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No. 

Patton sighed at his reflection in the mirror. A sad boy in a faded red suit sighed back at him. Anxiety welled up inside him and clawed its way up his throat, making his hands shake uncontrollably.

“Emile, we’ve never even met each other. What if I don’t like him? Or he doesn’t like me?”

Emile spoke from his place behind Patton, adjusting the fall of his coat tails.

“Well first of all, it’s impossible to dislike you. You’re a kind, compassionate soul Patton. It’ll all work out in the end, I’m sure of it.

And second of all, if he does dislike you, I'll just give him a good whack before marrying you myself. I'm sure your parents would love that.”

Patton giggled and turned his head to smile at his manservant.

“I'm sure they would. 'Ah yes, meet our son, heir to the Everglot household, and his husband the most honorable Duke of Broom Closet!'”

Emile laughed and bowed, doing his best impression of a member of high society.

"Lord and Lady Feather Duster, what a pleasure it is to see you. Lady Feather Duster, you're looking well, please do give my regards to the Archbishop Scrub brush!"

The two burst out into violent peals of laughter, Patton clutching his side as Emile fell to the floor, tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks. Someone loudly clearing their throat forced the two to stop, Emile bolting upright and brushing himself off, face red with both amusement and embarrassment. 

"Well now, it's nice to see you having... fun ..." His mother sniffed, saying the word with disgust. 

"Ah-s-sorry mama-" 

"It's ma'am, Patton. Mama makes you sound like a child." 

Patton lowered his head. 

"S-sorry ma'am." 

"Honestly Patton, you really must learn to control yourself. Who's going to want to marry you if you behave so crassly?" 

"But mama-I mean, ma'am, shouldn't whoever I marry like me for me?" 

Now it was his mother's turn to laugh

“Oh please, do you really think people get married for silly reasons like that?”

Patton's brows furrowed, looking up at his stern parent with confusion

“But isn’t that why people get married? You and father must like each other at least a little-" 

His mother put a hand to her breast, perpetual frown deepening.  

“Oh, good heavens no. Your father and I merely tolerate each other's presence. Marriage is not a union, Patton, it's an alliance. Tit-for-tat. We are destitute, the Van Dort's are not. This is nothing more than an exchange of goods." 

Patton was an object to her then. Just an item to be sold and given away. He had always known this deep down but hearing it from his own mother's lips hurt much more than he'd thought it would. From the corner of his eye, he could see Emile's hands clench. 

"You will marry the Van Dort boy."

It was an order and not a question. Still, Patton responded. 

"Yes ma’am."

The woman's lips twitched upwards. She looked him over, checking for even the slightest imperfection. She frowned at his stray curls, tucking them behind his ear in a sad imitation of maternal love. She straightened her back and left the room, gesturing for Emile to follow behind. Patton's friend gave him one last pitying look before the door creaked shut, trapping him once again in his gilded cage.

Patton stared at his reflection in the mirror again, listening to the noises coming from downstairs. A sad boy, that’s what he was. A strange, sickly looking boy with eyes that seemed to bulge out of his face and wild, tangled hair. Gods, he was pathetic. How could anyone love him when he didn't even love himself? Maybe his mother was right. Maybe marriage was just an alliance. And if that was the case, maybe tolerating the other person was the best he could do-

Patton’s spiral abruptly came to a halt. Someone was playing the piano downstairs. It was beautiful, haunting yet free. It sounded like an escape, like someone opening his metaphorical cell door and finally letting him outside. It called to him, a twin melody sounding in his heart as it beckoned him out of his bedroom and down the stairs, floating in a trance towards the study in the west wing.

There was a boy sitting at the piano bench. He was tall, even sitting down, and from behind, Patton could see his dark, slightly mussed hair. He crept closer, coming up to the boy’s left so he could get a glimpse of his face. Square glasses framed long-lashed eyes that were closed, a soft smile on his lips as his long fingers danced gracefully over the keys, in total harmony with his music. His expression was one of pure bliss, and he played with more passion than Pat had felt in his entire life, more than he could ever hope to experience. He felt a faint flush rising on his cheeks as he burst into applause, grinning at the pianist and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

The boy slammed his hands down on the keys and opened his soft brown eyes, his smile dropping away.