"I mean, what sort of backwards thinking is that? They both went to university! They should be intelligent enough to know how stupid they're being." Elina whines down the phone.

Grace can tell that she's pacing, it's what she always does when she's this riled up. She pictures her; dark wavy locks gathered up into a high bun, long legs working overtime to transport her back and forth her medically clean room.

"As if they had the fucking audacity to invite us to a wedding that they know damn well we won't support."

"I support it." Grace shrugs, even though Elina can't see her, "I mean... I don't like it. But I support it. I have to."

"No you don't, Grace." Elina mutters, annoyed, "You have the right to change your mind."

"And admit I was wrong? Never." Grace says with a scoff, "I sent that man running into the arms of another and said it was for his own good. I am not about to be labelled a hypocrite."

"You know, you can be a real stubborn bitch sometimes."

"I know." Grace says with a wry smile, "I picked that up from you."

Elina feigns a sob, and Grace can imagine that she's wiping a fake tear from her eye, "They grow up so fast."

They laugh for a few moments, letting the sound fill up their respective rooms.

Grace flops down onto her bed, lying on her back and staring upwards. She spends a few moments analysing the small imperfections dotted around her white ceiling. Noticing how, from afar, the paint's finish looks pristine, but upon further inspection, all of the tiny flaws become glaringly obvious.

It's sort of how she feels about her relationship with Arthur.

That's unfair of her, she knows it as soon as she thinks it. But still... she had been so happy in those first few months, before his royal status affected them. And even when Arthur's existence was brought to the forefront, it had been fine. But then she started to analyse, and nitpick, and everything began to make her second guess.

"Hey, have you seen this?" Elina says, pulling Grace out of her thoughts.

"Seen what?" She responds, then notices a notification pop up on her phone screen, telling her that Elina had sent her a message.

Grace clicks the link, opening up an article by some unfamiliar gossip blog. The title of the article, written in bold, garish, hot pink letters:

Gross, Grace thinks. She finds it a little weird that publications are milking that night for all it's worth and making it out to be controversial. Arthur got drunk, for goodness sake, he didn't kill anyone.

"I've seen this already." Grace tells Elina, a hint of boredom infiltrating her tone.

"Um." Elina starts, her voice a little skeptical, "Are you sure you watched it all? Because this article brings up some interesting points."

Grace scoffs, "Like what?"

"Like... what colour are Rebecca's eyes?"

Graces frowns and furrows her dark brows, "Shouldn't you know? You're the one who used to stare into them all the time."

Elina makes an indignant noise, "You're both correct, and a bitch."

Grace grins, "My two best attributes."

Elina pauses, Grace imagines it's to roll her eyes, "Seriously though, what colour are Bex's eyes?"

"What? Is this a trick question? They're blue. Aren't they?"

"Blue? Right? Not brown?" Elina questions again. It's starting to get on Grace's nerves.

"Yes, El, perfect Rebecca, with the perfect blonde hair, has perfect blue eyes."

"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to upset you, but just... skip to the end of the video."

"No, Elina-"

"Just do it, please Grace. Like one minute in."

"Fine." Grace says stubbornly, tapping her phone aggressively to get to the time stamp suggested.

Once again, she finds herself staring at Arthur's stupid, adorable, drunken face.

"And she'd get to me and I'd grab her hands and she'd be looking at me with her big brown eyes. She'll be such a lovely bride..."

Grace isn't sure she heard correctly. It takes her a good few rounds of rewinding and replaying the video to wrap her head completely around it.

"Did... Did he just say.."

"Brown eyes? Yep." Elina says, a touch of amusement in her words.

"Do you think-"

"He's talking about you? Yep."

"Oh god."

"Wait. Wait. There's more." Elina says excitedly, sending Grace another link to a different trashy gossip article.

"What do you love about her, Arthur?" A voice the Grace doesn't recognise asks him, half-teasing.

"Everything." He responds, dreamily, "She lets me talk about art. I'm probably so annoying. It's all I talk about."

"Is that true?" The same unknown voice queries.

"Absolutely. It's infuriating." Grace recognised Will's welsh lilt immediately and smiles unconsciously.

"She lets me take her to art galleries. And she agreed to go with me to Florence. And said that we can litter our home with renaissance paintings."

Grace freezes.

What the hell?

