a sound. The silence was an answer; it was the proof of the finality he meant. “Be of your best behaviour," Mother said, reaching for my hand from the other side of the table. 

Father's head remained on the table till he arrived. 

“There he is" Father burst out in an awkward laughter, swallowing every ounce of pride he had left. I watched my parents smile their approval as soon as he walked in. 

Yes. There he was. The fiancé whom I knew nothing about. Just his name and a few details. Dylan Lindsey, an American luxury business man, 32. No crime record. Healthy. One of Dad's acquaintances. A million—

“Stella, is it?” Dylan asked, leaning in for an answer as he settled in the chair beside mine.

 My eyes meeting his, I realized I'd been out of reality and Dad had been poking my legs with his, under the table.

“Uh..yeah, Stella Scott." I squinted, giving a sharp answer even though it was glaring that I was completely lost. He looked like the millionaire he was, dressed in expensive tux from Maschgiano, a famous Italian brand.

The engagement level of the discussion was quite brief and fake. It was more of a business meeting than what it was supposed to mean. 

“Is anything wrong, Stella?”Mother asked me, stretching to adjust the collar of my dress, as she seemed totally impressed by the man who'd just left them SEATED and walked out to “attend to something" 

"How do you not see anything wrong, Mom?” My anger tripled at once.

"Stella!" Father called my name peevishly. It wasn't for me to respond; it was a call to warning, and I knew, we both knew I was losing it. 

My instincts told me another statement would earn me something more than a warning, so I found my way out of the dining room.

“Stella! Stella!" Mom called my name from behind, but I didn't want to be there anyway. I left, headed for the door outside.

“Stella…leaving already?” Dylan. That was his voice from the hallway. 

God, I didn't want to turn, but the deep roughness in his voice was enough to make me. 

“No, I just wanted a break since it seemed you weren't interested in whatever was happening in there," I lied about wanting a break, but even though I'd lied, there was still more truth in what I'd said. 

“I don't believe you, though." His smile was light, but I took it as his own little kind gesture. 

"Come on, we're getting married and you're being stiff” He smiled, moving to the other side of the hallway so he could stand side by side with me. 

“You're taking my Father seriously?" I found it funny that he seemed to be interested in marriage.

"But I wouldn't be here if I didn't. It's you that I want," He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, but his fingers brushed my ear in the process, sending an unexpected sensation down my spine.

“Ouch!" He mouthed. It was deliberate. That mischievous smile on his lips told me he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“So…” He paused, holding eye contact. For a couple-to-be like us, things were pretty awkward yet intense. 

“Do you suggest we go into that room or go somewhere we'll be…”He leaned in towards me and whispered to my ear, "alone”

The fact that nothing funny was happening marvelled me. I'd gone from being super outrageous to being entertained within a few minutes. 

He opened his arms just enough for me to slip mine through, pulling me into a close, teasing embrace as he walked me to the rooftop. I hesistated before walking out the door that led to the rooftop.

“So, do you like the atmosphere here?” He asked but I was far distracted. The view from the rooftop was insanely hypnotizing, seeing the whole of London from just one building felt like an achievement I'd failed to add to my “list of things to experience" 

“Are you this gentlemanly, or is it just for the show?" I asked, my eyes fixed on his and the distance between us shrank. 

I could feel his breath on my skin everytime he spoke, the outline of his frame right behind me, close enough to notice every movement. His fine apple scent clouded my nostrils but I maintained composure.

“Let's say both. It depends on how good a girl you p

rove you are," He whispered to my ear in an eerily low tone. Was I to turn and kiss him or was it too sudden?