A Modern Day Fairy Tale Teaser
Masen
“I’m not having an arranged marriage, Mother,” I snarled, shooting up and stomping to the window.
“Edward Anthony Masen Cullen, I’m your mother and your Queen. You do not walk away,” she snapped.
“Is it so hard for you to understand that I want a love match?” I asked, leaning against the wall. “I don’t want to be in a marriage with someone I hate. I know you want me to mate with Lady Kathryn, the bitch.”
“Edward,” she hissed.
“She’s awful, Mother. No … just no,” I said, turning my back to her. I stared out, looking at the mountains that surrounded our palace. As I stared outside, another compromise swirled in my head. “You were amenable to the compromise with the parliament, yes?”
“Of course. It’s logical,” she scoffed.
“Then, a compromise for my marriage,” I said, walking back to her and leaning on the antique chair I was sitting in before I had my temper tantrum. Okay, not a temper tantrum, but still … “Let me use this six months find a suitable fiancée. You know me, Mother. I’m not Emmett. I don’t have empty relationships and I know that you were just suggesting that I sow my royal oats.”
“Well, yes,” she blushed.
“I don’t want that. I want love. I want forever. Yes, it’s unrealistic, but it’s what I want. I can use my time in the states to find someone who compliments me, completes me. You found love with Father. You had a love match. Why can’t I?” I pleaded. “And if I can’t find someone who does that, then you can announce my engagement to Lady Bitch.”
“Edward,” Mother growled.
“Sorry, Lady Kathryn,” I sighed. “It’s the best of both worlds, Mother.”
“There has to be stipulations,” she argued. “I don’t want some country bumpkin who wants to be with you because you’re a prince, Edward. I’d prefer you stick among the royals …” I gave her a dry look. “But, since I’m being so open-minded, I’ll agree to compromise. But, you need to concede to my stipulations.”
“Within reason, Mother,” I snorted.
“Your future bride must be Gevalian. That’s in our laws. Every ruler has been a native Gevalian,” she said, arching a brow. “Also, never married. Divorce is … it doesn’t happen, Edward. So, you can’t have a divorced fiancée. And one more …”
“What’s that?”
“A virgin,” she said, giving me a triumphant look.
“Mother, that is never going to happen. A virgin? Were you a virgin on your wedding night?” I asked. Her face flamed and she turned away. “That’s what I thought. You and Father played hide the sausage before your wedding day. It would hypocritical for you to expect the same from me. I’m not a virgin. I lost my virginity to Jane, the chamber maid, when I was fourteen.”
“Jane was easily twice your age!” Mother yelled.
“And I was a horny teenager,” I argued.
Bella
Looking down at the mounting bills, I tried to keep tears from falling from my eyes. We owed money to the bank for our mortgage, Sal for repairing our ovens, my father’s medical bills for his weekly physical therapy, our electric bill, phone bill and our rent, which, thankfully, was rent-controlled. I didn’t get paid so we could cover the costs and living expenses for our family. But, my biggest fear, losing the bakery that had been in our family for four generations, was sadly coming to fruition. With the growing pile of debt, I feared we’d never get out of this without declaring bankruptcy.
And let’s not forget my student loans … but that was a whole other can of worms. Thankfully, I’d been able to defer some payment, but that was another bill waiting to be paid.
Scrubbing my eyes, I sat back and took a few calming breaths. It was close to midnight. I’d have to be back down at The Swan Family Bakery, Inc. in 1897 by four tomorrow morning to prepare for the morning rush. We were one of the few remaining family bakeries in our tiny neighborhood in Brooklyn. There were two Jewish bakeries and then ours, which specialized in Italian delicacies and some Gevalian treats, calling on my great-grandfather’s heritage. It was a blend of Italian sweets, French baked goods and Gevalian chocolate. I also had an espresso maker, cappuccino maker and a fridge with sodas, but we were barely scraping by.
“Isabella, sweet girl, you need to go to sleep,” said my father, Charlie. “Staring at the bills will not make them magically go away.”
“We need a million bucks, Pop,” I said, standing up and walking out of the tiny office. “Or more. We have enough to cover the mortgage, electric bill, our standing order with the grocer and Sal, but we may have to ask the doctor for an extension on your therapy bills and I’ll cancel my cell phone. I’m here most of the time, anyway. You can reach me here.”
Charlie, with a trembling hand, frowned deeply and patted my cheek. “You should not be shouldering this burden, sweet girl,” he said, his voice tired, weary. “All of this would be so much easier if it weren’t for my medical expenses and Alice’s inability to understand that we’re struggling.”
“I’ve talked to her, but she keeps bitching that I’m not her fucking mother,” I growled, turning off the lights in the office and following my father up the steep stairs to our two-bedroom apartment. Alice, the selfish cow she is, took the bedroom that we once shared after I moved out for college and I was relegated to the couch when I moved back home after my dad was first diagnosed, just after I’d accepted a position teaching in Connecticut. It was a nice apartment, just under a thousand square feet with hardwood floors and antique charm. Our furniture was old, but well-maintained and it was homey, warm and comfortable.
“She is an entitled little snot,” Charlie grumbled. “I love my baby girl because she’s so much like your mother.”
“Mom wasn’t spoiled like this, Daddy,” I argued. “She worked right beside you until she went into labor with Alice. She worked hard.”
“This is true, but Alice’s ambition is just like your mother,” Charlie snorted. He kissed my cheek. “Why don’t you take my room?”
“If I do, you won’t be able to walk for days, Dad,” I said. “The doctor said you need the support. I’ll be fine.”
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