"Elina." She says barely managing to find her voice, "He's talking about me. All those things he's saying are about me. Florence, and the paintings... we spoke about those things."

"Oh my god, Grace! He loves you! He never stopped!"

Grace feels her heart do a backflip. Like a switch has been flipped, she can finally see it now. Arthur still loves her, and the way she feels isn't going to change that. All those times when Arthur would promise her that he wanted her, and beg her to see herself the way he did. He wasn't lying, he wasn't trying to make her feel better, he just genuinely didn't see all of the bad things she did. To her, she isn't good enough for him, but to him, she's the sun, the moon, and the stars.

She can't let someone who loves her like that get away.

"I-I.. what do I do? Elina, he's getting married! It's not like I can just stop the wedding!"

"Why not?" Elina says, nonchalantly, as if she isn't suggesting ruining the biggest national celebration of this year.

"You're a monster."

"No. I'm serious." Elina presses, sounding considerably more invested, "You should do something. Send him a message or something, just to let him know that the option's still there."

"What option?" Grace says dumbly.

"You, stupid!" Elina tells her, exasperated, "You still love him. He needs to know that before he's gone forever."

"You want me to declare my love for an engaged man three days before his wedding? That's so-"

"Messy? I know." Elina says plainly, "but he needs to know. It's either that, or you stand up in the middle of their vows."

"Oh dear god no."

"That's what I thought." Elina comments smugly.

Grace sighs. Her best friend is right, of course. She had hoped he would be over her by now. But he isn't, and it's making her wonder if she had made the right decision by letting him go.

She won't let Arthur marry someone else if he still loves her. He at least needs to know that the feeling is reciprocated. It kills her to think he's going through with the wedding because he thinks it's his only option.

"Well... how am I going to tell him?"

Elina is silent for a few seconds, pondering the options, then she makes a delighted sound.

"I have an idea."

~~~

Arthur hops off of his bike and hands it off to the groundskeeper, who takes it to be stored in the bike shed at the back of the estate. He would do it himself, but his mother insisted he get used to having things done for him. Soon he won't have time to do all the menial tasks himself.

As he opens his door, he is met by his butler, Foster, who greets him with a polite smile.

"Hello, sir, did you enjoy your ride?" The man says, helping Arthur remove his jacket, then draping it over his forearm.

"Yes, thank you, Foster. It was lovely." Arthur answers, smiling contentedly, "Anything interesting happen while I was out?"

"Not much, sir, though, something did arrive for you in the post. It's been properly screened, and sent up to your room."

"Thank you, Foster." Arthur pats the man's arm and bounds up the stairs towards his bedroom.

He opens the oak door and scans the giant room, eyes landing on the package placed neatly on his bed.

It's large, and flat, rectangular in shape, wrapped meticulously in basic brown shipping paper. There is a white ribbon tied around it lovingly, forming a cute bow.

Arthur frowns; he hadn't been expecting anything.

Letting his curiosity get the better of him, he walks over to the bed and gently tears open the package.

Inch by inch, the paper is removed to reveal a painting.

Arthur can't quite believe it at first. He makes a startled, delighted noise as he takes in the artwork.

It's a modern interpretation of his favourite renaissance artwork, Mars and Venus, by Italian painter Sandro Botticelli. The scene is reimagined in black and white, with only the two title subjects on the canvas. They are depicted only by minimalist line drawings, with no shading or colouring.

He wanted it for months, and it's more beautiful than he could've imagined.

Arthur frowns. Hardly anyone knew that he wanted this painting. In fact, there's only one person he told.

Quickly, he looks through the torn up wrapping paper, and finds a piece of white card, small, but with just enough space to write a note.

He notices a faint smell coming from it. Vanilla, with a hint of almond. He knows that scent very well. He loves it.

With an apprehensive gulp, Arthur turns over the card, and reads the note written upon it.

It takes a few moments for him to let the words sink in before he practically collapses onto the bed with a soft intake of breath.

He runs his hand over the painting, which is still safely on the bed next to him. It takes everything in him not to freak out, or start crying, or do something to release all of the pent up emotions in his heart.

Those words, seven words, that have sent his world into a spin. That are written in such a way that their meaning is unmistakeable, and unshakeable.

Those words are both his damnation and his salvation:

"In Florence, the Sunshine longs for you."