CHAPTER 2
1193 Words
Upstairs from the room where Lady Delancey barked orders, Celeste DeLancey was pacing like a worried show lady rehearsing a last-minute intro before curtains up.
Like happy butterflies, maids fluttered around, dusting her nose, adjusting her necklace, pinning her hair, and acting to sleeves that were not wrinkled.
She complained, “This doesn’t feel like a betrothal; I begin to feel like I'm some kind of goods to be traded at the market. It doesn't feel right.”
From the chair, Lady DeLancey didn’t blink. “Darling, love is for poets. You’re marrying currency, money, affluence.”
Across the room, her sister Lady Colette, lounging by the mirror with legs crossed and a phone glued to her face, snorted. “You’ve always dated wealthy men; why does this one, in particular, choose to bother you?"
Celeste gave her the kind of glare that could curdle milk. “None of them came with generational curses.”
“Lord Harrison doesn’t believe in curses,” their mother sipped her wine. “He owns them.”
Celeste stood before her gilded mirror, drowning in perfume and self-doubt. Her dress was a perfection; it fitted, glittered, and was feminine.
“I am not sure about this,” she said quietly, caressing the necklace on her neck.
“I understand but as you should know, this isn’t about love; it’s about securing the family's legacy, your bloodline, and everything we've built and achieved."
“I’m serious,” Celeste said, turning.
“Lord Harrison doesn’t even know me enough to suggest marriage. It feels...forced .”
“Sweetheart,” Lady Delancey smirked, “I barely knew your father when we got betrothed. The first image I had of him was that of a rusty young British who had survived the Russian war.”
Lady Colette rolled her eyes over; she had heard of this story times and over till it felt like a rag forced down her throat every time it was retold.
“Celesta,” came the clipped voice of Lady DeLancey. “This family didn’t rise on love stories; it rose on power. Do keep that in mind.”
Celeste’s lips tightened. “Is that all I am? A strategy?”
“No,” Lady DeLancey said, circling her daughter like a jeweller inspecting a flawed gem. “You’re legacy, darling. And legacy must be curated.”
“But what if—”
“No what ifs. We do not entertain weakness, not when the stakes are this high.”
Colette rolled her eyes. “She’s scared, Mother. Let her be human for five minutes.”
Soft knock. The door to the main foyer swung open, and in came a mop and bucket, followed by Kairo, struggling to balance his tools and closing the door at the same time.
"Jesus Christi! You never knock!" Colette fired with so much vile.
"I wonder what kind of low-life assassins your father is employing as house help. No manners, no courtesies, just bunches of wretched bumbags in aprons."
"I'm sorry my Lady." Kairo bowed humbly.
"Especially this particular nuisance." She busted. "I'll not be surprised if we one day wake up to guns held against our heads."
"Sorry, mi' lady." Kairo set about mopping the floor while the ladies went back to their chitty-chatty.
He laid out the tea tray like he’d done a thousand times over, silent hands, lowered gaze, careful movements.
But before he got to turn around, Lady Colette aimed a fragile ceramic towards him. The last thing he felt was the weapon smashing into his chest which made him yelp in pain. Dazed, he staggered back just in time to save a stuttering vase on the table.
“Careful, boy, that’s a thousand-dollar porcelain you’re holding, not your mother’s village calabash,” she said with a smirk, not even looking at him. "And next time I'll be aiming at your empty skull."
Celeste winced slightly but said nothing. Colette, leaning back with her legs crossed and an olive in hand, smirked. “Honestly, Mother, I’m surprised he can tell the difference.”
Of all the cruellest, Lady Colette should be awarded a batch of honor. Her cruelty was the slave-trade-men-in-chains type. God help you, and you clean when her mood is sour.
You'll have to dodge dangerous missiles from plastic cassettes to glass bulbs to leather boots and teacups, and if the television is lighter enough, she'll never hesitate to launch it toward you.
She aimed to give a knockout where you are no longer standing on your feet. Lady Delancey’s eyes finally landed on him, sharp and cold.
“Come, Kairo, what do you think of the engagement between our darling Celeste and Lord Harrison?” she asked with mock interest. “You must’ve overheard something while polishing doorknobs.”
Kairo straightened slightly, eyes still low. “It’s not my place to speak, ma’am.”
“Oh, come on,” Colette pressed, her voice syrupy with cruelty. “Surely the houseboy has a romantic opinion or two. Or do people like you not believe in love, just livestock and labor?”
Celeste, seated beside her mother, fidgeted with the lace on her dress, unsure whether to speak up. Her gaze flicked toward Kairo, then away.
Lady Delancey chuckled, sipping her tea. “You should be grateful we even allow you into conversations like this. Most houseboys don’t get to breathe the same air as lords.”
Kairo forced a smile, tight, practiced. “I’m always grateful, ma’am.”
“Oh,” Lady Delancey purred, “he has manners. Maybe Lord Harrison can take notes when he arrives.”
Lady Delancey leaned back with a devilish smirk, her fingers lightly swirling her tea.
“Just for laughs,” she said, turning her piercing gaze to Kairo, “let’s pretend, I know it's impossible, but let's just pretend you were Lord Harrison; what grand plans would you have after marrying into a family like ours?”
Colette let out a snort, nearly choking on her biscuit. “Oh yes, do tell us, houseboy. After all, you already serve us. Marriage would just be… a promotion, wouldn’t it?”
Celeste bit her lip, clearly uncomfortable but silent, eyes darting from her mother to Kairo.
Kairo didn’t flinch. He set the teapot down slowly and looked up with just a flicker of eye contact; he offered a soft, amused smile.
“Well, ma’am,” he said calmly, “if I were Lord Harrison… I’d probably marry a second wife while sending my first to an asylum; I'd strengthen the family’s weakest links, restructure the export business, and breathe new life into outdated practices.
Maybe even teach the household a thing or two about humility.”
There was a pause.
Colette blinked while Lady Delancey stared, unsure if she’d just been insulted.
“And of course,” Kairo added, placing the final cup with a precise clink, “I’d make sure loyalty is rewarded, and betrayal… remembered.”
Lady Delancey laughed stiffly, unsure whether to be offended or dismissive. “Well, thank God you’re not Lord Harrison.”
“Indeed, ma’am,” Kairo said, bowing slightly. “Thank God.”
- Writer
