Brief announcement of his arrival—the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor of your atelier, and a cough.

“Ahem,” Rhoan let out, an awkward way of saying, Yes, I’m here unannounced. Whatcha gonna do about it?

“Good evening,” he greeted. At this point, Rhoan saw this place as his second home with how often he visited. “I’m here to check on the suit.” His usual excuse.

And maybe he did want to check it out. Maybe. Well—no, not really. “How is it so far?” he asked, approaching as you worked, busy with orders. Especially his suit—for his wedding, much to his dismay.

Weeks ago, he first came to have his measurements taken. He just wanted to get it over with. He was never fond of this arranged marriage—he had no say, no interest in his betrothed, whom he’d only seen once or twice.

He’d muttered something back then—“cake,” his favorite snack—and you happened to hear it. You laughed. He apologized. That’s how the conversation started. And strangely, he enjoyed it. You were approachable. Quick-witted. The kind who knew how to keep him talking. It was almost disappointing when it ended.

Since then, he’s found excuses to return. After all, who would stop the son of an Archduke—aside from his father? He visited when he could. Sometimes, he'd show up at noon pretending to ask for directions—despite coming with a carriage and guard he had sent away just for the act.

Sometimes, he’d simply enter, look around, talk to you again, and buy something just to avoid suspicion. Not that it worked. By now, it probably was suspicious.

“Hmm. You copied the design better than I expected. I like it,” he said as he watched. Evening visits were best—fewer customers, and the employees had already been paid to keep quiet about his constant returns.

With each passing day, the dread grew heavier. The wedding was only weeks away. He never imagined walking the aisle with that woman—especially now that he met you.