The Prince’s Bride (Part 1)

by J. J. McAvoy

  “Where else I am I supposed to be since you rented out my place to a stranger?” I grumbled, dropping my bag onto the floor and then walking over to the couch where I threw myself. I was suddenly so tired.

  “I didn’t rent it,” she said, smacking my feet. “He is your guest.”

  “He’s your guest. I didn’t ask for him—”

  “What happened? Why are you so angry?”

  “He said I was bossy, temperamental, and prone to outburst.” I tried to mock his accent but was unable to get the sound of his words out my head.

  “It’s true.”

  “Mom!” I yelled, flipping up angrily, facing her as she sat down in her chair and kicked up her feet.

  “What? You are!” she shot back. “Look at you, proving him right.”

  “Are you sure I wasn’t adopted because you always agree with other people over me.” I frowned, lying back down.

  “Very sure. Twenty-seven-plus hours of pushing your big head out isn’t something I would forget.” She snickered.

  “I swear you add more hours to your labor every time you tell me that story.”

  She huffed and took another mouthful of her yogurt.

  “Is there any more?” I asked her.

  “You could be having a romantic breakfast with a handsome prince, but you came here to take food from your mother.” She shook her head, frowning more. “Maybe you are adopted because no one with my genes should ever pass up something like that.”

  I rolled my eyes, pushing myself up to get something to eat. “Maybe I missed those genes and just got the bossy, temperamental, and prone to outburst ones.”

  “Wow, he really got under your skin.” She snickered as I opened the refrigerator.

  “Of course, he did. He insulted me!” I said, grabbing the orange juice and bacon.

  “Normally, when you are insulted by people, you only get angry in your head for a few seconds, then forget all about it. You never go on complaining about them. It’s twenty minutes from your place to here, and you still haven’t calmed down.”

  I turned back to her. “What are you trying to say?

  She shrugged. “Nothing. Just observing.”

  My mother never just did anything. But I didn’t want to go into it. Instead, I just moved to the stove and grabbed a pan. However, the second I touched it, I couldn’t help but wonder what in the hell he was trying to cook that caused an actual fire. He was completely panicking when I came down, too. I guess they didn’t teach culinary arts at prince school. Had he even cooked before?

  And yet he was trying to make breakfast for me.

  I paused.

  Grimacing, I thought about how I had yelled in his face for it. It wasn’t completely my fault. I had a headache, and there were flames.

  But I can be harsh sometimes.

  Stop thinking. I shook the thoughts from my head and focused on the stove before I ended up starting a fire myself.

  Was that how he ended up causing one?

  “Ugh!” Fed up with myself, I turned off the stove, put the bacon into the fridge, and instead, grabbed a bowl of cereal.

  “Yvonne and your sister really wasted no time,” she said randomly.

  “Huh?” Bringing my bowl with me, I walked around the counter and back to her.

  However, she put the phone down and turned on the television. It took her a second to flip through the channels before she got to DCN—a.k.a. Daily Celeb News...more like gossip, but apparently, that wasn’t what they thought of themselves. Crossing my feet under me as I sat back on the couch, I waited.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we are getting breaking news that Augusta Wyntor, daughter of the late billionaire Marvin Wyntor, married her long-time boyfriend, Malik Washington, former NFL quarterback for Los Angeles Rams,” the host reported before the screen split. There was a picture of my sister, in a damn wedding dress, standing next to her husband, who I didn’t even know existed until yesterday.

  My jaw dropped.

  “Our sources are saying that the pair met at an Etheus company party last year. Washington’s father is a member of the Etheus Board of Directors, and Washington himself has been working with the company on their global Get Active campaign.”

  “They had a wedding?” I whispered in shock, looking over at my mother. “How was it such a secret if there was a wedding?”

  “I don’t think they did. I think this is just a photo shoot picture,” she said back, shaking herself. “A.k.a. a cover-up.”

  I nodded my understanding. “I told Augusta I knew yesterday, and they released a photo to come out publicly. Bravo, little sis, bravo.”

  “What do you mean you told her you knew?” she snapped back at me.

  “Exactly what I said.”

  “Odette.” She sighed heavily, hanging her head. “Why must you always be so honest?”

  “What?”

  “Now that they know you know, they will try harder to make sure they keep the money from you. They could accuse you of fraud or something if you get married now. They will try to dog you in the media if you do anything.”

  “And we are back to the calculated games again,” I grumbled, picking up my spoon and eating.

  “Please don’t tell me that you told her about Prince Galahad.” She almost sounded if she was begging.

  “No, I didn’t.” I almost did. Had he not just arrived at my place last night, I would have most definitely said something.

  “Good. Don’t. Just think about you. He’s taking a big risk coming here without telling anyone. If the press finds out, he will be hounded in two countries,” she stated, rising to her feet. “Honestly, Odette, don’t be so angry about the situation, and try to get to know him. He is putting forth effort.”

  “Yeah, because he wants our money.”

  “Who doesn’t?” she shot back. “Remember all the people who have pretended they just liked you, and they had no ulterior motives? If you give him a chance, you might realize how much you two have common.”

