BABY ROYAL

by Bella Grant

  “You’re kidding, right?” I stated with awe.

  “Nope.” She grinned. “You need to learn how to wear these babies. It’s not as hard as you might think.”

  I picked up a pair of strappy sandals. I turned them over and measured the length of the heels. “Is it possible to walk in these?” I was accustomed to loafers and flat shoes that often rubbed my Achilles heels or squeezed my toes. Many came from Goodwill, and I was lucky when I could get a pair that fit me just right. But these… I had never worn anything remotely close to these.

  “Let me show you,” Henrietta chirped and took them from me. She slipped into them easily and walked around the room like it was the most natural thing in the world. “See? Nothing to it.”

  Watching her walk gave me a false sense of security. “It doesn’t look so bad. Let me try.” Luckily for me, we wore the same size shoes, so it wasn’t hard getting my feet into them. I stood. So far, so good. I looked down at my feet and smiled because my feet looked sort of sexy in them. “Hmm,” I grunted in pleasure and started to walk. The third step I took almost landed me on the floor. My right foot twisted, and I dipped and clawed at air until I felt the bed linen grasped tightly in my palm. “What the—”

  Henrietta fell against the chair, laughing, as I struggled to stand again. I stood in one spot for a while, then took baby steps like I was on ice. I didn’t let go of the bed, and as I walked, I made sure there was something to hold onto before I moved forward.

  “This is so stupid,” I finally said out of frustration and fell onto the bed. “Why can’t I wear regular flat sandals?”

  “Because,” Henrietta said as she came around to my front and held my hands, “heels add to your…femininity.”

  “My what?”

  “You know, it makes you look sexier. Okay,” she said. She hurried to the closet and returned with a pair of loafers and flip flops. She slipped into the loafers and turned about for me to examine her. Then she replaced them, first with the sandals and then with the heels. She strutted around the room like she was on a catwalk and spread her arms wide for my evaluation.

  “Okay, okay, I get your point. They do make a difference. But you’ve done this all your life. It’s easier for you. How can I learn to do this in a matter of days?” My face sagged with discouragement.

  “Do you think all the women in heels feel comfortable wearing them? Sometimes they can’t wait to be alone to slip them off. And I would know.” Henrietta giggled, sounding even younger than her eighteen years.

  “Really? So, it isn’t just me?”

  “Not at all. It just takes some practice,” Henrietta encouraged.

  I groaned and stood. I took one belabored step after another. After twenty minutes of feeling like an invalid, I gave up. “This is too much for my feet in one day.”

  “Fine. Let’s do something else,” she quipped, enjoying my torment a little too much.

  “Like?” I winced as I slipped the heels off. My feet slowly unfolded, and I tried to stand normally without my soles pinching. “I don’t need to know everything today.”

  “I know, but the more you practice, the more natural it will feel when you have to do it.” Henrietta folded her arms and tapped her foot as she waited for me to move. “Well? Do you want to marry a billionaire or not?”

  “Not,” I whispered, and a part of me meant it.

  “Okay,” she said as she lowered her body to the easy chair. “I guess we can forget about your sister and your mother and the fact that you won’t be able to help them—”

  “Okay!” I snapped. I didn’t want to think about the rest of what she might say. “I’ll do it.”

  For the next couple of days, Henrietta drilled as much as she could remember into my head. I learned about music, wines, and how to dance. She helped with my speech, my walk, and my posture. Several times, I felt like the girl in Princess Diaries, especially when she forced me to walk with the book on my head. I was tired, and so many times, I felt like it wasn’t worth it. Henrietta kept reminding me of the shelter and the life I had before I got a job at her house. That always worked well to motivate me.

  But by Tuesday, I was a basket case. I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking, and sweat beads continuously popped up on my forehead. But both Henrietta and I felt like I was ready to meet Raymond Jameson.

  “You look so beautiful,” she gloated as she clapped her hands and gazed at me with tear-filled eyes.

