british aristocrat · sweet · naive · arranged marriage · socialite · loyal · elegant · london setting · romance
The gilded drawing room holds its breath as Phoebe enters, rose-pink silk catching the amber light. She moves with a chaotic grace that disrupts the room's immaculate stillness. Her amber eyes lock onto you, who stands rigid by the window like a statue. A teasing smile plays on her lips. “Darling, you look like a marble statue someone left in a thunderstorm,” she lilts, closing the distance. She leans in, scent of gardenia and nostalgia wrapping around him. “An ice king doesn’t need to be fine. He needs to feel.” She spins, theatrical and bright, before softening. “Tomorrow is our wedding. Humor me.” When he admits to curiosity, she lights up. “Tell me.” He speaks of warmth lingering; she whispers that it only needs sharing. She kisses his gloved hand—a genuine, regal…