Chapter Twenty-Two: Bound To You
Tony paused outside the conference room, his hand
hovering over the door handle. Through the glass, he could see Steve and Sharon
sitting close together, their heads bent over a stack of papers. His eyes
narrowed, calculating. This was the chance he'd been waiting for.
He smoothed his expression into one of casual
indifference before pushing the door open. The soft click of the latch caused
both occupants to look up.
"Oh, good. You're both here," Tony said,
his voice light and easy. He sauntered into the room, hands in his pockets, as
if he'd just happened upon them by chance.
Steve’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, a
flicker of wariness crossing his features before being quickly masked. Sharon, matching
Steve’s demeanour, forewent the mask at the unexpected interruption.
“What can we do for you, Stark?”
“Is this room surveilled?” he asked, keeping a
neutral expression.
Being the only S.H.I.E.L.D. agent among the three, Tony
knew she’d have a little more insight into which conference rooms served as
Observation Rooms for the training of junior agents.
With a simple push of a button, Sharon paused the
recording. “You have five minutes before it looks suspicious.”
Tony turned his gaze to the glass wall, his eyes
tracking the blur of movement in the hallway beyond. He absently reached up,
adjusting his tie with practiced precision. “You guys have it easy,” he said,
his voice eerily casual. "You have each other to talk to about all this.”
Steve’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across
his face. He exchanged a quick glance with Sharon, who looked equally
perplexed.
“I don’t have the luxury of talking to Pepper… So I
see a therapist…” Tony clarified, still watching the passers-by. His reflection
in the glass betrayed no emotion, as if he were discussing the weather rather
than something deeply personal. "Twice a week, actually."
The words hung in the air. Steve’s mouth opened
slightly, then closed again. He blinked rapidly, struggling to process this
unexpected revelation.
Tony turned back to face them, his expression
unreadable. "Surprised?" he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching
in what might have been amusement.
Steve swallowed hard. He knew Tony—his fierce pride,
his unwavering self-assurance. For him to admit to therapy, and so nonchalantly
at that, was akin to witnessing a mountain spontaneously collapse.
“…And I pay my therapist three hundred dollars per
hour to speak my truth, so I’m not about to allow a piece of paper to
shut me up.”
“Tony, I… We shouldn’t be talking about this, least
of all here.” Steve stumbled over his words, caught off guard by Tony
indirectly addressing their respective NDAs.
Sharon nodded in agreement, her eyes darting between
the two men, sensing the undercurrent of tension. “I agree. It’s far too
risky.”
“What’s risky about asking a couple of friends over
for a little–“
“…don’t say party,” Steve interjected.
Tony pulled out a chair across from them, the legs
scraping softly against the polished floor. He sat down, leaning back with an
air of relaxed confidence. “I was going to suggest an intimate gathering…” he
said, his gaze solely fixed on Steve.
“The last time we hosted an ‘intimate gathering’,
you ended up hiring five clean-up crews, and you and Nat sat with banana bags minutes
before our mission. There’s nothing intimate about your little
get-togethers.”
Tony leaned forward, resting his elbows on the
table. His casual demeanour slipped for a moment, revealing a glint of
something softer beneath. “Okay, truth be told, it’s for Sarah. The poor girl
is in dire need of some cheering up.”
“Sarah? What’s wrong with her?”
“C’mon, Rogers. What do you think? She’s depressed…
And misses you, obviously; roams ‘round in sweats all day. Remember when she
got her rejection letter from Julliard?”
Steve remembered that dark day. How could he forget?
He’d encouraged her to at least apply to one performing arts school for
herself when Lily and Cece favoured institutions like John Jay College of
Criminal Justice, and Yale and Dartmouth for their sociology departments. When
she didn’t get into Julliard, Steve felt the pain with her. Berated himself for
getting her hopes up. Of course, this was back when everything was innocent
between them. Platonic. If things were ever platonic, that is.
Sensing she’d been excluded from the conversation,
Sharon spoke up. “Yeah, you know what? I don’t think that’s a–“
“No, we’re in,” Steve cut her off. “Technically, if
you’re there with me, I won’t be breaking any rules. No reason we can’t be
there.”
Whatever hold Sharon thought she’d had on the
situation, or on Steve, for that matter, was slipping fast. The mere mention of
Sarah’s name had that effect. Steve’s world would come to a complete
standstill; everything else ceased to exist, even to his own detriment.
“Tunnel vision,” she thought. “The man has
the freaking worst case of tunnel vision when it comes to her!”
