Jason Weiser

Put a pin in this marriage business.

But they were glad they could all agree that whatever rich, well-connected noble she wedded, it wouldn't be Don Pedro because he wasn't rich or well-connected.

The father called out after her.

The mother rolled her eyes when she heard the door slam.

That went great.

Just fantastic job.

Tanya didn't leave her room the rest of the day, skipping dinner and waiting until the sunset.

Every night, Pedro came to her window after her parents were asleep, and he would sing for her.

It started a few months back.

One night, her childhood friend just started singing, putting words to what had gone unspoken for so long.

Alongside the spring chirping of the birds, on that cool night, he confessed everything he felt.

And, as she laid in bed, her heart quickening, she knew she felt the same way.

She had come to the window as he waited there, looking up, as if his whole life, his whole being, hinged on how she responded.

She stood, the curtain veiling her bedclothes, and she smiled.

What happened that night remained unspoken for a few weeks.

Pedro seemed nervous.

She was, too.

What was once easy and thoughtless was now laden with expectations, anxiety, and the inexplicable worry that one of them would say or do the wrong thing, and this fragile new reality would crack like an egg, before it had a chance to hatch into the love they both yearned for.

That disappeared when they kissed for the first time.

They stole what time they could in the hedges and in the rooms where her governess or maids or her family's chamberlain weren't around.