Harper hesitated. Then: “It’s Sebastian.”
Emilia didn’t flinch. “I figured.”
“We… had a moment.”
“Well that’s vague.”
Harper sat on the velvet bench beneath the window. “We slept together, just once. Then we decided to stop. Until after the wedding. Until things quiet down.”
“And you’re both going to behave like strangers until then,” Emilia said, deadpan.
“That’s the idea.”
Emilia raised an eyebrow. “And how’s that going?”
Harper gave her a look. “I’m squeezed into a dress I can’t breathe in, about to stand next to him for an hour under the eyes of the monarchy and half the internet. So, let’s say: not well.”
Emilia sat beside her, careful of the skirt. “Harper… do you love him?”
The question landed like a pin dropped in a silent chapel.
Harper opened her mouth. Closed it again. “I don’t know.”
They had been friends long enough that Emilia could read Harper like a book… a book with a sometimes unreliable narrator.
“No, you do,” Emilia said softly. “You just don’t know what to do with it.”
Harper stared at her hands. “It’s not just the feelings. It’s what they look like from the outside. I was investigating his father. I exposed his whole world. If this goes public too soon, it won’t matter what the truth is. People will think I was sleeping with my source. That I traded ethics for access.”
Emilia reached for her hand. “Then wait. But don’t lie to yourself in the meantime. Don’t pretend it didn’t matter.”
“It mattered,” Harper whispered. “It still does. But I don’t know how tobe with someone who lives under a microscope. Who is a living, breathing, conflict of interest.”
“You’ve been with him through the worst of it,” Emilia said. “That means something. And for the record, he looked at you yesterday like he was holding his breath.”
Harper gave a quiet laugh. “Great. Mutual oxygen deprivation.”
Emilia squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to decide anything today. Just survive the ceremony. Don’t make out in front of the Archbishop. And maybe, maybe just let yourself feel what you feel.”
Harper exhaled slowly. “You’re supposed to be the one having a life-changing day.”
“I am.” Emilia smiled. “But so are you. Just in a slightly quieter, scandal-adjacent way.”
There was a knock at the door.
“They’re lining people up,” said one of the stylists, poking her head in. “Five minutes.”
Harper stood, smoothed her dress, and turned back to Emilia.
“Are you ready?”
Emilia nodded, then gave her a wicked grin. “Don’t trip walking down the aisle.”
“You either,” Harper shot back. Then, more softly: “I’m happy for you, Emi. Really.”
“I know.” Emilia reached for her bouquet. “Now go. And for the love of all that is sacred and politically strategic… try not to look at him like you’re already planning the honeymoon.”
Emilia’s smile was radiant as Harper stepped out of the suite and into the long hallway buzzing with ceremony staff, florists, and a nervous pageboy holding a tiara like it was radioactive.