An Introvert’s Nightmare

Avery looked at Felicia. Felicia looked at Micah. Micah looked at Avery. 

Bezalel and Shirley couldn't decide who to look at, so they looked at all three. Their eyes flitted between the participants of this farce. 

Yes, a farce, because how else could a noble pretending to be a valet, a man pretending to be a woman, and a woman pretending to be a man be described?

Avery, as always, was unbothered by the awkwardness he had caused. He might even be secretly pleased at how the silence made it easier for him to have the last word. "Adeline may be the heiress apparent, but the current ruler of Kellynich is my mother, Duchess Elyth. I may only be second in line—and I know I will be bumped down by each baby my sister squeezes out—but I am and will always remain a duchess's son. I am a member of the Welland family till the day I die. As is my husband. The only true outsider here is you."

Micah winced. Avery's little speech might just be enough to send Felicia into a nuclear meltdown. He braced himself for screams and shrieks as she opened her mouth, but all that came out was a soft and bewildered "Your husband?" 

"Yes, my husband."

"He is your husband?"

"Yes, he is my husband."

"Him? Micah Carrington?"

"Yes, him, Micah Carrington."

'Yes, me, Micah Carrington. For fuck's sake, can we please move on?' 

Felicia could not hear his thoughts (or, if she could, she was ignoring him) so for the next few seconds, there was no moving on. 

The silence was suffocating.

When Felicia looked like she was going to talk again, Micah felt relieved that the awkward quietness was about to end.

"Isn't Micah married to Adeline?" 

And the relief disappeared as fast as it had appeared.

'Woman,' Micah fumed, 'this really isn't what we should be focusing on.'

"No, Micah isn't married to Adeline," Avery replied.

"But the wedding..."

"The wedding was for Micah and me."

"That's not what the invitations said."

"How else could we get all our family and friends to attend without fuss?" 

"And since when do you care about what they think?"

"Since my mother decided that she wanted to experience the perfect wedding vicariously through her children because Uncle Percy had messed hers up." Avery's expression softened into something akin to tenderness. "You know what Mama is like."

"Yes," Felicia agreed quietly, "I think I do."

The silence resumed without most of the awkwardness, and Micah understood that they were nearing a truce. He could see that Bezalel and Shirley were also more at ease since the crisis had been averted. Even Avery seemed almost benign now that his anger had more or less subsided. 

Felicia looked thoughtful, and that was enough to keep Micah from completely relaxing. "Then," she asked, "why is the tiara here?"

Her tone might not be accusatory, but her question was enough to send Micah's heart accelerating.

"Ah, Mr Avery and Mr Micah sent the tiara here for cleaning," lied Bezalel smoothly. "It's just such a magnificent piece that I asked the happy couple if I could display it in my shop. Not every day you get to see something so wonderful in person. They kindly agreed." 

Felicia's expression did not change, prompting Shirley to butt in, "As you can see, there's no price tag. It's not for sale. We're only borrowing it." She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear after speaking. 

Perhaps it was better to not say anything than to lie badly, because Felicia's eyes narrowed. "So why are they leaving your shop without it?"

"Because," Avery's voice was sharp again, "we are going on our honeymoon right after this and the last thing we want is to waste precious time arguing with customs about how to value this tiara."

"Alright, alright, I believe you. I don't get why you are so defensive. It's just a misunderstanding." 

Micah's eye twitched. From her tone, it's obvious that she wasn't the least bit persuaded. She was simply retreating from what she had just recognized as a battle she couldn't win.

Even a commoner like him could tell. 'At least it's over,' he comforted himself, but he spotted how Felicia's eyes were lighting up and the corners of her mouth were rising. 

Very soon, she was—despite the smudging greasepaint mustache—the perfect image of girlish delight. And anyone who knew her would know it's not a good sign.

"Honeymoon!" she exclaimed, turning to Avery, "Where? What are you going to wear? Are you going to scandalize the paparazzi with daring outfits? Which hotel did you pick? Is it nice? What romantic activities did you plan? Tell me! Tell me everything!"

Poor Avery was caught off guard by her sudden switch from wannabe adversary to wannabe ally. But he regained his composure swiftly. "Natonia. Sensible clothes suitable for a tropical climate. No. Hiliard Hotel. Yes. Wine tasting, folk dancing, and archery."

"Aaaaand? Come on, don't be shy," Felicia batted her eyelashes dramatically. "We've known each other since we were children."

"The rest is between my husband and me," answered Avery, deftly deflecting her tacit offer of queer solidarity because insanity wasn't something that could be negated by gayness. He stepped away from her and linked his arm with Micah's. "If you will excuse—"

"Oooooh, it's not like you to act like a prude! Come! Let's head back together. We can talk along the way."

Felicia launched herself at Avery. 

Avery took a step to the side. 

Micah winced as he heard the crash of flesh against furniture.

Avery cleared his throat. "As I was saying, if you will excuse us—and you will—we should really be on our way. It's best if we return home separately. We look too ridiculous together. It will draw unwanted attention. I don't want to explain to Mama why some cranky old reporter is accusing me of disrespecting the institution of marriage because I delayed my honeymoon to attend a costume party."

It seemed like Felicia had nothing to say to that. 

To be more accurate, she said, "wait, wait, wait, I told you to fucking wait," as she struggled to disentangle her limbs from the mess of fallen chairs. 

Micah and Avery took that to mean she was in agreement and walked out of the shop briskly, but not so briskly that their desire to escape her became too obvious.

Then they turned right and sprinted like their lives depended on it.

Bezalel waited patiently by the counter for his remaining customer to extract herself. It took a while, even with Shirley's help. 

"WHERE DID THEY GO?" hollered the newly-freed demoness into his face. He smiled and gestured to the right, "That way, Ms." Two bulging, bloodshot eyes rolled themselves at him, and their owner marched out of the shop.

And turned left.

And that's how despite incompatible orientations and mismatched intentions, the three of them went their separate ways as if heading home from a one-night stand they didn't want anyone else to find out about.