Three days before the will reading I had to get out of the house.

The house was really getting to me. Every room was like a museum of my fathers absence; every creak of the floorboards sounded like footsteps that would never come again. My fathers slippers were still by the door. His newspaper from that morning was still folded on the kitchen table; the crossword half finished his handwriting trailing off mid-clue like he'd simply meant to come back to it later. I couldn't be in that house another minute without feeling like the walls themselves were closing in on me.

So I walked, aimlessly until my feet led me to a café tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and the smell of fresh espresso thick in the air.

I ordered a coffee I didn't really want and sat by the window watching the city move past me like I was underwater disconnected from all of it. People walked by with their lives intact. Grocery bags, phone calls, laughter shared between friends. And I remember feeling a strange hollow envy toward every single one of them for the simple luxury of an unremarkable day.

It was there staring blankly into my cup that I first noticed the stranger.

He was sitting two tables away alone with a newspaper folded beside a cup of tea. He wasn't reading it. He was watching the door with tension in his shoulders like a man waiting for something. Or someone. That he both wanted and dreaded to see.

I remember thinking, in the way grief lets you notice things without fully processing them that he looked like he was bracing for bad news the same way I'd been bracing for it for over a week.

I hadn't meant to stare.. There was something about the stranger that pulled my attention and refused to let go. The stranger was tall even sitting down I could tell, with shoulders that filled out his simple gray sweater in a way that seemed almost unfair. The stranger's hair was brown, short with a wave to it that looked like he'd run his fingers through it one too many times.. The strangers' eyes. When the stranger finally glanced over and caught me staring. Were a dark warm brown eye that seemed to hold entire storms behind them.

I should have looked away. Instead I offered an embarrassed smile.

To my surprise the stranger smiled back. It transformed the stranger's face, softening the tension in the stranger's jaw and for a moment the stranger didn't look like a stranger with storms in the stranger's eyes. The stranger looked like someone I might have known in my life.

"Rough day?" the stranger asked, the strangers voice low and warm carrying easily across the space between our tables.

" Month " I admitted before I could stop myself. I'm not usually so honest with strangers. Grief had stripped away some of my usual filters leaving raw honesty in its place. "Rough year, if I'm being fully truthful."

"I know that feeling," the stranger. Something in the way the stranger said it made me believe the stranger completely. There was a heaviness behind the strangers eyes that matched my own, a kind of recognition that passed between two strangers who both understood in that instant that the other was carrying something.

The stranger gestured to the chair across from the stranger. "Do you mind? I could use the distraction if you're willing to provide one."

I should have said no. The stranger was a stranger to me. I was a stranger to strangers and my father had just died and I had a business to somehow learn how to run and this was absolutely not the time to be inviting handsome strangers to sit with me in cafés.

"Sure " I heard myself say instead. "Why not."

The stranger's name the stranger told me was Freddie. Freddie didn't offer a name and I didn't offer mine either. There was something freeing. About the anonymity of it. About being just a woman and just a man in a café with no history and no expectations pressing down on either of us.

For those two hours I wasn't the daughter of a dying company. I wasn't a woman about to inherit a legacy I never asked for. I was simply a woman sitting across from Freddie, a stranger who listened like every word out of my mouth mattered.

We talked for two hours. Freddie asked about my father gently. I found myself telling Freddie things I hadn't even told Chloe yet. How guilty I felt for not visiting more in the last year, how terrified I was of stepping into a role I'd never asked for, how much I missed hearing my father hum old jazz songs while he cooked breakfast on Sunday mornings.

I told Freddie about the way my father used to burn the toast every time and pretend it was intentional calling it "extra crispy" like that had been the plan all along. Freddie laughed at that, a real laugh, warm and surprised like Freddie hadn't expected to laugh all that day.

"You sound like he was a man, " Freddie said quietly.

"He was, " I said, blinking back tears. "He was the man I knew."

Freddie's own eyes darkened at that. I caught the faintest flicker of something painful across Freddie's face. Envy, maybe or grief of a different kind. "You're lucky " Freddie said. "Not everyone gets a father worth missing that much."

I wanted to ask what Freddie meant. I wanted to ask about the tension I'd noticed in Freddie's shoulders. About who Freddie had been waiting for when I first walked in.. There was a wall behind Freddies eyes that told me some doors weren't meant to be opened by a stranger no matter how easy the conversation had become.

So instead I let the moment pass and something told me Freddie was grateful for it.

Instead I asked Freddie what he did for work. Watch Freddie hesitate.

"It's complicated, " Freddie said finally. "My family is involved in a lot of things. I don't always get to choose my path the way I'd like to."