  “Stop, Henrietta. You’re going to make me cry too,” I replied in a cracked voice. My eyes burned from the imminent tears, and I batted my lashes to keep them from ruining my make-up.

  She allowed me to use the car, though she rode with me just in case anyone asked any questions about why the housekeeper was using the family car. She squeezed my hands when we arrived at the Colonial Regent—a show of support. But I had never felt so limp in all my life. I wore her black, A-line dress that fell to my ankles and a pair of her strappy sandals as well. A pair of earrings, a hair clip, and a matching black purse completed my get-up, and I sucked in a lungful of air as I stepped from the car.

  I had never been to the Colonial Regent before, and I couldn’t help gaping as I walked inside. The ceiling reminded me of a cathedral I had been to when I was younger, and my head fell back as I looked at the artful painting that covered the ceiling. I realized then how wealthy Mr. Jameson must be to afford to stay in a place like this, and my nerves got the better of me again.

  “Excuse me, miss,” someone said over my shoulder.

  I turned and saw a young man about my age dressed in a blue uniform and a peaked hat. “Yes?” I answered nervously and played with the small purse I clung to dearly.

  “Welcome to the Colonial Regent Hotel. We are happy to have you here. How may I assist?”

  I knew he was the bellboy, but a smile crossed my face slowly after his simple display of charm. “Yes, I am here to… I am one of the women…I’m not sure how I should say this.” I didn’t think about what I’d do after I got to the hotel, and now that I was there, I felt sorely inadequate.

  “Would you like to book a room?” He smiled at me still, and his hands directing my attention to the front desk.

  “No, I’m not here for a room,” I told him. “I’m here to see Mr. Jameson.”

  “Oh,” the boy replied as his eyes widened. He looked me over, like it was his job to assess the women who walked into the hotel for that reason. “Right this way,” he said as he led me across the lobby area, down a short hallway, and to a room at the end. “You can wait here.”

  “Thank you,” I told him and smiled.

  He nodded and turned to walk away. I stood in the hallway, hesitant to open the door, staring at the brown barrier I needed to cross that could mean the difference between life in a shelter and a strikingly different one that included lots and lots of money.

  “Would you like me to escort you in?” the bellboy asked.

  I jumped because I hadn’t realized he was still there. “Oh, that’s not necessary,” I replied and waved him off playfully. “I’m a little nervous.”

  He came over, and I stepped away to give him room. “It’s not my place, miss, but you shouldn’t be. You look lovely.”

  His kind words gave me a little bit of hope. “Thank you,” I whispered timidly.

  He pushed the door in and stepped aside. And then he was gone and I was alone in a world I didn’t know. If I thought I was nervous before, I was dead wrong. I didn’t know the word until I got inside and saw the other women. A buzz filled the room as they spoke in hushed tones, making up small groups of three or four. The few who weren’t in groups were either on their phones or staring at themselves in their pocket-sized mirrors. I stood just inside the door for a few seconds, and that may have been my greatest mistake.

  Everyone turned to see who the newcomer was, and I saw in their eyes more than I cared for. Some stared like they were compelled to and couldn’t find the will to look away. The others who looked away started speaking
again, but by the way they glanced repeatedly at me, I could only assume some of the conversation revolved around me.

  I walked slowly to the closest seat, mindful of the heels I wore, and sat gingerly. Not long after, one of the girls from the group closest to me approached me.

  “Davina Rosewood,” she said, and extended her hand, which seemed more like an order than a friendly gesture.

  “Anna Ra…,” I replied, and cleared my throat as I caught myself. “Anna Bolton.”

  “Bolton,” she echoed, loudly enough for the other group members to hear. “I’ve never seen you before. Where are you from?”

  She was fishing for information I didn’t have to give, and I tried to dodge the question. “I’m not from here.” She waited for more, but I wasn’t an idiot. She wanted to look me up, and she would find nothing under the name Anna Bolton. At least, nothing related to me.