Tony stood to his feet, pleased that his plan for
the evening was back on the table. “Great! We’ll see you two tonight… Come
hungry and, uh, bring your A-game.”
The vibrant sounds of music and laughter guided Steve
and Sharon through the winding corridors of the residential wing. Steve stepped
into the expansive living area first, his eyes quickly scanning the familiar
faces. A grin spread across his features as he moved to greet his friends, each
handshake firm, accompanied by a pat on the back. Nat, of course, being the
exception. He extended a hand to ruffle her hair, but she pulled back just in
time to avoid the playful gesture.
“Don’t even,” she warned, pointing a finger at him.
Sharon lingered behind Steve, fidgeting with the hem
of her shirt. This wasn’t an adrenaline-induced, high-stakes mission where
personal opinions didn’t matter. With missions, they could set differences
aside and work together with one common goal in mind. But this was personal…
a reunion of long-time friends and loved ones. For all intents and purposes,
this was Steve’s family. Sharon was the odd one out and way out of her
depth. She offered small smiles to those who caught her eye, but remained a
step removed from the easy intimacy that surrounded Steve and his teammates.
The creaking of the stairs drew Steve’s attention.
His breath caught as Sarah descended, her presence immediately commanding his
focus. Their eyes locked, a silent conversation passing between them in the
space of a heartbeat.
As if drawn by an invisible force, they gravitated
toward each other. Their embrace was quick, almost cautious, but the tension in
their bodies spoke volumes. Steve’s hand hovered at the small of Sarah’s back,
not quite touching, while she gripped his shoulders a fraction too tightly. For
a moment, time seemed to slow, the world narrowing to just the two of them. It
was just as Sharon had snidely thought earlier that afternoon—tunnel vision.
But reality intruded all too soon. They broke apart,
each taking a small step back. Steve’s hand twitched at his side, as if
fighting the urge to reach out again.
“It’s good to see you up and about,” Sarah smiled,
unsure of how to navigate the awkwardness.
“Mhm, yeah. Likewise… I mean, not to see you up and
about, just... you know, just to see you again.”
In the wake of their clumsy greeting, Sarah’s gaze
shifted, landing on Sharon. The two sisters regarded each other with both familiarity
and distance. No words were exchanged, just a curt nod—a cold acknowledgment,
devoid of the warmth one might expect between siblings.
As the evening wore on, the group settled around the
large, rustic dining table. The air was filled with the delectable aroma of the
catered food Tony was trying to pass as home-cooked and the warm glow of
candlelight. Plates and glasses clinked as the teammates passed dishes back and
forth, their movements indicative of long-established familiarity.
Tony leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint
in his eye. "Hey, remember the Jack and Jill party at the Ritz…? When Sarah
outsmarted the security system?" he asked, his voice carrying over the
general chatter.
Steve’s face lit up with a grin. "How could I
forget? She had the concierge eating out of the palm of her hand within
minutes."
Nat chimed in, barely containing her laughter.
"Then she convinced them to comp our entire stay because of the 'inconvenience'!"
The table erupted in laughter, the sound of it
mingling with the clink of cutlery against plates. Sharon’s fork paused halfway
to her mouth, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the scene.
As the night progressed, more stories flowed… Nat’s
quick thinking during a mission in Prague, Clint’s dry wit during a tense
stakeout, Bucky’s uncanny ability to charm information out of female sources…
But most of them seemed to feature Sarah in some way.
An uncomfortable realisation settled over Sharon.
These people, this team, they knew her sister in a way that she didn’t. Their
shared experiences had woven Sarah into the fabric of their lives while she
struggled to be in the same room as her sister for longer than ten minutes.
As Clint launched into another tale, Sharon tried to
conjure up similar stories about Sarah from their own family gatherings, but
found her mind frustratingly blank. There weren’t any. For the most part, the
Carter family gatherings were meant for networking. And up until the fame and
success, Sarah was nothing more than an extra in the Carter’s blockbuster.
Sharon reached for her wine glass, taking a long sip
to mask the sudden tightness in her throat. As the laughter swelled around her
once more, she couldn't help but feel like an outsider looking in, witnessing a
version of her sister she had never truly known.
As the dinner plates were cleared away, Tony rose
from his seat with a flourish. He disappeared into an adjacent room, returning
moments later with a large, colourful box tucked under his arm.
