1874 DAYS (An Arranged Marriage Romance)

THEN The first thing you need to do to get a greedy journalist to write a good story about you is to pretend that you have something worthy of a scandal. You do this by inviting him into your drawing room and having a few cups of tea with him. You ignore the impulse to roll your eyes at how eager he is to flatter you to get secrets. You acknowledge the fact that everyone is using everyone else. It's only fair that he's using you at the same time as you're using him. You reconcile these facts by realizing that what you both want from each other is complementary. You want a good story out there. He wants to get something worthy of a scandal in the royal family. The two things are the same. You consider telling him the truth, explaining what you want and how you both could benefit each other. But you've seen enough of life and you know better. So, instead of saying I want you to write a good story about me in tomorrow's papers, you say, "Do you have any questions? Any at all? I'll be as honest as possible in answering them." When he eagerly sits up, thinking it's his opportunity to get scandals, you know this will be so much easier than you thought. You watch him open his worn-out leather note and begin taking notes. You already know the question he's about to ask but you wait patiently for him to ask it. "People have been curious about you and the noble family you come from. No one has seen any of your family members. It's still a mystery to both nobles and commoners alike how you managed to enter the Palace and rise in ranks, Your highness." he says, and at first, you pretend to be shocked like you didn't see this question coming, then you nod solemnly. But instead of being honest and saying, I came to the palace as a child maid; sold by my aristocratic father to pay debts accumulated by toxic habits he couldn’t get rid of. You say, "I'm from a very quiet, noble family. My family travels around a lot, so they never have time to visit, but I do receive letters and gifts from them very often." He seems to have a problem completely digesting your story, so you casually sip your tea, because it makes everything less formal, and then, with a sigh of nostalgia, you add, "I miss the days of my childhood when the King used to visit my parents with gifts. I used to look forward to those days." Of course, it's another lie, but it does its job perfectly because the journalist completely buys this facade you're selling and eagerly writes in his note. He continues his tirade of questions and you reply to each of them with a well-crafted lie. But he begins to get impatient because not once have you inadvertently leaked a scandal, he doesn't want to seem suspicious, so he doesn't ask you directly. But you notice, you always do, and because you have no intention of ever giving him the scandal-worthy news, you bring up a random conversation about the foxgloves growing on the balcony. You tell him how poisonous they are when ingested and how they are quite popular for their healing properties, you don't forget to mention that the poison is in the dose. He looks at you in confusion and sips his tea, obviously wondering where you are going with the conversation. You proceed to tell him, that you always add foxglove petals into the tea that you serve guests. He drops the cup and bursts into laughter, thinking you're joking. You don't laugh along with him and his laughter seizes. "How would you know if the dose you've used is dangerous?" He asks, and you relax further into the couch as you play with the gold signet ring on your finger. "By drinking the tea of course," you reply. There's an awkward silence as he tries to process what he just heard. And when he does, he coughs into his hands a couple of times and mutters an apology. You watch him try to stifle his rising panic and fail. He begins to conclude the interview, promising to write a good article. Then you laugh lightly, the sound, an airy musical note. You tell him that you were only joking, and you apologize with a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. But he understands the meaning because he's a little bit clever and knows that he has been outsmarted. His crisp khaki suit does nothing to hide how nervous and scared he is, and you can't blame him because if you were him, you'd be scared of yourself too.