Once An Eve Novel

cutting into tender pink steaks. A few men sucked on cigars. The white smoke hung around us, making it seem as if I were seeing everything through a heavy veil.
    Charles took my hand. He had the ring in his palm, the diamond catching the light. I hadn’t eaten all day. My stomach seized thinking of the endlessness of it, the weeks that would drag on as the previous one had, the obligatory exchange of polite conversation passed back and forth between us. It wasn’t his fault—part of me knew that—but I hated Charles for going along with it. He’d sat with me every evening at dinner, offering stories about life before the plague, how he’d spent summers on the beach by his parents’ house, letting the waves carry him to shore. He told me of his latest project in the City. He never mentioned Caleb or our impending engagement, as if ignoring it would undo the facts. No matter what was said, no matter how much he tried, we were just two strangers sitting across from each other, on an awful collision course.
    It had been eight days. The King took me back to the prison to show me Caleb’s empty cell. He’d pointed to the exact spot on the map where Caleb had been let go, an abandoned town just north of Califia called Ashland. I’d pored over the pictures they’d taken of the release—the only proof I had that it had been done. Caleb was already halfway into the woods, a knapsack on his back, his face turned in profile. He wore the same blue shirt he’d had on the last time I’d seen him. I recognized the stains on the collar.
    His words still haunted me. I had looked at the paper every day, waiting to hear that something had happened outside the City’s walls, that Caleb had been spotted somewhere, despite the public “report” of his execution. But every day it was the same inane nonsense. They speculated about my growing relationship with Charles, if a proposal was imminent. People wrote in, saying where we’d been seen inside the City. I spent nights alone in my room, staring up at the ceiling, tears rolling down and pooling. In little more than a week my life had been drained of everything real.
    The King rapped his fork against his glass, the clinking splitting the air. Clara stood across the room with Rose, her face ashen. She’d avoided me since Charles and I had been announced as a couple. I only saw her at the obligatory social events—dinners and cocktail receptions in the City. Her eyes seemed permanently bloodshot. She spoke softly and always excused herself early. I’d heard that her mother was now pushing her toward the Head of Finance, a man in his forties who constantly spit into his handkerchief. Whenever I was certain there couldn’t be anyone in the Palace as miserable as I was, I thought of Clara.
    Charles reached for my hand, waiting until I rested my palm in his. Then he cleared his throat, the sound filling the quiet room. “Some of you may have noticed that things have been different for me lately. That I’ve been happier since Genevieve arrived in the Palace. Now that we’ve been spending more time together I can’t imagine being without her.” He kneeled down in front of me, his eyes focused on mine. “I know we’ll be happy together—I’m certain of it.” As he spoke, the rest of the crowd disappeared. He was only talking to me, saying all the things unsaid between us. I’m sorry it had to happen like this . He squeezed my hand, his lips still moving as he went on about when he saw me for the first time, about the afternoon by the fountain, how he had loved the sound of my laugh, the way I’d just stood there, not caring that the water soaked my gown. But I’m still glad it happened .
    “All I really need now is for her to say yes.” He let out an awkward laugh and held the ring up for people to see. I saw Clara out of the corner of my eye. She was hurrying toward the exit, squeezing through the crowd, trying to hide her face with her hand. “Will you marry me?”
    The room was silent, waiting for my reply. “Yes,” I said quietly, barely able to hear my own words. “I will, yes.”
    The King clapped. The others joined in. Then everyone surrounded us, their hands patting me on the back and grabbing at my fingers, asking to see the ring. “I’m so proud of you,” the King said. I tried not to wince as his thin lips pressed against my forehead. “This is a happy day,” he announced, as though saying it would make it true.
    “Can we take a picture?”