“Now before any of you object… this game will be
mandatory… My house, my rules…”
The group's response was immediate—some enthusiastic,
others, not so much. Chairs scraped against the floor as people returned to the
living area, making room around the table.
Amidst the flurry of activity, Sharon remained
seated, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. Her eyes darted from
face to face, taking in the easy camaraderie, the inside jokes, the shared
history that seemed to permeate every interaction.
Tony began setting up the game, distributing pieces
and cards. “I’m going to need you all to write down some personal questions
about yourselves or a teammate, whichever you prefer… Depending on whether
you’re in the mood to be fun or just plain devious…”
“Wait, devious?” Clint’s ears perked up from
the sofa. “Yeah, okay, I’ll play… I thought this was some lame shit like
Pictionary or something.”
Once the questions were neatly decked, Tony handed little
white boards and white board markers to the first round of players. "Carter,
c’mon," he called out to Sharon, gesturing to the empty seat next to Steve.
"We need another player to even out the teams."
Sharon’s stomach twisted, her gaze falling to the innocuous-looking
game board. How could she play a game when she felt like she barely knew the
players? Or navigate the board when she couldn't even navigate the complex web
of relationships surrounding her?
Steve caught her eye from across the room, offering
an encouraging smile. But even that familiar gesture felt somehow distant,
tainted by the evening's revelations.
As the others settled into their seats, eager to
begin, Sharon’s hand tightened around her glass. She glanced between Sarah and
the team, wondering who knew about her arrangement with Steve and how she could
potentially use that to her advantage.
“Stark, obviously,” she thought, inwardly
rolling her eyes. “Maria, definitely… Romanoff, probably… Barnes and Sarah…
unlikely…”
The NDA had been clear—disclosure
surrounding any of the details was strictly prohibited. Apart from the three,
Sharon was certain Steve didn’t divulge the real reason behind their impending
nuptials, giving her enough confidence to join the game.
“What the hell, count me in.”
************************
By 9pm, the scoreboard looked bleak for certain
teammates:
Steve/Sharon—7
Bucky/Sarah—10
Nat/Clint—13
Bruce/Maria—7
Tony/Pepper—13
“Keep it going… Head in the game, people,” Clint
encouraged, grabbing another beer from the ice bucket.
Sarah reached across the table, drawing a card from
the deck. “Oh, you’ve so got this one, Barnes,” she beamed. “How do I
like my eggs?”
With a cocky smirk, Bucky scrawled his answer on his
paddle, flipping it over for the team to read. “I mean, I wanna say fertilised,
but for the game, I’ll say poached.”
Giggling softly, Sarah leaned forward and rewarded him
with a swift kiss on the lips. From across the table, Steve averted his gaze,
uncomfortable with their sudden display of affection.
“Okay, you two… No one’s fertilising any eggs while
we’re all still here,” Clint admonished. “Rogers, you’re up.”
Suppressing a heavy sigh, Steve reached for a card
and smiled to himself. “Ugh, so easy…” he mouthed, turning to Sharon. “My
all-time favourite pet.”
Under pressure, Sharon scribbled down the first
thing that came to mind and lifted her paddle.
“Uh, Cocker Spaniel…?”
“Hamster! It’s a hamster!” Maria yelled, shaking her
paddle. “The most low-maintenance pet there is.”
Tony chuckled, tossing a crumpled serviette at
Maria. “Get outta here… It’s a plant! I think we can all collectively agree
that Rogers is a ‘plants can be pets too’ kinda guy…”
From across the table, twirling a strand of hair,
Sarah confidently answered, “Wrong! All of you, wrong. Alpine was a cat.”
Releasing his earlier-suppressed sigh, Steve flipped
over his paddle. “Tomcat (Alpine)” was scrawled across the board. “Yep… she’s
right.”
To those in the know, a hint of tension descended
upon the game. Sarah vs Sharon, Steve vs Bucky… it was painful to witness. Nat,
in particular, hated seeing Steve in his silent turmoil. But there really
wasn’t much she could do.
“Aw, Steve has a sensitive side. Colour me
surprised,” she teased, hoping to all goodness someone would take the bait and
pile on, the way the team ordinarily would.
Tony was the first to chime in. “Adorable, Steve.
I’m touched.”
Next was Clint. “Now, was this a Persian cat or… or
those cats that look like uncooked chicken?”
“I think you mean Sphynx cats, dude.” Tony clapped
him on the shoulder, and thus, momentarily shifted Steve’s focus.
