The Prince’s Bride (Part 1)

by J. J. McAvoy

  “I do not understand a word he is saying, do you?” I questioned Iskandar.

  He shook his head. “I stopped listening after he said I know all the songs, sir.”

  I snickered. Iskandar grew funnier by the second. Shaking my head again, I looked to the stage where her name on the screen twisted and turned in different colors of lights. The air filled with excitement. Taking my phone, I raised it and took a picture.

  “You too, sir?” Iskandar questioned, clearly regretting having allowed this outing. He was stressed enough, scanning the area around me every time someone leaned forward.

  “Do not mind me. I am only tormenting my sister,” I replied, sending the photo to Eliza, grinning as I knew she would curse me for days because of this. Slowly, the lights began to dim, and all the cheering and the screening started.

  Maybe it was because I did not care about musicians like that, but it was all so foreign. However, the fact that her fans were all consumed by their own emotions made it much easier for me to blend in, even with just the glasses and a hat. When the lights on the stage rose, there she stood in a long, flowing black dress, her hair pulled back off her face, and an entire orchestra behind her.

  “Odette!”

  “We love you!”

  “Wooo!”

  I hunched over at the manic screaming behind my head. Everyone, except for Iskandar and me, was on their feet...everyone, including my secretary.

  At least I will finally hear what all the fuss is about. However, Odette stood there, gripping the microphone—a little longer than I guessed was normal.

  “Is her microphone on?” I heard someone ask behind me.

  But I was close enough that I could see the panic on her face, despite how hard she tried to hide it.

  Rising to my feet, I called out her name, too—well, sort of.

  My mind was a mess.

  My hands were shaking.

  My hair was up because I had ruined the stylist’s efforts by running my hands through my curls and having to lie down to calm my nerves backstage.

  My stomach was completely in knots, and I wanted to run.

  I didn’t feel like I could sing.

  It happened to me each and every time.

  It was like, somehow, I convinced myself all the musical ability in me was gone. That the last song I sang was the end of me.

  On top of all of my insecurities and fears were Yvonne’s words from yesterday and the epic madness that was my mother and father’s relationship. What was the truth? Should I believe Yvonne that it was much more complicated than my mother made it seem to be? Even so? How deep were those wounds? I couldn’t ask her last night. I didn’t have the guts to.

  “You’re on in two, Odette,” the voice in my earpiece said, not at all helping me.

  I nodded, pushing it farther into my ear.

  I could see the crowds through the curtains and felt sicker.

  I can’t do this.

  I can’t do this.

  Why am I doing this?

  My voice and music haven’t been doing well, not to mention I haven’t even been able to record as much as I’d like.

  I can’t do this.

  My eyes started to blur, and my nerves got worse.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Odette Wyntor!” the announcer said, and the lights on stage all fell on top of me.

  I held on to the microphone because I needed it to keep me from falling, and now that the lights were on me, and everyone could see me, I felt worse. I was mad at myself for being like this. Why was I such a coward? I can’t run. But I can’t sing...

  “Cinderella!”

  There, in the front row, in thick-rimmed, black glasses and a baseball hat was Gale. He grinned up at me, waving.

  Why is he everywhere? I couldn’t help but smile, and I remembered his letter, which made me think of his sister stomping her feet and then him in a tree.

  Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, and I leaned into the microphone.

  Her voice.

  It was like being stabbed right in the heart.

  It was haunting and heavy.

  It felt like winter.

  It was stunningly beautiful and chilled me to the bone.

  When I got over that, the actual words that came from her lips...it would make Edgar Allen Poe feel for her. It was not just me. Everyone had been buzzing with energy and excitement before she came on stage. Now it was so silent that had I not looked around me, I would have thought they had all disappeared.

  “This is what it looks like when their love has died. Maybe love is not for everyone. I have seen it with my own eyes. I am a witness. There is nothing left here. Look, the magic is gone. The love has died. The sun has set, and I will never rise.”

  Depressed-siren music.

  That was what I had told Eliza Odette sounded like, but it was much more than that. The song she sang was the “Watch of the Nightingales.” I did not understand it until I recalled the tale of the nightingale. Where a reluctant woman who kept postponing her wedding date caused her fiancé so many sleepless nights that he finally turned her into a nightingale, condemning her to a life with no sleep as he called for her. “Watch of the Nightingales” was a song about love and longing, and we were watching how that love had died.

  That code.

  I now understood Wolfgang’s comments from before.

  For almost two hours, I—and the rest of the audience—were held captive by her voice.

  “She’s very good...” My voice trailed off as she began to play the piano for her last song. I could not speak. I was not sure what they played in heaven, but I was sure it was something close. Her song, it was full of hope and joy...it was like the sunshine finally appearing after the storm. At the end, the whole place erupted into cheers so loud that I felt the ground shake.

  “Thank you all for coming out and supporting me! I love you all!” she said to them, waving.

  “We are Wyntor’s storm!” Wolfgang cheered beside me.