"I understand that more than you'd think " I said, thinking of the business now sitting on my shoulders, the employees depending on me, the legacy I hadn't chosen but couldn't abandon. It felt strange and comforting even to sit across from Freddie, a stranger who seemed to carry an invisible weight even if neither of us could fully name it out loud.

At one point the barista came by to refill our cups and Freddie thanked her by name. Marta I think it was. With an ease that struck me as odd for someone who'd claimed moments earlier to have a relationship with Freddie's own life. Freddie noticed my glance and shrugged, almost sheepishly.

"I come here a lot, " Freddie admitted. "It's one of the places I can just sit. Nobody bothers me here. Nobody wants anything from me."

"What do people usually want from you?" I asked, genuinely curious despite myself.

Freddie was quiet for a moment turning his cup slowly on its saucer. "Everything " Freddie said finally with a humorless laugh. "Or nothing at all which is somehow worse because at least when someone wants something specific you know exactly what you're dealing with."

I didn't understand what Freddie meant, not really not yet.. Something in Freddie's voice made me want to reach across the table and take Freddie's hand to tell him that whatever weight he was carrying he didn't have to carry it alone at that moment.

"For what it's worth " I said instead "you don't seem like someone people should be afraid to talk to."

Something shifted in Freddie's expression softening further like I'd said something that mattered more than I realized. "That might be the thing anyone's said to me in longer than I'd like to admit " Freddie said quietly.

We talked about things after that. Books we'd both pretended to finish in school, a terrible movie we'd each seen more than once despite hating it, the strange comfort of foods that remind you of childhood even when they're objectively not very good. It was easy in a way conversations rarely're unburdened by the usual dance of first impressions.

I found myself laughing, actually laughing, for the time since the hospital had called.

We didn't exchange numbers. It hadn't felt necessary at the moment. It had felt like something in itself a single afternoon meant to exist outside of time untethered to the messiness of real life.

When we finally stood to leave Freddie walked me to the door. For one long moment we simply looked at each other, the noise of the café and the street, outside fading into something distant and unimportant.

"I hope things get easier for you, " Freddie said softly. "You seem like someone enough to survive whatever's coming."

"You too " I replied, though I didn't fully know what I meant by it.

He smiled at me one time and then he was lost in the crowd on the sidewalk. I stood there for a time feeling a little better than I had in days. It was the first time since my father died that I felt like myself again. This was all because of a man I did not know well. I only know his name and where he lived I knew not. I did not know what he did for a living. I did not know why his eyes seemed sad even when he was smiling.

In the days that followed I thought about him a lot. I thought about him during my fathers funeral. I thought about him when I was reading my fathers will. I even thought about him when I was dealing with the marriage contract. His face would appear in my mind at times. I would see his smile when I was signing papers. I would hear his voice when I was lying awake at night.

I tried to tell myself that it did not mean anything. He was a stranger I met in a café. We only talked for a while. That was all. I thought it was a nice conversation with someone who was kind to me during a tough time.

I had no idea that Freddie Ethan was thinking about me too. He was thinking about me from across the city. He was in a house with iron gates and guards. He was thinking about a woman with eyes and a nice smile. He was wondering if he would see me again. He was worried about the woman his father wanted him to marry. He had never met this woman before.

We did not know that our lives were already connected. The papers just had not caught up yet. When they did I would meet Freddie Ethan again. This time it would be in a meeting. I thought he would be cold and distant.. He was not. He was the man I had been thinking about.

I think about that day a lot. I think about it like it was a stone I found on the beach. I want to remember every part of it. There was nothing about it but it felt special to me. We were two strangers talking.. It feels like something more. It feels like it is a part of me now.

My friend Chloe asked me why I did not ask for his phone number. I did not have an answer. I still do not have an answer. I just know that it felt like something that was only meant to happen. I thought it was enough.. I was wrong.

The Ethan family palace is really something. It rises above the city like it is from a time. The iron gates and the gardens are well kept. It is like a different world from the glass skyscrapers around it. I have walked past it times but I never thought I would be going inside. When I was a kid I would press my face against the car window when we drove by thinking it was a museum or something. My father would just. Say, "Some people get to live different lives Freya. It does not make them better, just different." I never thought those words would be a warning one day.

I am standing in the foyer now holding Amelia's hand tight. We are both dressed up waiting to meet the King. I have never met him before. I do not want to be part of his family. The foyer is huge with a ceiling that is painted with clouds and angels. It feels wrong considering why we are here.

"Ms. Williams," a servant says, coming down the stairs. "The King will see you now. Your sister can wait in the room."

Amelia's grip on my hand gets tighter. "I do not want to leave you " she whispers.

"I will be fine " I say, even though my stomach is all nervous. "Just. I will come find you when I am done."