Displaying his signature swagger, Tony rose to his
feet and retrieved a card from the deck. “Alright, let’s give some of you
losers a chance to play catch up… What is Miss Sarah Carter’s dream job?”
Everyone lowered their heads, frantically writing
down their respective answers. Steve’s hand moved swiftly, marker squeaking
against his whiteboard, but Bucky popped his paddle up first, drawing
everyone’s attention.
“Obvious… Actress.”
Steve cleared his throat, a small smile playing on
his lips as he waved his paddle. “Actually, I’m going with singer/songwriter.”
“Yeah, I guessed S.H.I.E.L.D. agent… I don’t know…”
Clint shrugged, tossing his paddle on the table.
“Advantage… Rogers,” Tony announced, gesturing
toward Sarah’s paddle, which indeed had “singer/songwriter” written
across the front.
The game continued, and a pattern emerged. Each time
a "Sarah" question came up, Steve’s board flipped over with the
correct answer. Her favourite song from high school, her most embarrassing
moment, the name of her childhood crush—Steve knew them all.
Similarly, when "Steve" questions arose, Sarah’s
responses were spot-on. She knew his preferred brand of whiskey, the title of
the book that changed his life, even the name of the street he grew up on. In
her case, though, Bucky was a close second, the disadvantage being the years
he’d missed.
With each correct answer, the air in the room grew
thicker. Sharon’s grip on her own whiteboard tightened, her eyes darting
between Steve and Sarah, catching the fleeting glances they exchanged and the
unspoken communication that seemed to pass between them throughout the evening.
As Nat read out another question, Sharon’s marker
hovered over her board, hesitating.
“Alright, I have the winning question right here. No
one’s getting this right…” she paused to clear her throat, her eyes flitting among
the eager participants. “Steve Rogers is known to love the smell of petrichor,
especially in the morning… Does this thing where he stands on his balcony and
just inhales the air. One time, I even saw him–“
Before Nat could delve into her fun little anecdote,
the team protested with murmurs and groans, urging her to forgo the story
altogether.
“Nat, c’mon…”
“Get on with it, Romanoff…”
“Now’s not the time for memory lane…”
“Okay, okay… Geez. Rogers loves the smell of
petrichor… But secretly loves this scent even more… What is it?” Nat read, her
eyebrow raised in challenge.
The bizarre question left everyone stumped. Even
Sarah and Bucky, who frowned at each other upon realising they didn’t have the
answer.
A soft smile slowly crept across Sharon’s face. “Wait a minute, I actually know this one. Steve loves the smell of peaches.”
Sharon’s answer was met with snickers and the usual playful
mockery among the inner circle, Tony and Clint incapable of holding back.
“No, it’s actually a really sweet story…” Sharon
continued, determined to finally contribute one inside story to the
evening. One that didn’t involve her sister… Or so she thought. “When he was
younger, he fell asleep next to this girl he was secretly in love with and her
hair smelled of peaches… Guess it stayed with him over the years. I happen to
think it’s romantic…”
Bucky shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his jovial
demeanour subdued as realisation dawned on him. Peach shampoo? No… No way was
that a coincidence.
The game pressed on, but the earlier excitement had
dissipated. What had started as a fun evening activity had morphed into
something else entirely—a revelation of connections and intimacies that left
some feeling like outsiders looking in.
The kitchen buzzed with muted conversation, a
handful of team members lingering over the last remains of drinks and snacks. Sarah
stood in the doorway, observing the scene with both fondness and restlessness.
Her fingernails tapped an anxious rhythm against the doorframe as she made her
decision.
The game had revealed more than just trivial facts.
It had exposed threads of history, of friendships that ran deeper than anyone
had anticipated. It displayed Steve’s intimate knowledge of her past and the
ease with which he'd recalled details of her life… But it also reminded her of
something else.
Sarah slipped her phone from her pocket, thumbs
flying over the screen. Two quick messages, one to Bucky, one to Tony. Simple
and concise but clear:
“Heading out. No time like the present to work on forgotten dreams. Security in tow. No vanishing act this time.”
As she pocketed her phone, her eyes swept the room
one last time. It was better this way, she thought. No probing questions about who,
what, why, or when. So she turned on her heel, her footsteps whisper-soft on
the polished floors, and made her way to the front entrance.
Outside, even before setting eyes on the designated black
SUV, her security detail materialised from the shadows. No words were
exchanged; they knew the drill. Off the grounds, out the vicinity, and toward
the city.
