Cashmere & Cameron – Severed

I had felt excited all morning.

I’d found the translator app by accident—some new tech that could translate spoken word in real time, even accents, even dialects. I downloaded it immediately, thrilled at the idea of finally understanding every soft, fast, tangled French sentence Élodie threw at her siblings.

I wanted to surprise her with it. I wanted to show her I cared enough to learn her world. I wanted to see her smile.

The Cunningham jet had landed in Bellacorde earlier that day, bringing me home from campus to meet the rest of my family and celebrate the birth of my stepsister Briony’s new baby. My parents and sisters were already at the palace, staying with Briony and Luc as they always did when in Ondarion. I slipped away for an hour—just long enough to take the short drive down the coast to Verdemar.

I didn’t tell Élodie I was coming. I wanted it to be a sweet surprise.

The terrace door of the Marceau house was open, curtains fluttering in the warm breeze. I stepped quietly onto the terrace, phone in hand, translator app open, the microphone glowing.

I heard voices inside.

I smiled.

I lifted the phone.

The app began to translate.

Inside, Pascal and Anaïs stood near the small, well‑used kitchen table, bills spread out like fallen leaves. Élodie stood at the counter, hands braced on the wood, shoulders tight.

“Élodie,” Pascal said softly, “you are scaring me. You keep saying this… thing about marrying Nathaniel.”

I blinked. Marrying me? Whoa.

I leaned closer to the open door, heart thudding, phone trembling in my hand.

Élodie didn’t turn around. Her voice was sharp, exhausted, cracking.

“What else am I supposed to do, Pascal? Look at this!” She slapped a stack of envelopes. “Rent is late again. Your medical bill came in. Anaïs needs new shoes. You need school supplies. I cannot pay any of it. Even if I took ten jobs and never slept, it is too much!”

The translator app rendered her words instantly, clean and merciless.

My stomach dropped.

Pascal swallowed. “But… marriage? You are not even nineteen yet. Who gets married at nineteen nowadays? That is… cringe.”

Élodie spun around, eyes bright with frustration.

“I tell you what is cringe! Me worrying about all this like an adult at sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and I will still be worrying about it at nineteen and at twenty… I am tired of this life! I am tired of waking up every morning wondering if we will be homeless next week. I am tired of crying myself to sleep, thinking I failed all of us and Mama and Papa, may they rest in peace. I am tired of you pretending you are not hungry and the only thing we can do is catch fish, I am so tired of eating fish every day. I am tired of Anaïs asking why she cannot have what other children have. I am tired of all of us wearing worn‑out secondhand clothing—this is a small community and people are not dumb, they recognize things they donated! And at the same time, Nathaniel and his entire family live in so much luxury, you guys won’t even believe all the things I have seen, that are just normal to them. The foods they eat. So much food and I just sat there, feeling guilty eating any of it, wishing I could email you guys some of it! The clothes they wear. Nobody is worried about money in his life. I have never seen so much luxury and excess in one place. And that was just his brother‑in‑law’s place. I have only seen a few photos but Nate’s home must be twice the size and so many cars and horses and all that. It’s insane! Their horses eat better than us.”

She pressed her palms to her eyes.

“Horses? You didn’t say Nathaniel has horsies!” Anaïs piped up.

“Does it matter now?” Élodie snapped. “Yes, one of his sisters has been riding for years and talked their dad into buying new ones. They used to always have horses, but who cares, Anaïs?”

“Don’t yell at her,” Pascal said. “She’s still a kid and doesn’t understand bills. So, they have horses. Oh well. Who cares? I don’t want horses, just more to deal with. I don’t even want a cat.”

“I want a cat…” Anaïs whispered.

“Well, you can have one when you are grown and have a job. They make a lot of work and that is the last thing Élodie or I need,” Pascal snapped.

“That’s just it, Pascal,” Élodie said, voice trembling. “Nathaniel’s family doesn’t have to take care of anything. They have people like us to do it for them. And he—Nathaniel—he has so much. He could change our lives in one moment.”

My breath caught. My chest tightened painfully.

