Victoire
The walk was short, but I found myself reluctant to let it end. The cool breeze had a certain ease about it, a softness I hadn't felt in a long time. Étienne's presence had a quiet energy that seemed to ease the constant tension in my chest. I was too aware of the duties waiting for me at home, too aware of my obligations. But for a few moments, all of that had faded.
When we reached the park's entrance, I hesitated, glancing at him. He stood a bit apart, his hands casually tucked in his pockets, his gaze distant, as if he, too, was trying to hold on to the fleeting moment.
"I should return to my siblings," I said, my voice almost a whisper. It felt like an excuse, though I wasn't sure if I was convincing him or myself.
He didn't move, his eyes meeting mine with an unreadable expression. "Family?" His question wasn't judgmental, more curious.
I nodded, the weight of the word settling heavily on my chest. "They always need something from me."
Étienne stepped closer, his voice soft, almost as if he was offering a secret. "Sometimes, it feels like that's all they see. The 'something' you can give them." He paused, as if considering his words carefully. "But you are more than just your family's expectations."
His words hit me harder than I expected. There was truth in them, a truth I often tried to bury. I swallowed hard, looking away from him as if the rawness in my heart could be hidden. But the sting of his honesty lingered.
"Isn't that true for all of us?" I whispered, more to myself than to him.
Étienne's eyes softened as he took a step back. "I guess we all have our roles to play, don't we?" His smile was small, but there was a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "Just don't forget you're allowed to be more than what others expect."
I wanted to say something in return, but the words lodged in my throat. I turned to leave, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. "I'll see you soon, Étienne."
He didn't respond right away, but as I glanced over my shoulder, I saw him watching me, his expression unreadable. There was a shared understanding between us now, a recognition of the burdens we both carried. His gaze felt heavier than it should, as if he understood what it meant to be trapped in a life where your worth was measured by the expectations of others.
I wished I could stay. But there were things I couldn't ignore.
Étienne
I watched Victoire walk away, her figure growing smaller with each step. The park had come alive with the last rays of sunset, but it felt strangely quiet now, the chatter of my friends and the laughter of children distant, muted by the weight of our conversation.
It wasn't just about her family. No, it was something deeper, something I could see in her eyes—an ache I knew all too well. The kind of ache that comes from being trapped in a life where the people around you don't truly see you, only what you can do for them.
I sighed and turned back to my friends, but my mind was still with her. The words she'd spoken echoed in my mind—You are more than your family's expectations.
And yet, as much as I wanted to believe that, I couldn't escape the truth. I was trapped by my own expectations too. My father had his sights set on something for me, something I had never asked for. And then there was my mother, whose approval seemed as elusive as the stars. I couldn't escape the pressure.
But with Victoire, I didn't feel like I had to be anyone other than myself. Maybe that was why I found myself drawn to her, even when everything else in my life felt like a battlefield. Her sincerity was like a breath of fresh air in the suffocating atmosphere of my family's demands.
Victoire
I returned to my siblings, my thoughts still tangled with the moments I had shared with Étienne. My younger brother, Pierre, ran up to me with a bright smile. "Victoire, look! I made a new friend!"
I smiled softly, but it didn't reach my eyes. "That's good, Pierre. Did you have fun?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "We played games, and he's teaching me how to throw a ball just like Étienne!"
The mention of his name caught me off guard. I paused, trying to steady my breath. "Étienne?"
"Yes!" Pierre's voice was full of excitement. "He said he'd help me practice! He's really cool, Victoire."
My heart skipped a beat. Étienne had spent time with my brother? And now he was involved in his little world? I couldn't help but wonder how much more there was between him and my family, how often he crossed into our lives without me even realizing it.
It shouldn't bother me. But it did.
"That's great, Pierre," I said, trying to sound more composed than I felt. "Just make sure you finish your tasks before you play."
As Pierre nodded and ran off to play, I stood still, my heart heavy with a strange sense of jealousy. I didn't want to feel it, but I couldn't deny it. Étienne's effortless connection with my family felt like an unspoken challenge, a reminder that even the smallest moments with him were slipping away, things I couldn't quite reach.
I stared out across the park, the evening sky slowly dimming, and I wondered if Étienne knew how much he had already affected me. The thought of his attention, the way he could make me forget my responsibilities for just a little while, unsettled me. But I couldn't bring myself to shake the feeling.
Étienne
Later that evening, as I sat with my family at dinner, my mind kept drifting back to Victoire. I tried to ignore the tightening in my chest—the ache that came with wondering about someone else's world, someone else's burden.
My father's voice cut through my thoughts. "Étienne, you've been distant lately. What's going on?"
I looked up from my plate, meeting his gaze. My father was a man of few words, but when he spoke, there was an authority that demanded attention.
"I'm fine," I said, my voice flat. I didn't want to engage in this conversation, didn't want to tell him how I felt suffocated by the life he had planned for me.
"You've been spending a lot of time with the family next door," my mother said, her eyes sharp. "The Victoire family, was it?"
I froze. It wasn't unusual for her to take an interest in the families of people I spent time with, but something about her tone made me wary.
"I see," she continued, not waiting for my answer. "The Victoire family is well-connected. It wouldn't hurt to strengthen those ties, Étienne."
I nodded absently, not meeting her eyes. My stomach turned at the thought of what my mother expected from me. I wasn't sure if she even cared for me as a person or if I was just another pawn in her grand game.
"You should spend more time with them. They could be of great use to us," she added, her voice like ice.
I clenched my fists under the table, feeling the walls closing in. My mother had never asked what I wanted. She never cared for my opinions, my dreams, my thoughts. She only cared about what I could bring to her social ladder.
But even as I nodded, my mind couldn't stop returning to Victoire. She was more than just another connection, more than just another duty. She had become something... something I didn't know how to name. Something I wasn't sure I could afford.
I excused myself early from the table, claiming fatigue, but in truth, I just needed space to think. Alone in my room, I stared at the window, wondering if Victoire was doing the same—wondering if she, too, felt the same strange pull between them.
Victoire
As I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind wandered back to Étienne. I hadn't been able to shake the feeling of being in his presence, of his words lingering in my thoughts long after he'd left. I should be focusing on my responsibilities, on my family's needs, on everything I was supposed to be. But all I could think of was him.
The way he made me feel seen, not as Victoire, the daughter of a noble family, but as just… me. It was rare, so rare, and it made me ache in ways I didn't understand.
But that was the problem, wasn't it? He wasn't just a fleeting distraction. He was a reminder of something I couldn't afford to reach for—something I might never have.
I sighed deeply, turning onto my side and pulling the blankets around me. I couldn't afford to entertain this growing connection. Not when everything else was so fragile.
But deep down, I knew it wasn't just something I could turn away from. And that scared me.