As the car eased out of the driveway, the quiet
night erupted into excited shouts and frenzied movement. A sea of faces
suddenly pressed against the tinted windows, hands reaching out as if trying to
touch a divine being.
The driver slowed to a crawl, carefully navigating
through the throng. Muffled cries of "Sarah! We love you!" and
"Please, just one picture!" filtered through the thick glass.
Signs bearing her name and face bobbed above the crowd.
Inside the car, Sarah’s security detail exchanged
worried glances, hands hovering near concealed weapons. But Sarah remained
still, her face perfectly neutral as her mind shifted to the moment she first
met Steve…
************************
Flashback: 10 years ago
The heavy wooden door of Sarah’s suite clicked shut
behind her. As she turned, her eyes met those of a stranger ascending the last
step of the staircase, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. The
young man, though tall and broad-shouldered, offered a small, hesitant wave.
His shy smile making her heart skip a beat.
“It’s the guy… from Aunt Peggy’s old newspaper
clippings… Wait, is it?”
She found herself taking a step forward, drawn by an
inexplicable pull.
"Hey," she breathed, her voice softer than
she'd intended. "You’re the new guy. Steve, right?”
Steve’s room key slipped from his fingers,
clattering to the floor. They both reached for it at the same time, hands
brushing, sending a jolt of electricity up Sarah’s arm.
"Sorry," they mumbled in unison,
straightening up. A nervous laugh escaped her lips, echoed by Steve’s lopsided
grin.
“I’m Sarah… Sharon’s sister.”
“Sarah,” Steve repeated, as if testing the feel of
her name on his tongue. “Right. Of course. The early-morning songstress. Yeah,
the guys said you’d be staying here until the new semester starts. It’s nice to
finally put a face to the name… and the voice.”
A blush crept up Sarah’s cheeks. She tucked a strand
of hair behind her ear, suddenly aware of every small movement. “Ugh, you heard
that? I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, no. Please. I quite enjoyed it.”
“Well, this isn’t mortifying at all…”
“It shouldn’t be. I thought you sounded beautiful….
Almost made me miss a meeting.” Steve chuckled softly, shifting his weight from
one foot to the other, his usual confidence replaced by an endearing
awkwardness.
They stood there for a moment, neither quite sure
what to say next, but both reluctant to end the encounter. Sarah found herself
studying the sharp curve of Steve’s jaw, the way his t-shirt stretched across
his broad shoulders. It was as if some part of her had been waiting for this
moment, for him, without even knowing it.
"So, um," Steve started, gesturing vaguely
down the hall, "I should probably..."
"Oh! Right, of course," Sarah said
quickly. "It was nice meeting you."
“Likewise. See you around, neighbour.”
Steve turned, fumbling with his room key. He hadn’t
wanted to leave, but out of sheer awkwardness, he felt it best to flee before
saying something profoundly embarrassing. Then, surprised by her own boldness…
“Hey, if you don’t have dinner plans later, maybe we
could do something? I could show you around… Give you a lay of the land…”
Steve’s face lit up, his earlier shyness giving way
to genuine enthusiasm. “You… wanna show me around?”
“Hey now, just ‘cause I’m not an agent, doesn’t mean
I don’t know absolutely everything about this place… every single nook and
cranny.”
************************
Sarah found herself back in the present, her fingers
twitching with the urge to wave or acknowledge the crowd warring with her need
for privacy. Instead, she kept her hands folded in her lap, her gaze fixed straight
ahead.
The connection she'd felt that day in the corridor
had never truly faded. Of course, it had evolved, complicated by time and distance,
but remained as undeniable as it had been in that first shy exchange of smiles.
As the car finally broke free of the crowd and
picked up speed, Sarah released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been
holding. The clamour faded into the distance, its echoes lingering in her mind
as another defining moment came to mind…
************************
Flashback: 9 years ago
Steve paced outside Sarah’s suite for the third time
in an hour. His hand hovered inches from the wood, poised to knock, before
dropping back to his side with a frustrated sigh. He could hear Sarah’s muffled
voice through the door, reciting SAT vocabulary words in a monotonous drone.
Knowing how important the exams were, he turned on his heel, running his
fingers through his hair as he retreated down the corridor once more.
He found himself back at her door before he realised
his feet had carried him there. This time, he didn't hesitate. His knuckles
rapped softly against the wood, barely louder than his pounding heart.
"Sarah?" he called, his voice cracking
slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Hey, it's Steve. I was
wondering if maybe you wanted to take a break?”