I follow the servant down a hall with pictures of serious-looking people on the walls. They all seem to be judging me like they are deciding if I am good enough to marry into their family. I count at least a dozen pictures and they all look so serious. I wonder if they ever smiled in life or if they just do not allow it in pictures. I look at each face trying to find something that looks like the man I am supposed to marry.. They all just look cold and mean.

At the end of the hall we get to a study that is almost as big as my whole house. The King is sitting behind a desk looking perfect in his suit. He does not stand up. Say hello. He just says, "Sit down Ms. Williams."

It is not a question. I sat down. I try to keep my back and not look scared. I have dealt with people before so I tell myself this is not any different.. It feels different.

The study is meant to scare people, I think. The bookshelves go all the way up to the ceiling. There is a huge fireplace. There is a picture of the King when he was younger wearing robes. He still looks mean in that picture.

"I guess Mr. Griggs told you about the situation, " the King says, putting his fingers together. "Your fathers debt, the marriage contract, what happens if you say no."

"He did, " I say, trying to sound calm. ". I do not understand why my father would agree to this without asking me. It is my life all."

The King's eyes flicker like he's surprised I am not scared. "Your father was trying to save his company. I helped him. He agreed to the terms."

"Terms that include me marrying someone I have never met " I say.

The King's face gets sharper. "Terms that will save your family's company. You should remember that, Ms. Williams. If it was not for my family's money your company would not even exist. You would not have a job. Neither would the four hundred people who work for you."

My jaw gets tight. I try to keep my voice level. ". What about your son? Does he know about this? Is he okay with marrying someone he has never met just because you told him to?"

"My son will do what is best for this family " the King says. "Just like you will do what is best for yours."

I want to meet the King's son so I ask him. "I would like to meet him before I agree to anything. I want to at least know who I am marrying."

The King's eyes do something like he is hiding something. "You will meet him when the time is right. Not before. He is busy with work now and I do not want to interrupt him. You will meet him when you are supposed to."

I do not like this. The King's tone says he will not discuss it anymore. "That seems weird, " I say. "Would it not be better to introduce us instead of waiting?"

The King gets up and walks to the window. "I think it is better if we wait. You both need time to get used to the idea of this marriage. My son needs time to adjust. So do you. I do not see why we should rush it."

I want to ask questions but the King's tone says he is done talking about it. "What happens next?" I ask instead.

"You have two weeks to decide, " the King says. "If you do not agree to the marriage I will have to take steps to make sure it happens. I can affect your sister's education, your company's contracts... There are things I can do if you do not cooperate."

The threat is clear even though he says it nicely. I feel cold. I try not to show it. "I understand, " I say. "Two weeks."

The King turns around. For a moment he looks almost pleased. "You are smarter than I thought, Ms. Williams. Maybe you and my son will get along well."

I leave the study feeling like I just survived a fight. I keep thinking about why the King does not want me to meet his son. It does not feel right.

I find Amelia in the room and we hug without saying a word. We are both shaking a little. I can tell she is worried about me. "What happened?" she whispers. "Did you meet him? The King's son?"

"No " I say, still thinking about it. "The King says he is traveling for work. I have two weeks to decide about the marriage. I will meet him when the time is right." I say it like it is a joke. It does not feel funny.

Amelia's face gets serious. "That is weird, " she says. "I do not like it."

I agree, "It is " I say.. I do not have the energy to figure out every strange thing about this family today. I just want to go. The tiredness of the day is making my bones feel heavy and for once Amelia does not push me to talk than I want to.

As we leave the palace I look back at the building one last time wondering what kind of person grows up inside those cold walls with a father as mean as the one I just met. I wonder if there is any kindness left in him or if the palace made him cold a time ago like it seems to have made everything else cold. I try to picture his face. I came up with nothing. Just a vague idea of someone who has always had everything and seems cold because of it. I have already decided that I probably will not like him without meeting him. It is easier to dislike someone when you do not know what they look like.

I have no idea as I walk away from the palace that the very person I am thinking about is sitting in a café a few miles away thinking about my face in the same way that I am thinking about him. I have no idea that the King's strange delay was not really about work. That something complicated is going on, something that neither Freddie nor I can predict.

That evening I am feeling restless and cannot relax after the day so I go for a walk again. The same kind of walk that I did before when I was feeling sad and upset.. Somehow without meaning to I end up back on the same street in front of the same café with the little bell above the door. The evening air is cool. The city is getting quiet and I tell myself that I am just walking to clear my head.

I tell myself that I am not hoping to see him. I tell myself that it would not mean anything even if I did see him. I tell myself a lot of things standing there on the sidewalk with my hand near the door. I do not really believe any of them.

I open the door anyway. The little bell rings and my heart does something strange when I see a familiar pair of shoulders, in a gray sweater sitting at the same table as before.