There's a bruise peeking out from the edge of Victoria's sleeve. It hurts, but that doesn't stop her from absently rubbing at the mark. It is vivid.
It's a wonder that no one's noticed it yet.
After announcing both her engagement and the soon-to-be arrival of a young babe, Victoria's life has become nothing but a blur of reporters and compliments.
“You're glowing,” insists her mother, but there's something stilted about the words. Gabriella brushes her knuckles against the side of her daughter's face. In that moment, she doesn't look like a queen. In that moment, she looks worn and used, desperate even.
Mostly, she looks tired.
Victoria understands. She feels tired, too. Still, she tries to smile, this wane and wavering thing. “I'm gaining weight.”
“That happens,” says Gabriella with a bark of airy laughter. “You're going to gain even more as the pregnancy progresses. No worries, I'm sure the Duke will take good care of you.”
It's hard not to bristle at the mention of her fiancé. All this time and Victoria still hasn't met him! She tries to point that out to her mother, but the Queen merely shakes her head.
“That's your own fault,” says Gabriella. “We had it set up for you to meet him at the last gala and you...you took off! Haven't you learnt your lesson yet? Haven't you realized how bad it is for you?”
“Bad it is?” Victoria snorts. “You're the only one who thinks it's bad news!”
“I've explained this to you,” sighs Gabriella. “I will love your child, no matter who the father is. But the circumstances behind his birth--”
“Don't say that,” hisses Victoria. “Don't say it's a boy. You don't know that!”
“And you don't know it won't be,” counters Gabriella breezily. She carries on with a wave of her hand, easily ignoring the young princess's demands. “Victoria, the circumstances behind that child's birth are simply unacceptable. You could have met your beloved last week, but you chose not to. That fault lays on your shoulders.”
“He's not my beloved!”
“He will be.”
“No, Mother, he won't be! I can't love a man who’s willing to marry a stranger,” insists Victoria, shaking her head. She tugs the sleeve of her dress down again, unwilling to share that part of her life with her mother. “I'll never love him.”
Gabriella's eyes go small and dark. She shakes her head, as if there's something wrong with the world as a whole, as if the fault doesn't lay on her shoulders for trying to arrange this awful marriage, for trying to force a life of solitude upon her young daughter's shoulders. “Then it will be a very lonely future for you and your child. You're a fool.”
She leaves then, in a flurry of gauzy blue skirts and clacking heels. Victoria stands there in the room of her hotel, desperate and aching, both body and soul. The hurt is bone deep by now, the sort that will never actually go away.
Her mother is right.
She is a fool.
# # #
That night, the window of her suite is left open.
It's a cool evening. The crisp autumn air brings about fond memories of growing up in the Royal Garden, where the maples were always changing colors, where the glass roof kept away the snow and the rain.
Victoria sits at the end of the couch, curled up with a book that she doesn't really like. It's a required read, though, according to her tutors at home, something that will really help teach her the ways of the world.
The print is small and black, boring and blurring together.
As such, when the sound of someone rapping lightly against the windowsill pierces the otherwise silent room, Victoria is overjoyed for more than one reason. She flings the book down on the coffee table, lurches to her feet, and spins around. “Matt!”
Matt grins at her, so full of confidence that it almost hurts. The man is broad-shouldered and handsome, the sort of raw sexuality that Victoria has only ever seen in movies. “I was hoping you'd still be up.”
“I was hoping you would come by.”
“Really? With this window sitting open, I couldn't tell.”
Victoria laughs. It's a watery sound. The pregnancy has her hormones completely out-of-whack. She cries at the drop of a hat and this, this is close to perfection, close to making things okay. “I just...I didn't know how to get a hold of you.”
“We'll fix that tonight,” says Matt, clambering in through the window. His black combat boots leave dark smears on the pale yellow tile. There's motor oil smeared against the left leg of his white-washed denim jeans. “Are you just going to stand there, or do I get some loving?”
Victoria rushes forward, wrapping her arms around Matt's shoulders. She buries her fingers in his dirty hair, in the back of his leather vest. “I've missed you,” she breathes. “I've missed you so much.”
“I'm not surprised,” says Matt, lightly. “I'm a fucking missable person.”
It's meant to be a joke, but Victoria shakes her head. “No,” she says. “No, I've missed you, Matt. I've missed you like I've never missed anyone else. You left and--”
“And you went off to meet your fiancé,” says Matt, and there's no small amount of bitterness in his voice.
“I didn't meet him. I don't want to meet him.”
“I heard the news. I know he was at that party.”
“I didn't see him,” swears Victoria, and the thought of the party just makes her cling that much tighter to the man before her. “I didn't. I couldn't stand the thought of it, so I left. One last excursion, one last trip outside.”
Matt is silent for a moment. Finally, he rests a hand on Victoria's hips, fingers curling in the pale green fabric of her gown. “Where did you go?”
“I went for a drive with someone,” admits Victoria, because the lies are weighing her down; she just wants someone to know. “Don't get angry. I didn't stay with him. He wanted me to, but I didn't. I'm not interested in staying with anyone else but you.”
The bruise on her wrist sparks just at the thought. It's proof that she didn't stay, even though that man—Killian—had wanted her to.
It's proof she's strong, that she can live.
It's proof she's still alive, even on the days where she just feels like a puppet strung up by golden threads.
Matt's other hand presses against the small of Victoria's back. His fingers curl into the soft fabric of her dress, just beneath the place where the ribbon corset ends. “Of course you aren't. Why the fuck would you want to be with someone else?”
“I don't,” insists Victoria. “I don't!”
Matt presses a kiss to the top of Victoria's head. His lips twist up into a knowing sort of smile. “You want to prove that to me?”
Victoria's breath catches in her throat. She nods, but the motion is jerking and harsh. “Could I?”
“Fuck, Tori. I'm never going to say no to you. You're like a damn addiction. Can't get you out of my mind,” mutters Matt, voice already thick with arousal.
She smiles, the first time in nearly a week. “Can we...go to the bedroom?”
Matt hums, and then he shakes his head. “I think we should probably just stay out here.”
And, really, Victoria doesn't mind, so she doesn't argue.