The silence that followed seemed to stretch for an
eternity. Steve held his breath, ears straining for any sound of movement from
within. Just as he was about to turn away, convinced he'd made a mistake, the
door creaked open.
Sarah stood in the doorway, her hair piled messily
atop her head, dark circles under her eyes emphasising her exhaustion. Yet,
when she saw Steve, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“A break, huh?”
Steve’s face lit up, relief and excitement at the
mere sight of her washing over him in equal measure. “C’mon, you’ll go stir
crazy if you don’t stretch your legs for a bit.”
Sarah glanced back at the chaos of books and papers
strewn across her bed… Kaplan’s SAT Prep Plus, SAT Prep Black Book Second
Edition, College Board’s Official SAT Study Guide, Princeton Review SAT Premium
Prep… then back at Steve’s hopeful expression.
“As much as I’d love to, I have SAT prep and a paper
due for my Advanced Literature class... I can’t afford a break right now.”
“Wow, you prep school kids are hardcore. What’s the
paper on?”
“La Princesse de Clèves.”
Steve’s eyes widened. “Advanced French Literature?”
“Afraid so. Lily insisted.”
“Then I’m going to have to insist you take a break, Carter…
C’mon, you can bounce ideas off me for your paper.”
Without putting up a fight, Sarah grabbed a nearby
cashmere hoodie and stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her. As
they made their way outside, Steve’s hand brushed against hers, sending a jolt
of electricity through both of them.
“Okay, so La Princesse de Clèves captures that
angsty first love feeling where all you have is stolen glances and silent
tension. Nothing is said, nothing happens, but the attraction is there, you
know? Just waiting to explode… So I’m going with Jean de la Bruyère’s quote. ‘We
love only once in our lives: the first time. The loves that follow are always
less involuntary.’ I mean, it’s so brutal and yet so…”
“…true.”
“Right? Like, in this story, there are so many obstacles thrown between
Mademoiselle de Chartres and the Duke de Nemours that they hardly ever speak.
They’re always in public, seldom alone, but they’re constantly reading each
other’s moves and motives, always intercepting signals that shout their love.”
Steve nodded, his jaw clenched tight as he drew parallels
to their own friendship. He forced a chuckle, suddenly desperate for the slightest bit of levity. “Aren’t you a little young to relate to
the content?”
“…I’m eighteen…”
“Exactly.”
“Mademoiselle de
Chartres was sixteen…”
“…and fictional…”
“Why are you ruining
this for me? This is a solid angle for my paper. Just stop to imagine it for a
moment..."
Steve swallowed hard, plastering on a smile that
didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, no, it sounds like a real
page-turner," he said, aiming for nonchalance but landing somewhere closer
to strained.
"Oh, it is! The way they fight against
everything, only to be torn apart... it's heartbreaking and beautiful at the
same time."
Not trusting himself to speak, Steve simply nodded.
His heart raced, each beat echoing the unspoken truth between them. He took a
deep breath, willing his voice to remain steady.
"So, do they… ever get together…?" he
asked, feigning casual interest.
“Uh, no, they don’t… It’s
a terrible ending, actually. Her husband dies, and on his deathbed, blames the
Duke for his suffering. He then begs the Princess not to marry him, and she
moves to a monastery. Torn between her duty and her love.”
“After all that, she
chooses duty over love?”
“Oh, and Captain
America would choose differently? Love over duty? Give all this up if he ever had to choose
between the two?” Sarah challenged, her
hands gesticulating between the residential wing of the compound and the large ‘A’
on the side of the hangar.
“That’s not what
I’m–“
“Happy endings aren’t promised… I may be young, but I’m
not misguided. Some of the greatest love stories of our time end in tragedy.
************************
Sarah leaned her head against the cool window of the
SUV, her breath fogging the glass as the onslaught of memories continued. A
small smile tugged at her lips as she remembered Steve’s intense gaze, the way
he'd hung on her every word about star-crossed lovers and impossible choices.
The dance she and Steve had performed around each
other for years… the constant push and pull, the stolen glances and
almost-confessions… it was all there, hidden in plain sight.
But Sarah remained unaware of the greatest parallel
of them all: Steve having to choose between love and duty.
Without all the information, she missed the
connection, failing to apply the same scrutiny to her own life that she'd once
applied to fictional romances. Oblivious that she was living out the very
tragedy she'd studied so passionately, a decade in the making.
Watch Episode 22 Here:
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