  I shook my head. “Let him have his moment,” I whispered to Iskandar, who looked ready to reach over and smack him.

  “Are you ready to go, sir?” he asked me instead.

  I nodded. However, before he could step forward, a large round man with tattoos up both his arms came forward. He pointed to the three of us and waved us forward. Wolfgang went forward, speaking to him first before coming back to me.

  “Ms. Wyntor called for us to come backstage.” He seemed more excited about it than me.

  I followed them as they led us under a black curtain behind the security and through a dark hall. It took only five minutes for us to reach a plain white door, which the large man knocked on.

  “Come in.”

  The bouncer looked to us and nodded for us to do so. When Iskandar opened the door, she was lying face down on the couch. Wolfgang tried to enter as well, but Iskandar yanked him back out by his collar and closed the door behind me.

  “You called for me, Your Highness,” I teased, bowing my head to her.

  “Yes, I did, Clark Kent,” she replied, not bothering to get up.

  “Clark Kent?”

  She nodded, shifting only her head to look at me then pointed to her own face. “What’s with the glasses? Do you really think people won’t recognize you because of the glasses and a hat?”

  “It’s worked so far.”

  She sat up completely, looking at me. “Are you sure you’re not stalking me? Everywhere I go now, you just pop up?”

  “You called me here, remember. If you want me to go—”

  “No,” she said quickly, getting up now, too. “I called you because I wanted to know if you wanted to get dinner.”

  What? I looked her over carefully, unsure of what was happening. “You are asking me out on a date?”

  “No, I am offering you food.”

  “The difference?”

  “I am saying thank you,” she whispered, coming closer to me. “I was really nervous, and then I heard you call out to
me. I also thought back to what you said in your letter. It helped. So, I wanted to say thank you.”

  “You do not have to—”

  “But I want to.”

  The longer I stared into her brown eyes, the more lost I became, and I found myself agreeing.

  She grabbed her coat. “Is there anything you want?”

  “My mind is a bit disheveled right now, so you decide,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck.

  “Disheveled how?”

  “Your music was...your singing is stunning, truly. I was not expecting that.” I really did not know what to say.

  “What were you expecting, then?”

  “No, I mean, when my sister listened to your music, I use to just brush it off as depressed-sire music —”

  “Depressed siren?” She scoffed.

  “In a good way.”

  “Right...thanks.”

  “I enjoyed it!” I asked.

  “Yeah, sure, you did.” She stuck her head out of the room. “Katie, is it possible for me to go out the back...”

  Her voice trailed off when she did not find the woman she called out for, only Iskandar. He turned to face her and blocked the view of anyone else to peer inside with his frame.

  “With all the people, miss, you would be drawing attention to yourself and...” His eyes shifted to me. “It would be better for you both to wait until everyone else has cleared the building.”

  “Can’t I just wear a hat and glasses, too?”

  “Two Clark Kent’s then?” I teased from behind her. “That definitely will not draw attention.”

  She whipped back around to me as Iskandar closed the door. “I was offering you food to be nice. Now your bodyguard is trapping us together again.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe it is fate.”

  She pointed between us. “Fate has nothing to do with this. Money does.”

  I froze, just staring at her in amazement.

  “What?”

  “That is exactly what I told my brother when he said it was because of fate.” And now, I was the one pushing for this marriage.

  “What happened then?” She moved back to her couch, pulling out her phone.

  “I met you, and it was love at first sight.”

  She rolled her eyes and started to scroll. “Are you okay with Chinese food?”

  “Sure.” I took off the glasses as well as my hat, taking a seat beside her, and she leaned much closer into me. “May I help you?”

  “You have something right here.” Her eyes were locked on my head like missiles. She reached out, and I felt her hands in my hair before—

  “Hey!” I called as she yanked out a hair.

  “You had a gray.”

  “I do not!”

  She lifted the small sliver curl right up to my face between my eyes. “And this is?”

  “No.” I shook my head, rising and then racing to the mirror, running my hand through my hair. “I am far too young to be going gray!”

  “Relax, it’s one gray—”

  “No, I had a great uncle and second cousin that got gray hair in their twenties. Both of them ended up going full gray before they even turned fifty. How could I be next and not Arty?”

  “You are so vain.”

  I frowned, turning back to her. “And if you were graying early?”

  “Hair dye or wigs.”

  “And I am vain?”

  “Everyone is a little vain.” She laughed, taking the M&Ms out of the bowl left for her to eat. “But it is fun seeing you panic.”

  My shoulder fell. I swore this woman never allowed me to have a moment of glory or romance with her. Sighing, I turned back around to her. “How exactly am I supposed to approach you?”

  She shrugged. “I told you it would not be easy.”

  “Yes, but you like me. You are just not giving me a chance.”

  “Who said I liked you?”

  “Oh, so you go on dinner dates with men, accept the men’s flowers, reject those men, and then invite men for dinner again when you don’t like them?”

  She glared, and I glared back. “You are ridiculous.”

