Once An Eve Novel

Reginald, the Head of Press, strode over. His photographer, a short woman with wiry red hair, was right behind him.
    “I suppose that’s all right,” Charles offered. He rested his hand on my back. I tried to smile but my face felt stiff. The camera kept flashing, stinging my eyes.
    Reginald flipped open his notebook, scribbling in the margin until his pen worked. “You must be thrilled, Genevieve,” he said, half question, half answer. The King was right beside me. I spun the ring around my finger, not stopping until it burned.
    “It is a joy,” I said.
    Reginald’s features softened, as if my reply pleased him. “I’ve gotten tremendous feedback on the pieces I’ve run about you two. Forget the engagement—people are already asking when the wedding will be.”
    “We’d like to have it as soon as possible,” the King replied. “The staff has already been talking about the procession through the City. It’ll be spectacular. You can assure the people of that.”
    “I have no doubt,” Reginald said. He pressed his thumb on the back of the pen, clicking it closed. “I look forward to running this piece tomorrow morning. Everyone will be thrilled.”
    The smoke circled my head. Here I was, standing beside Charles Harris as his fiancée, made up in a dress and heels, doing what I’d said I’d never do. I recounted that moment in the prison so many times, Caleb’s bruised face, the raised knots along his back. They were going to kill him, I kept reminding myself. I’d stopped it the only way I could.
    And yet now I was part of the regime, a traitor, no doubt, in the dissidents’ eyes. I imagined Curtis reading about my engagement in the factory, holding it up to the others as proof that he’d been right about me all along. Even when the tunnels were completed, they would never help me escape now.
    The Head of Finance signaled Reginald from across the room. He was in a cluster of men, his blond hair gelled back into a hard helmet. “If you’ll excuse me, I have something I need to attend to.” Reginald raised his glass once more. Then he strode off, maneuvering past a woman in a fur stole.
    The restaurant was too hot. The smoke snaked through the air and flattened out across the ceiling. I covered my mouth, unable to breathe. “I have to go back to my room,” I said, taking Charles’s hand off me.
    The King dropped his glass on a waiter’s tray. “You can’t just run off,” he said. “All of these people are here for you, Genevieve. What am I supposed to tell them?” He gestured around the room. Some of the crowd had settled in their seats, others huddled together, speculating on whether Charles’s mother would be well enough to attend the wedding.
    Charles nodded to the King. “I can take her,” he whispered. He reached for my hand, squeezing it so gently it startled me. “I think everyone will understand if we head out early. It’s been a long night. Most of the guests will be leaving soon anyway.”
    The King glanced around the room, at the few people standing beside us, making sure they hadn’t overheard our conversation. “I suppose if you leave together it’ll be better. Just say a few good-byes, will you?” He shook Charles’s hand and offered me a hug. My face pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around my neck, suffocating me. Then he started through the crowd. Rose was waving him over, an extra glass in her hand.
    Charles and I headed toward the door. We offered quick explanations to the guests we passed—all the excitement had been too much for one day. When we were finally outside in the open mall, away from the crowd, Charles still hadn’t let go of my hand. His face was close, his fingers wrapped around mine. “What is it?” I asked.
    “I keep waiting for something to change with us,” he whispered, his blue eyes meeting mine. I glanced over our shoulder at the two soldiers trailing behind us. They were ten yards back, strolling past the closed home goods store, the windows displaying copper pots and pans. “I know this isn’t ideal—”
    “ Ideal? ” I said. The word made me laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”
    He refused to look away. “I just think that we need more time. To really know each other. They told me you had feelings for him, but that doesn’t mean this can’t be more than it is. That it can’t grow into … something .” I was thankful he didn’t say the word we both knew he was thinking: love .
    I slipped my hand out