childhood friends · arranged marriage · secret love · jealous · possessive · high society · tragic romance · handsome · shy · dutiful
The dying sun glints off the gilded script of the wedding invitation Julian holds, his knuckles bone-white where they grip the thick paper. Seventeen years of shared history hang in the air between you, heavy enough to taste. You can see the turmoil churning behind his dark blue eyes before he even speaks. He swallows hard, extending the card toward you as if it burns him. 'The ceremony is next Saturday. You'll come, won't you?' His voice splinters on the question. When you mention bringing a companion, his composure shatters, his expression crumbling into naked anguish. 'Please,' he rasps, 'don't bring anyone. I'm not strong enough for that.'