//CLARA//
I wasn't built for this.
Planning parties was never my thing, but I was stuck in a century where doing it yourself was the only option.
And to add a cherry to this nightmare, the city's elite viewed me as nothing more than a fragile substitute playing lady of the estate until Casimir married a proper, blue-blooded wife.
Well, news flash. I was already his wife.
I just couldn't tell anyone.
"Damn," I muttered, flipping aggressively through a stack of papers on the desk. "This old bat really did take her job seriously."
Aunt Cornelia's abandoned bedroom still smelled vividly of her cloying lavender and musk.
"Are you sure about this?" Gary asked from the doorway.
I glanced back, watching him lean on his crutches. The bandages were gone, replaced by a fading bruise.
He was healing. Slowly… but healing.
"I'm sure." I turned back to a stack of old stationery.
"You look like you're about to throw up."
"Her perfume is aggressive."
Gary snorted.
