Rejected by my mate, chosen by the prince.

Lila “I can’t marry you, Lila. I fell in love with Chloe.” The world stops. The noise from the chic Mayfair restaurant, the clinking glasses, the muted jazz, the laughter from the other tables, everything dies at once. All that remains is his voice. Flat. Definitive. And this sentence is playing over and over in my head, like a broken record. I can't marry you. I fell in love with Chole. From Chloe. My cousin. The one to whom I introduced it three months ago, over a roast chicken at my mother’s house. I blink. Once. Twice. I'm waiting for the joke to fall. I wait for James to burst out laughing, take my hand, take a ring out of his pocket and say, “Did you think I was serious?” He doesn't laugh. He places his cloth napkin next to his barely touched plate. He doesn't even dare to look at me. Ten minutes ago when he texted me: see you at Claridge’s this evening. Get dressed. I thought it was a surprise. I thought he was going to make up for forgetting our anniversary last week. I imagined a ring in the dessert, a knee on the ground, the applause of strangers. I spent an hour in front of my mirror. The red dress. The one he says he adores. His favorite lipstick. I even wore the perfume he gave me for our engagement. I came here thinking that tonight we would celebrate our future. He came to bury our past. My brain is bugging. My heart understands before me. It cracks, clean, like a window under a punch. A cold, clean pain that starts in my chest and freezes my fingers. I look at the table. Two glasses of open champagne. The little candle that trembles between us. Everything is perfect. Everything is a decoration. A disruptive setting. " Pardon ?" My voice comes out. Strangled. Small. I don't recognize this sound. It is the voice of a stranger. Of a girl from whom everything is taken away. James runs a hand through his hair. Nervous gesture. The one he gets when he lies..the one he had when he swore to me that he had nothing. “I didn’t want it to happen like this, Lila. I swear to you. But I can't lie to you. Not to you. Not after everything we’ve been through.” Don't lie. It's funny. Because every word he says since he sat down is a lie of omission. Every silence of the last three months. Every “I come home late from work”. Every “Chloe is cool, don’t you think?” Anger rises. Red. Burning. It rises in my throat, mixed with nausea. I want to scream. To overturn the table. To throw the champagne in his face. Instead, I do worse. I remain calm. A death cry. “Since when?” I articulate each syllable. As if I could force him to swallow his words. He closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, there is pity in them. And that's what's killing me. Pity. “Dinner at your mother’s.” The night you introduced us. I...I couldn't explain it to myself. It just happened.” Dinner at my mother's house. I see Chloe laughing at his joke again. I remember my hand on his arm to introduce them. I put them on the same trajectory. I c****d the gun and handed it to him. Jazz starts again. Life resumes. Except mine. Mine just stopped, at 8:17 p.m., on a Thursday evening, over two glasses of champagne that no one will drink. And I understand one thing, cold and lucid: I'm not just losing a fiancé. I am losing my family, my dignity, and the girl I was just five minutes ago. The pity in his eyes. That’s what lights the fuse. I place both hands flat on the white tablecloth. So as not to tremble. So as not to jump down his throat. The fabric is cold under my palms. Real. Unlike everything else. “Dinner at my mother’s,” I repeat. My voice no longer has anything strangled. She is white. Surgical. “You fell in love with my cousin the night I introduced her to you. Is that it?” James nods. Once.. Coward. As if he was signing my death warrant in braille. “Lila, please don’t do this.” “Do what, James?” I tilt my head. The lipstick he loves so much must be cracking on his mouth. “Ask questions?” Is it too much to ask when you tell me that you’re canceling our wedding to f**k my cousin?” He jumps at the word “clap”. GOOD. “Don’t talk about her like that. It’s not…” “What isn’t that?” I lean forward. The candle dances between us. “Not dirty?” Not traitor? Not twisted? Because that’s exactly what it is, James. Dirty. Traitor. Twisted." Around us, a woman at the next table turns. I don't care. Let all Mayfair hear. Let all of London know that James Carter is trash. “You don’t choose who you fall in love with, Lila.” he whispers, as if lowering his voice would make it less rotten. “If I could control this, I would…” “You what?” I chuckle. The sound is lousy. Breeze. “Would you have chosen me? Is that what you were going to say? Spare me.” My fingers find the rim of my champagne glass. The urge to throw it in his face makes me itch. But no. I won't give him the satisfaction of appearing hysterical. Chloe already has the role of the romantic victim. I'll have the queen's. Even if the crown is made of cardboard. I take a breath. The air in Claridge's smells of money and lies. It burns my lungs. “So that’s all?” I uncross my legs. Slowly. Every gesture is calculated. If I collapse now, I won't get up again. “Three years. A ring. Projects. And you're dumping me for Chloe because you had roast chicken heatstroke." “Don’t reduce it to that, Lila. You know that…” “No.” I raise a hand. Stop. " Exactly. I don't know anything anymore. I don’t even know who you are anymore.” I look at him. Really. The brown hair that he always combs back. The dimple when he smiles. The scar on his eyebrow, a memory of a rugby match at universityI know this face by heart. And yet, he is a stranger. A stranger who just stabbed me in the back with my silver cutlery. My ring burns my finger. A straightjacket. A diamond lie. I tear it off. Suddenly. The skin is white underneath, marked. As if my body knew before me. I put it on the table. Between us. It clinks against the plate. " Hold. Give it back to Chloe. Welcome gift to the family.” His face falls. He hadn't planned this. He thought I was going to cry. Beg. Negotiate. I get up. The red dress follows my movements. Armor. I wore it for him. I now carry it against him. “Lila, wait…” He gets up too, panicked. “We can talk. We can…” “There’s nothing we can do, James.” I take my pouch. My hands no longer tremble. “You wanted your freedom? You have it. Did you want Chloe? You got it.” I take a step to leave. Then I turn around. One last time. It has to be. In my opinion. To kill the girl who still hoped. “Just one thing.” My voice carries. Clear. Cold. “The day she does to you what you just did to me, remember this moment. Remember my face. And ask yourself if it was worth it.” I don't give him time to respond. I walk through the restaurant. Heads up. Every look at me. Each heel clicking on the marble. I'm not crying. Not yet. Outside, the London night slaps me in the face. And it's only there, in the light rain, that I realize. I just left the restaurant as a bride. I go home as nothing...