  “What could I possibly have in common with a prince?” I muttered.

  “Privilege,” she stated as she walked away.

  I didn’t say anything, either, just continued to eat on her couch quietly. I tried to watch television, but nothing seemed to hold my attention more than the blue-green-eyed man in my mind. All the memories of the night before came back to me one by one. It had been a long time since I was able to just talk with a guy like that. And to top it off, he listened, even though I was a bit drunk and just complaining. A handsome guy who listened, was honest, wanted to make me breakfast, and happened to be a prince—my mom was right; women would be falling over themselves for that. Maybe that was why I was hurt and angry last night. I went back, thinking that sure, I’d just get married because it was definitely not the worst I could or had done. They said that how you feel and what you say when you’re drunk is the true you. The you when you are no longer bogged down by reality.

  “What was wrong with just giving him a chance?” I questioned gently to myself as I rose from the chair, taking my bowl to the kitchen.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  “Coming!” I called toward the front door as I put my bowl into the sink. I dusted off my hands before rushing to the door. I peeked out first only to see red roses. Who would be sending my mom red roses?

  “Yes?” I asked, eyeing the man with the massive bouquet. There were so many that I could barely see the delivery guy.

  “Ms. Odette Wyntor?”

  “Me?”

  “That’s what the order says.” He shifted the roses in his hands. “You have to sign for these, but can I put them down first?”

  “Sure.” I moved out of the way. “The table by the stairs is fine.”

  “Got it,” he said, putting them down before lifting the machine at his hip and giving it to me. I signed and gave it back. He also gave me a letter. “Have a nice day.”

  “Thanks,” I said, closing the door behind him before I glanced down at the
envelope in my hand. On the front, my name was written in the most beautiful calligraphy. Flipping it over, I pulled out the letter.

  NOVEMBER 1

  Dear Odette,

  I apologize for my words and your kitchen—the latter was an accident, and the former was my immaturity. You may not believe this, but I was very much against marrying when my family first told me. I put up a short-lived fight. I even said if the reign had to end, so be it. I would not marry a woman I did not know or love. As I am here, you can clearly see I lost that battle swiftly.

  So, when my brother called me, he was eagerly waiting for good news from me and wanting to know what my initial thoughts were upon meeting you. My pride got the best of me. That is the reason I said what I did. I could not stand for him to tease me if he knew what I first thought, which was that you are so many things. You are the first woman I’ve had the pleasure of truly speaking so freely with. And the first woman to speak to me normally, as well. You’re impractically and unbelievably beautiful, and maybe marrying you would not be as bad as I thought...these are all the things I thought of in the short time that I have known you.

  I was embarrassed to admit that to my brother. But it is the truth.

  In my country, there are four national flowers. The first is the red rose, a symbol of renowned beauty and grace—a perfect fit for you. They say beauty fades, however, and as so, in this bouquet, there is one made that shall never die or fade. I promise on that rose that I will always admire the beauty and grace in you.

  Our meeting was not by our choice.

  This morning was my fault.

  So tonight, will you accompany me to dinner and allow me to make up for it?

  Awaiting your reply,

  GM.

  “Holy hell.”

  I jumped at my mother’s voice, hugging the letter to my chest. She was reading behind me this whole time, and I hadn’t even notice.

  “If you don’t go to that dinner, I swear I will, and he’ll be your stepfather.” She grinned, moving to the roses, searching over them.

  “It’s a little much. He could have just texted,” I muttered, trying to hide the smile on my face.

  “You really need to drop that habit of pushing away things you like,” she said, turning the flowers around to look at the side. “You love cheesy stuff.”

  “I do not—”

  “You do. You get it from me. I’m your mother, so I know.”

  I grabbed my flowers. God, they were heavy. “Maybe you should get your own love life, Mom.”

  “I don’t want to overshadow you, sweetheart.”

  Rolling my eyes, I walked up the stairs. Thankfully, she didn’t follow me into the spare bedroom I always used here. Walking to the bed, I placed the roses in front of me and began to search. I tried not to smile, but who couldn’t with something like this.

  Who still wrote a letter like that nowadays?

  Apparently, princes.

  And I liked it much better than a text message.

  “Found you,” I whispered, lifting out the red, silk rose.

  What harm can dinner be? I thought, taking out my phone. But then I remembered I didn’t have his number. However, I had a feeling my mother did. The only thing was, I didn’t want to see the look she’d give me. The second I thought that, I glanced back down at his letter. His reason for saying what he had said was his pride, and my reason for not getting his number was my pride.

  “Wow, Odette,” I whispered, gently touching the petals of the roses. This was probably one of the similarities my mom was talking about between him and me.

  Taking out my phone, I texted her. What’s his number?

  She immediately texted back. Who?

  Ugh.

  You know who. Can you just tell me?

  “Sure,” she said as she busted into the room with an enormous, obnoxious grin on her face, clearly rubbing it in.

  “I just asked for his number. I’m not saying yes to getting married or anything.”