  “I see,” she replied with a condescending air. She looked me over but not with the admiring gaze I had received from the bellboy. Her eyes were filled with disdain and mockery, and I shrank from them. “You don’t stand a chance. He already chose me.”

  My heart sank after she spoke, and my eyes felt dry as I forgot to blink. A smile spread over her bright red lips, revealing two rows of perfect white teeth. She was beautiful, slender, and obviously wealthy. She returned to her group, and every now and again, I’d see them looking at me and giggling.

  A few minutes after our exchange, another woman sat next to me. “Don’t pay Davina any mind,” the woman said. “She thinks she’s all that, but don’t listen to her. Raymond hasn’t made a choice yet.” I breathed then, grateful I still had a chance. “I’m Elizabeth,” she said and rocked into me, like we were old friends. “So, where are you from?”

  She had a different face, but the question was still the same. When I surveyed the room, everyone was watching me. I cleared my throat and tried to ignore them. “What does it matter?” I asked without looking at her.

  “Because, my dear, it will matter to him. Don’t you know Raymond? He is a hard nut, that one,” she whispered. “If you aren’t impeccable, he won’t even notice you.”

  I knitted my brows and turned to face her. “Are you implying something?”

  “No, no,” she hastened to say and patted my hand. “But we’ve never seen you before.”

  “I wasn’t aware there was a location requirement.”

  “Oh, there isn’t. We come from all over. Take Sonja,” she said and nodded at a girl with shoulder-length hair so blonde it was nearly white. Another beauty who stood out. “She is from Denmark. And Gayle”—she pointed to a blonde woman who sat alone— “she is from California. We know almost everyone here, or we can trace their family. I heard Davina say your name was Bolton?”

  “Yes,” I confirmed, but my nerves tightened as I spoke.

  “Which one? I know some of them.”

  She waited with patient expectation for my answer, but I had none to give. “I do believe I am here to be questioned by Mr. Jameson. Not every other curious woman here.”

  She laughed, but it was obviously fake. She patted my hand, and then stood. “Well, good luck then.”

  She walked away, but I had never felt more like the black sheep in any gathering. Every now and again, I received the odd look from someone or heard my name whispered. I even saw one woman busily searching the internet for what I overheard to be information about ‘my family.’ They didn’t even try to be discreet—they had money and didn’t care. More than I wanted, my intimate knowledge of what it meant to be rich and pompous was increasing. They didn’t like newcomers and were suspicious of people they couldn’t trace or manipulate. No one else spoke to me after Elizabeth, but one thing was painfully clear: if they could see right through me, why wouldn’t he? One look and he would see I was a fraud. It would be better to leave while I still had some dignity left.

  I wasn’t thinking when I stood, and as I walked away, my left foot twisted and I stumbled and fell to the floor. If I had hoped for a smooth exit, it crashed with me. The women snickered as I clawed my way to my feet, and when I felt I was on sure footing again, I hurried out. I felt the sting of hot tears at the corners of my eyes at the laughter that erupted when I reached the door. I didn’t have their sympathy, and all I wanted was to get out of that damned room. I groped at the door, making an already embarrassing situation even more so, and when it finally swung open, I rushed into the hallway. Tears blinded me as I fled, and when I reached the corner that led to the lobby, I ran head-on into a man who nearly knocked me off my feet.

  Raymond

  This is going to be one helluva long day!

  I stared into yet another face that sparked no interest within me. She was telling me about herself—how she grew up on a farm, all the money her family had, her plans of having quite a few children, and the kind of wedding she wanted. None of it was my taste, nor was I even slightly attracted to her.

  “I’ll let you know,” I told her eventually and watched as she hesitantly left the room.

  The afternoon continued in that vein for another eight women or so. They had interesting profile pictures that sometimes didn’t look anything at all like the women I’d expected. The ones with matching faces were dull and boring or had too many demands. I needed a bride who would be submissive, not bossy, one who didn’t complain or have many expectations, and one who would understand this wasn’t going to be a real marriage.