“So yes,” she said, “I marry him. He is sweet, kind, and… kinda cute. And I really like him. I think I love him, maybe. I don’t know what that would feel like—how do I tell, how do I know if this is real love or just a thing of youth? All I know is that even if I do not love him like that now, it will come. It will. And even if it doesn’t—what is not to love in finally being safe? I know this isn’t ideal, this isn’t what I wanted or anyone wants, but it is the only way. I cannot do this anymore. I am eighteen and should worry about clothes and music and where to go with my friends next weekend. I can’t. I have no time for any of this. It is not right, not fair. And I am so tired of it.”

“Can’t you just ask him to give us money?” Anaïs said. “I asked him for ice cream last time he was here and he just gave me money so I can go buy some.”

“Anaïs, don’t sound so silly!” Élodie snapped. “We need more than money for an ice cream stand. That much we would have to pay back, and how are we supposed to do that, huh?”

“I don’t know,” Anaïs said, lip wobbling, “but if you marry him, he will take you away from us and…” She broke into sobs.

Élodie pulled her close. “I wouldn’t just go away,” she said softly. “I would come visit all the time on his fancy jet or have you come visit me. Or maybe I would just take both of you with me.”

“But Élodie,” Anaïs sniffled, “my English is not good, and Pascal’s isn’t either. How would I go to school there? I wouldn’t understand anyone.”

“I don’t know, Anaïs,” Élodie said. “I don’t have all the answers either. All I know is that we are about to be homeless!”

Pascal swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said, “but how are you gonna get him to marry you? Just walk up and propose? Without a ring?”

“I don’t know…” Élodie whispered. “Maybe… maybe if I got pregnant, he would have to marry me. His Papa would never allow anything else.”

Pascal stared at her.

Something inside me tore.

I stepped back from the terrace door, heart pounding, vision blurring. The translator app kept scrolling text across the screen—her words, her desperation, her plan—but I couldn’t look at it anymore.

I turned. I walked away. I didn’t let them know I’d been there.

I didn’t breathe until I reached the car.

The Palace

I returned to the palace silent and pale. My parents noticed immediately. Mom followed me down the hall, her heels soft on the marble. Dad came after her, brow furrowed.

I shut myself in my room, but Dad knocked once and entered anyway. Mom slipped in behind him.

“Nathaniel,” Dad said gently, “what happened?”

I shook my head, staring at the floor.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mom sat beside me on the bed, her hand warm on my back.

“Nate,” she murmured, “you’re shaking.”

I swallowed hard. My throat burned. My eyes stung.

And then, quietly, I broke.

“I heard her,” I whispered. “I heard her talking to Pascal. She said she needed to marry me. That I was… salvation. That she didn’t know if she loved me like that but maybe it would come. She said she’d try to get pregnant so Dad would make me marry her. That she wanted my money. That she didn’t want to be homeless. Blaine was right. I should have listened to him.”

Mom’s face softened. Dad’s jaw tightened.

“I thought she loved me,” I said. “I thought she liked me. I thought… I thought I mattered. I thought it was real.”

Mom pulled me into her arms, holding me tightly, stroking my hair the way she had when I was small.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

Dad sat on the other side, steady and quiet.

“You did matter,” Dad said softly. “You still do. I am sure it was as real to her as it was to you. But she’s still so young and overloaded with responsibilities. She’s scared. She’s desperate. That doesn’t make it hurt less—but it means it wasn’t cruelty.”

He paused.

“Just… look, son, this is why your mother and I urge you to be vigilant and careful. There are a lot of people out there that may like you initially, but really love you once they find out what you can do for them. And take it from someone who lived this nightmare for a decade: even if this were to come to be, I would never make you marry anyone you didn’t want to marry yourself.”

I pressed my face into my mother’s shoulder.

“I feel stupid.”

“You’re not,” she whispered. “You’re kind. You’re open. You’re trusting. Those are good things. Don’t let this take them from you.”

I didn’t answer. I just cried—quiet, shaking, devastated.

They stayed with me until I fell asleep.

The Envelope

The next day, I returned to Verdemar—but at a time I knew Élodie would be at one of her jobs. I didn’t want to see her. I couldn’t. My pride, my heart, my trust—everything felt bruised and raw.

Anaïs answered the door, surprised to see me.