  “Hmm, um.” She nodded. “Sure. What are you going to wear tonight?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “And you really need to restyle your hair. Your curls are all messed up.”

  “Mom, all I need is the number.”

  “Here.” She passed me her phone and took one of the roses from the vase, smelling it.

  Copying the number quickly, I handed her back the phone. “Thank you. Bye.”

  “Fine. Fine. I’m going,” she said, taking the rose with her.

  I waited until she was gone before focusing on my phone. After that letter, what was I going to say? I spent way too long just staring at the screen before finally giving up and texting.

  Yes, to dinner. —Odette

  I moved to put down the phone when he messaged back.

  What time is good for you? —Gale

  I didn’t have anything to do. 7:30 or 8 is fine.

  7:30 it is. I will pick you up.

  He would pick me up? You have an American license?

  Correction. I do have an international license, but I cannot use it now. So, Iskandar will drive. I will come to the door like a gentleman, and we will go together. Is that all right?

  Yes. It felt a little like going to prom or high school, getting picked up from your mom’s house, but he wanted to, so no big deal. I will see you then.

  Okay.

  Falling onto my side, I rested on the bed and stared up at the roses, a symbol of renowned beauty and grace, he said.

  He was clearly exaggerating when it came to my appearance, and yet, I felt like that was how I wanted to look tonight. Outfits, hairstyles, shoes—they all flashed through my mind, and I felt excitement...actually, my nerves were rising. But I didn’t have to try to make him like me, right? He needed me to marry him no matter what. That thought annoyed me, too.

  “Ahh, see.” This was why I hated dating—emotional stress.

  But there was no avoiding it.

  One of these days, I hoped to become one of those blessed women who effortlessly looked beautiful. One who just rolled out of bed, looking like a supermodel, who could throw on a dress, look into the mirror, nod, and be on their way. Today proved I was still a long way from being that type of woman.

  “This might be too much,” I muttered, wishing the slit at the side was just a little bit less—bam! This showed my whole leg. “Maybe I should just wear the green one.”

  “You look stunning. I swear, if you change one more time, I will lose my mind,” my mom replied, still fiddling with those roses.

  “You would say that no matter what dress I wore.”

  “Yes, I would,” she said, walking up to stand beside the mirror. “Because it is true. Now for the finishing touch.”

  “Mom, not the roses.” I sighed as she pinned them into my hair.

  “What? He gave it to you. Why not show you liked them? Besides, there are so many. Hold still.”

  I did, too tired from changing two dozen times to even bother.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  My stomach dropped. “Is it seven thirty already?”

  “On the dot.” She laughed back at me.

  “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Rushing back to the end of the bed, I stepped into my heels before grabbing my phone and clutch off the pile of dresses on the bed.

  “Perfume!” she called out to me when I made for the door. I stopped in front of her so I could turn around as she sprayed. “Okay, go.”

  Putting on my coat, I called out a quick, “Thank you!” I went down the stairs faster than I should have done in heels. Getting to the front door, I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself, standing a little taller.

  You’ve got this, Odette.

  “You’re very punctual...” my voice trailed off. It wasn’t Gale at the door but rather the freckle-faced, blond-haired man I saw coming to my place this morning standing in the cold. “Who are you?”

  He grinned wide at me. “Wolfgang, m
a’am. His Highness directed me to pick you up.”

  “Wasn’t he coming himself?”

  “He wanted to, but Iskandar wouldn’t let him,” he replied, moving to the side for me to walk forward.

  “Wouldn’t let him?” Who was the prince, and who was the bodyguard again?

  He nodded as we walked toward the waiting car. “The press back in Ersovia apparently got word that His Highness is no longer in the country. Iskandar didn’t want to risk him getting photographed if he picked you up. His Highness was not happy about it.”

  “Thank you,” I said as I got into the back of the car, carefully tucking my dress inside.

  “Of course,” he replied before closing the door and going around to the front of the car.

  I noticed a difference between Iskandar and him immediately. Wolfgang was a lot more cheerful, and his manner of speaking was more relaxed, while Iskandar seemed more militant.

  “You said Gale was upset?” I asked when we got into the car.

  He nodded as he pulled out. “Yes, very much so. He said even if the press knew he was gone, they wouldn’t know he was here or coming to pick you up. Iskandar said there was no way to know how much was leaked. They got into an argument about it. However, Iskandar won out in the end when he said it could cause trouble for you.”

  “Trouble for me? But I’m used to the press at this point. True or false?”

  “Not the Ersovian press.” He chuckled and met my eyes in the rearview mirror before turning the corner. “They are like bloodhounds. One picture and they not only will descend like an army but the stories will be neverending also.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. People love the Ersovian monarchy. Everything is a story. What the royal family is wearing, where they are vacationing, even what they are reading or eating. One time, there was a rumor that Prince Arthur had become vegan, which turned into a full story, which led to the journalist on TV debating on whether or not it was a sign of weakness in the future king. Apparently, not eating meat meant he was too softhearted and didn’t have the fortitude to make hard choices.”

  “What? That’s crazy? Just because he didn’t eat meat?”