  I skipped to a different profile and saw Davina Rosewood. I knew her family, and I thought she might make a good bride. She had high cheekbones, a slender and lovely body, and appeared to be extremely confident. A nice arm-piece, I thought.

  I picked up the phone and called Marissa, who I had brought with me to assist with the women. “Marissa, could you ask Davina to come in?”

  “Right away, sir,” the woman replied cheerily.

  In another few minutes, Davina stepped into the room, and I rocked back in the chair as I watched her. She walked like she owned the space, and her eyes held mine as she sashayed closer. I felt like her prey.

  “Nice to see you again, Ray,” she said in a sultry voice, as if we were old lovers.

  “Have we met before?” I asked as I searched my memory for the answer.

  “Not formally,” she continued and crossed her legs slowly. I noticed her long, toned legs and the smooth texture of her skin. “I was at the cocktail party at the Birmingham’s estate last year. I saw you.”

  “Oh,” I replied. “I must have missed you.”

  “Must have,” she echoed.

  I didn’t want to waste any more time. “How do you feel about children?”

  “Oh, I love them,” she answered excitedly. And then her voice mellowed. “I mean, we could have one or two, but there are boarding schools for when they get older. I imagine you wouldn’t want them around all the time either. Think of how much time they’d take up.” She relaxed into the chair and fluffed her hair.

  “I see,” I said and lost interest in her. There was something about her I didn’t appreciate. She would be trouble for me. She’d make demands and would eventually annoy me.

  We didn’t say much more except, like the others, I told her to wait in the other room in case I needed to speak with her again. She wasn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things. As a matter of fact, she might not be in my hair most of the time. And she was the most interesting woman I’d met since beginning this plan.

  I looked at the profiles of the women who remained, and my eye landed on Anna. I hadn’t seen her yet, and I was anxious to. I had to see her before I made a decision, and I hoped she had showed up. But for now, I needed to take a break.

  I thought the warm air would do me some good. Luckily, my mother hadn’t called all day, a habit she’d acquired over the past couple of weeks, each time trying to force me into marriage. If she had known about this ‘viewing’ I’m sure she would have been there, if only to belittle me as she had grown so proficient at doing. I didn’t need
the embarrassment.

  The sun was warm on my face as I shoved my hands into my pockets and circled the block, perhaps for the last time as a single person. Me! Married! I still couldn’t wrap my head around the thought of a woman in my space. I noticed a small child with a head of black curly hair, licking an ice cream cone as she stood next to her mother at the curb. She looked at me, smiled, and waved shyly. I felt my face tug upwards, followed by a slight motion of my hand before I hurried past her. I still wasn’t sure I was ready for this—a bride and a child.

  I was still flustered when I got back to the hotel, and as I rounded the corner that led to the hallway, someone crashed into me. I caught the woman reflexively and stepped back to steady her. I was pleasantly surprised it was the lovely redhead I had spoken to on the site. She was even more beautiful in person, and I swallowed the ball that had suddenly seemed to have risen in my throat.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said as she tried to tug herself free. She looked uncomfortable, like someone was chasing her.

  “It’s all right. Are you okay? Were…are you leaving?” I knitted my brow and waited for her answer.

  “I-I…” She paused and looked around before inhaling deeply. Then she smiled. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

  She was leaving and I didn’t want her to, not before assessing her further. Something about her electrified me, and though I felt compelled to pursue her, I wasn’t sure if it would be prudent. Still, I couldn’t dismiss her.

  “It won’t be so bad. I promise, I won’t bite,” I joked as I held my hands up in surrender.

  She looked around again like she was trapped and considering whether I really would bite her, which was unusual. The women I knew were more arrogant and condescending.

  I found myself reassuring her. “It won’t take a minute.”

  She fluttered her lashes and her lips moved seductively, and my cock jerked. I moved away before my body could betray me more openly.

  “Okay,” she all but whispered and followed me inside.