Let Me Marry Him

Alora's Pov

I don't let Leyla finish. I just can't.

The moment she says Lucien Vale's name, my stomach drops. I grip the bedsheets so hard my knuckles turn white.

"No." My voice comes out sharper than I intend.

"Alora..."

"No."

I sit up so fast the blanket tangles around my legs. "You can’t do this,” I rasp. “I can't let you.”

Leyla stares at me. “You don’t understand.”

"No, you don't understand. That man..."

"Is what, Alora? Tell me what I don't know." her eyes fill immediately. “George is just sixteen."

The fight drains out of her voice. "He’s still a kid who leaves his sketchbooks all over the house. He forgets to lock doors. He burns toast every single morning."

A weak smile flickers across my face. True.

"He won't survive in Ravenlock," she whispers. "Friday is the hearing. If I don't agree with this, he doesn't come home."

The room goes deathly quiet. I can literally hear the sound of the clock on the wall.

Tick... Tick... Tick... like a countdown.

I drag a hand over my face. After everything.

After all these years.

After finally getting away from that chapter of my life.

Now Lucien Vale is back.

"No... we're not doing this," I mutter, almost to myself.

Leyla folds her arms. “Are you saying that because you actually think George’s guilty?”

"What? No!"

"Because that's what it sounds like."

"Leyla." I stare at her. "Our brother cries over injured pigeons."

"Exactly."

"Do you honestly think I believe he killed somebody?"

Her shoulders loosen slightly. "Then why are you acting like this?"

I don't answer immediately. Instead, I look at her, and for the first time, my twin feels like a stranger. There’s this look in her eyes I don’t recognise, dark and heavy. We always share everything, well... not everything. Almost everything... clothes, secrets, and even the blame for things we did. But this? This feels different.

"I knew him," I say quietly.

Her forehead wrinkles. “Knew who?”

"Lucien."

"What do you mean you knew Lucien?"

I hesitate for a moment, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. “Ten years ago, at summer camp. Before he became…” I dismiss the air between us as if his name is smoke, as if I can't even find the right words for what he is now. “Well, all of this.”

Leyla blinks, stunned. “No way! Summer camp? What, was he also ruining lives back then, too?” she teases.

“No,” then softly now. “He was just… sweet.”

She shakes her head, confused. “Wait, when? How could I not know? I was away at boarding school, sure, but we did write every week.”

"I didn't have words for him back then.”

Leyla stares. Then suddenly sits upright. The mattress squeaks beneath her.

"Wait."

Uh-oh. I know that look.

"Alora."

"No."

"Alora."

"No."

Her eyes widen. "Was he Mr. Anonymous?"

I groan.

"Oh my God. HE WAS!"

"Leyla..."

"The mystery boy!"

I throw a pillow at her. She catches it.

"The one you used to sneak off to call!"

"Leyla!"

"The one who had you smiling at walls!"

I bury my face in my hands.

She starts laughing.

"I can't believe this."

"Can you stop?"

"You wrote poems about him."

"I wrote one poem."

"You wrote four."

I point at her. "Traitor."

"You mailed them to me!"

Despite everything, we both laugh, and the tension eases for a second. But it comes back. Because George is still in jail and Lucien is still... well Lucien.

Leyla's smile fades. "You loved him."

The words hit harder than I expected. I look away.

I nod slowly. “I didn't just love him, Leyla. I melted into him, I was crazy about him." My eyes drop, voice barely a whisper. “He made me feel like I was the only person in the world. But by the end of that year, I was already tallying up my fails. He chipped me apart. He did it so good, I thought the pieces falling off me were just... parts of me I didn't need anymore.”

Leyla reaches for my hand and I allow her. "I was bullied into silence afterwards. Was scared, embarrassed, and confused."

A lump forms in my throat. "So I shut up and moved on."

She squeezes my fingers. “Then why on earth would you volunteer to marry him?”

“He's not asking for a wife, Leyla. He wants control. People like Lucien…” a beat. "They do things for a reason.”

"He said he'd free George."

"I know."

Neither of us speaks. Then, an idea forms. Terrible and dangerous. It's probably stupid, but it's there.

"We'll give him a wife."

Leyla narrows her eyes. "I already don't like where this is going."

"Not you."

Her mouth falls open. "Oh, absolutely not."

"Let me finish."

"No."

"Leyla."

"No."

"Please."

She glares at me. I continue anyway.

"He already knows how to manipulate you."

"And he doesn't know how to manipulate you?"

I wince. "Fair point."

"Thank you."

“But I know him,” I continue. “ Maybe not the man he is now? but I know enough. And you’re exactly where he wants you to be, cornered and desperate. He thinks you’ll agree to anything just to save George.”

"Oh! yes I will. Listen, Alora..."

“I can figure what he's hiding because I know the one thing he never moved past. And when this contract ends, he’ll be the one losing everything, not us.”

She looks horrified, searching for any sign of doubt. “You know this could go horribly wrong."

"I know. I'm not doing this for him, I’m doing it so you can have a life. And so our brother can, too.”

She shuts her eyes for a moment. “Fine,” she whispers. “But we’re in this together.”

Around midnight, we order greasy burgers and fries from the diner down the street.

The milkshakes are melting, but neither of us cares.

We eat sitting cross-legged on my bed, pretending everything is normal.

Hours later, Leyla falls asleep. I can tell how exhausted she is from her uneven breathing. I switch off the lamp and stare at the ceiling. Sleep never comes.

All I can think about is Lucien Vale, the boy I used to know. And the man he's become.

Even scarier, the version of me that might not survive finding out the difference.