“Oh! Nate! Élodie is not ’ere.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “Could you give her this?”

I handed her an envelope. Then I reached into the small bag I carried and pulled out a soft plush horse—cream-colored, with a stitched bridle—and a packet of Bellacorde caramel candies.

“For you,” I said gently. “I saw it and thought you might like it.”

Anaïs lit up instantly, hugging the toy to her chest. “Merci, Nate! I love eet! And ze candy too! Mmm, so yummy, merci!”

I smiled at her, warm and soft, the way I always did with her. Nothing in my expression betrayed the storm inside me.

I didn’t stay. I didn’t explain. I didn’t look back.

I drove away, and I didn’t return.

I didn’t answer her texts. I didn’t answer her calls. I didn’t answer anything.

I changed my number that night.

I severed it all.

Campus Life

I leaned back in my desk chair, the cheap dorm cushion squeaking under me as I exhaled hard. My head felt too small for the amount of macroeconomics, business analytics, and managerial theory it was supposed to hold. A half-finished spreadsheet glowed on my laptop screen, mocking me with its neat little cells. I reached for the can of energy drink beside me and downed the last warm mouthful just as the door burst open.

Three boys spilled inside like a gust of chaotic wind.

“Hey, ever heard of knocking?!” I complained.

My roommate—and cousin—Tate barked a laugh, already shirtless, already loud.

“Why would I knock on my own room door, you dork? I know your daddy is grooming you to be some big-wig CEO one day, but not here and not now, cuz.” he asked, firing the balled-up shirt he had been wearing onto a pile next to his bed.

Behind him came Liam Hartwell, tall, broad-shouldered, perpetually sunburned from Foxbury’s rooftop pool, wearing a backwards cap and a grin that suggested he’d already started drinking.

And trailing behind them was Malik Jordan, a business major from Oakland with a sharp fade, a gold chain, and a Foxbury hoodie half-zipped.

“Yo, Nate,” Malik said, tossing a bag of chips onto Tate’s bed, “we’re hitting the Cellar tonight. You in?”

“Nate-y doesn’t go out,” Tate announced, sniffing two different shirts like a feral raccoon. “He has to call his girlfriend at night… ’cos he’s in luuuv… like a dork!”

He grimaced at one shirt, tossed it aside, then held up another. “Hey, can I borrow a shirt from you? Need to do some laundry over here?”

“Yeah, sure,” I muttered. “And I am not calling anyone. Where are you guys going? Never heard of that… Cellar.”

“The Music Cellar,” Malik said. “Underground spot. Good drinks, good bass, good girls. And it’s Friday — place is gonna be packed.”

“No joke,” Liam added. “If you wanna get lucky, that’s where you need to go.”

“I don’t wanna get lucky,” I said, rubbing my forehead, “but I could use a change of scenery.”

I rose and opened my wardrobe. Tate appeared beside me instantly, rifling through hangers like he owned the place. He pulled out two shirts, chose one for himself, and slapped the other into my chest.

“Put this one on. And thanks for lending me the other.”

I stared at the shirt in my hands.

“No need,” I said quietly. “It’s over.”

Tate froze mid-button. Liam looked up. Malik stopped scrolling.

“Even better!” Tate declared, recovering instantly. “Glad you came to your senses! College isn’t the time to tie ourselves down — there’s plenty of time after. Now we have fun and lots of it.”

I sighed, then peeled off the T‑shirt I’d been wearing all day. I pulled on the clean shirt Tate had chosen, adjusting the collar. Then I stepped into the jeans, hopping once to get them over my hips while Tate wolf-whistled like an idiot.

“Look at you, Mr. future-CEO,” Tate grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Clean shirt, fresh jeans, freshly single — perfect combo. You’ll be beating chicks off of yourself all night with that babyface and sexy rich ass. Chicks are into the hunky dork routine.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help the tiny laugh that escaped.

I grabbed my keys. Malik grabbed the chips. Liam grabbed his cap. Tate grabbed his deodorant.

And the four of us spilled out into the hallway — loud, chaotic, laughing, hyped — the kind of boys who looked like they were up to no good, even when we were harmless. Mostly.

I followed them, forcing a smile, letting their noise drown out the ache in my chest.