They spoke amongst themselves as if I weren’t here. I felt a similar sense of entrapment come over me. It was like being a puppet, with no control of where you go, how you got there, or what was to happen to you while you were there. You just went. You just did as you were told, and part of me truly wanted to say screw it. Run for the doors. Or at the very least do something...freeing. But as soon as the thought came to mind, the memory of my father yesterday took over.
“Sir?”
“Yes?” I focused back on them.
“We are ready to depart if you are,” Iskandar said, stepping to the side for me to walk past.
“I am. But where are we going? I believe my brother might have told you more than he has told me,” I said as we all headed out. “What time is it?”
“It is six in the evening, Pacific Daylight Time. Ersovia is nine hours ahead of Seattle. Would you like me to adjust your watch?” Iskandar asked, outstretching his hand for it.
“I can manage on my own for that, at least,” I replied, taking off the watch as we exited the terminal only to blasted by frigid air. It went through me instantly. Luckily, or by precision planning on the part of my brother and Iskandar, a large, black Range Rover was already parked and waiting for us. Wolfgang held open the door for me, and the first thing I did was look for the heating vent.
“Hello.”
My head whipped toward the voice of a brown-skinned woman—dressed in pink with light-colored eyes and short, blonde hair—staring at me.
“Jesus Christ!” I panicked, shifting away.
She laughed at me. “Sorry, did I frighten you?”
“Who are you?”
She stared at me with furrowed eyebrows, and I realized I was still speaking in Ersovian and not English. “Sorry, you are going to have to repeat that.”
“I think you are in the wrong car,” I said this time.
“Aww, that accent is to die for,” she replied instead.
“Sir,” Iskandar spoke as he entered the passenger side of the car, and a driver I didn’t recognize took the steering wheel. “This is Wilhelmina Wyntor-Smith. Ms. Odette Wyntor’s mother.”
I glanced at the very young-looking woman beside me. How in the world did she have a daughter who was older than me? It was only by staring at her that I noticed the similar features from what I had seen in the photograph of her daughter.
“Thank you for meeting us, ma’am,” Iskandar said to her.
My mind took a moment—luckily, it was just a moment—to register. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am—”
“I know who you are, obviously,” she stated but took my hand and shook it anyway. “And now you know who I am, so we can skip the hellos and get right down to business.”
Everyone said Americans were forward, and she definitely didn’t seem to want to break that stereotype.
“Forgive me, but I have not been informed much about this deal. In fact, they only told me of it recently—”
“What a coincidence. I only just told Odette, too. However, she is being stubborn and completely refused. She didn’t even want to consider it, so we’re going to need to work together.”
“Wait.” I paused. “She refused? Outright?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“You told her who I was?”
“That you are a prince. Her exact words were ‘Good for him. I don’t care.’ She’s very stubborn. But she gets that from me, so I can’t really be mad at her for it.” She snickered.
I sat back in the seat. I had never been rejected by proxy before. Had I ever been rejected before?
“So she doesn’t want this marriage, either?” So, it wouldn’t be my fault if it doesn’t work. Hope filled me until Iskandar’s annoying self decided to cough as if to remind me—clearly remind me—none of that mattered.
“Don’t take it personally. Odette says she doesn’t want to get married to anyone.” She frowned, almost as if she were aggravated by her own daughter’s wishes.
“I know why I am here,” I replied seriously, sitting up. “It is for your money. Correction, your daughter’s money. She most likely knows that, too. It would be reasonable for her not to want to get married. Why would you force her?”
“I’m going to ignore the fact that you think you know my daughter better than me and tell you. First, in order to get her money, she must get married. Secondly, I’m forcing her because I know what she needs.” That sounded like a very unhealthy way to parent a child.
“Your daughter is not a child. If she says she doesn’t want to get married—”
“What my daughter says and what my daughter truly means are often two different things.” Her tone changed, and her face fell, but she never broke eye contact with me. “She wants to get married. She’s always wanted to get married. But she’s just scared to because of the example her father and I set. Love—to her—is synonymous with pain. When Odette is hurt by something, she abandons it. It is the one childish thing about her. So she’s not going to try to fall in love unless I push her into love. I’m starting with you, someone who desperately needs to make it work. No matter how much she pushes and pulls, your brother convinced me you could do it. If you don’t work out, I will move on to someone else. Maybe someone less high profile, a governor’s son, or something.”
Bravo.
In my family, I was the one person who always had the reply, some remark back, but I had no idea what to say to this woman. I had never had a stranger speak to me this way...like I was of no real importance, and just a means to an end for her own plans—actually, that might have been exactly it.
“Oh, by the way, did you happen to bring a costume?” she asked, scrolling through her phone.
“No. I don’t wear costumes.”
“So, Prince Charming it is then.” She grinned, showing me the outfit online.
Was I not speaking English? “I. Do. Not. Wear. Costumes.”
“You are a prince, correct?”
“Yes, but—”
“Are you charming?”
I knew what she was doing. So I didn’t answer.
“See, it’s not a costume. It’s just you then.”
What had my brother gotten me into?
Chapter 6
“Damn, look at that cleavage!” Augusta’s voice all but bounced off my walls since I had her on speakerphone.
“Shut up,” I said, trying to adjust the top of the dress. Giving up, I picked up the phone. It was only then that I saw her red wig and the red, heart-shaped mark on her face. “Augusta, you do know that the Queen of Hearts is a villain, not a hero. Right?”
“She’s just misunderstood.” She grinned, and her collar ruffled. “Besides, if everyone is a hero, how am I going to stand out? I bet you there is going to be at least one other Cinderella there. You’ll look better, but still. How did you get your curls like that?”
“Thanks, and I’ll send you the video I copied it from.” I laughed, lifting my phone. “You look beautiful as always. It’s very fitting actually, considering all the heartbreaks you keep causing.”