  “And you enjoy my ridiculous company,” I said, taking a seat next to her. “Admit it.”

  “Nope, you are wrong. Sorry, your prince charms don’t have me swooning all over you.”

  “Look into my eyes then.” I sat facing her, and I knew she would try to prove me wrong.

  “I’m looking. What is supposed to be happening?”

  “Shh,” I whispered. “Just look for two minutes.”

  “Fine.”

  She stared into my eyes, and I stared back into hers. Not a word was said, not a breath held.

  How long were two minutes?

  It felt much longer than I thought.

  I could see every line, every crease, every strand of hair on his face. He was all I could see, and the longer I did, my heart began to thump.

  “This is silly, Gale,” I whispered. I didn’t know why I was whispering, but I was.

  “Are you giving up?”

  “No, but what is this going to prove?”

  A grin spread across his face. “I don’t know. I just wanted to take in your beauty for a few minutes.”

  It was like he threw cold water at me.

  “You!” I tried to push him out of my face, but he grabbed my hands, laughing.

  “Sorry!” He laughed, holding on to me. “Look how flustered you are. Are you sure you did not feel anything? They say the eyes are the window into the soul.”

  “I’m only feeling annoyed,” I snapped, though that wasn’t true.

  “Why? Has our loved died?” he teased. “Will the sun never rise?”

  “Are you mocking my lyrics?”

  “Me? No. Never,” he lied—the nerve of this man.

  “Those words are very personal. You can’t just go—”

  “Forgive me,” he said quickly. “I was not trying to mock them... They were just so...”

  “So, what?”

  “Sad,” he replied, his voice fading. “Never listened to it before. I had heard it in passing by my sister, but as I said before, I always called it depressed-siren music.”

  “Can I smack you?” I asked seriously. “Because you are definitely going about this flirting thing in the wrong way.”

  “Oh, so will you tell me the right way to flirt with you?” His eyebrow rose.

  “What I mean is—”

  “How dare I insult your music like that?” he asked. “That is what it sounded like, that is what it still sounds like, and I did not realize how stunning it was until now. You are a storyteller with songs. You pulled everyone into your pain and gave them hope at the end. I see why my sister and Wolfgang are part of the Wyntor Nation.”

  “Oh, my God, don’t say that! I did not choose the names.”

  “I want to know everything about your music. Why you chose those titles, the stories you had for them, why you sing the way you do—everything.” The way his voice had softened and the sincerity on his face made it harder for me to play off his question.

  “Why are we always talking about me when we meet?”

  “Because every time we talk about me, you start to like me.” And just like that, his ego came back full force.

  “Your parents should have named you Kanye with the level of your ego.”

  He laughed. “That is not very conventional.”

  “And Galahad is a conventional name? What does that mean, anyway?”

  “Have you not read Le Morte d’Arthur?” He eyed me as if I was some strange creature.

  “As in King Arthur? Of Camelot?”

  He nodded. “Galahad was Arthur’s most honorable knight. He was the knight who found the holy grail and ascended into heaven.”

  Oh. “King Arthur would be your brother. And you are his most noble knight.”

  “And you are the holy grail.” He leered, coming closer to my face. “Can I come to heaven now?”

  I couldn’t help it.
I broke out into laughter. “I think you are getting less romantic now.”

  “Forget the romance. I’m just trying to get you to laugh. I enjoy it when you do.”

  He was so blatant. It was hard to ignore him or push him away. I found myself talking and laughing more than I assumed I would, even after our food came. He sat with me and listened to everything I said as if it were the gospel.

  It was nice.

  Chapter 17

  Almost a week had gone by since that show, and we were now friends. Because of my schedule, I had to fly up and down during the week for shows, and each time, I just imagined him in the front row, calling out to me, and I was able to get through it. We spent most of our time talking on the phone and having dinner. There were no more flowers or letters, and it bothered me how I clearly noticed and kind of wished they hadn’t stopped, even though I was the one who had told him not to continue. Why couldn’t I be like normal girls? Why did I overthink everything? This was one of the reasons why I didn’t bother or even want to get married. How could anybody put up with me and my confused self for a lifetime? It was better just to be alone.

  Shifting my bag and laptop onto my other arm, I put the key into the lock and opened the door.

  “Mom, I’m back!” I called out, dropping my things by the stairs and taking off my coat. I missed my apartment, but since Gale was there, I figured I would just stay at her townhouse for now.

  “Welcome back, sweetheart. How was it?”

  “Good, actually. The guys were all cheering afterward, and I even went on to do an encore in San Francisco,” I replied, checking through the mail she had allowed to stack up so much they were almost falling over themselves. Lifting it, I saw why. They were all bills. Most were for her, but some were for me, too.

  “You’re over your stage fright?”

  “Not sure if I’m over it, but thinking of a princess throwing a tantrum really works,” I replied, picking up the invite from the company that was buried in the stack before walking toward the living room.

  “A princess having a tantrum?”