The Prince’s Bride (Part 1)

by J. J. McAvoy

  “I would not,” I muttered more annoyed with myself now because I sounded like a six-year-old. “Anyway, I feel like this is a sign, so thanks for setting me up for years of misery, big brother.”

  “Would you like some advice?”

  “You, give me advice on women?” I scuffed.

  “Women? I would not dare. How to get an arranged marriage to work? I think I might know a thing or two.”

  “Again, you’ve loved Sophia forever.”

  “But did she always love me?”

  I paused. Sophia married him because her family and ours wanted her to be the next queen.

  She came from the best background, had the best education, and her mother and ours were friends. It was the match made in heaven.

  “If you remember,” he went on, “she wasn’t that thrilled with me in the beginning. I figured it would be a one-sided love on my part. But over time, we became the couple we are today.”

  “Yes, nauseating the rest of us with your long glances at each other from across the room.” I rolled my eyes, but I could help but smirk a bit. At least his relationship ended up well.

  “I had to work for those glances. Unlike you, who just winked and recited poetry at any woman in sight.”

  “Perks of being the more attractive brother.”

  “Is that a perk, wallowing away with women you know you can never have any real attachment to, always doubting if they truly want you or just wanting the crown that comes with you?”

  I did not answer.

  “That is why we do arranged marriages, Gale. It might not work for normal people, but it works for us.”

  “Maybe you all picked the wrong woman for me then—”

  “From your tone, I feel like I was correct. I am quite glad she is giving you such a hard time. Nothing worth having comes easily.”

  “I would like to go to sleep now.”

  “Don’t you want to hear my advice?”

  “You’ve been waiting your whole life for this, haven’t you?”

  He chuckled. “You rarely give me big brother moments to work with, Gale. What else can you do?”

  “Please, impart on me your great wisdom, big brother, so I may get some sleep.” The only good part of this conversation was that I now felt tired enough to close my eyes and keep them close.

  “She is the one.”

  “What?”

  “Tell yourself that she is the one, believe that the circumstances that brought you together, whether good or bad, were meant to happen because you two were meant to happen. She is the one. It is fate. Once you believe that, you never give up, and eventually, she will always look for you to be there.”

  I looked at my phone to make sure the number was correct. Yes, I heard his voice, but this was odd. “Are you writing a book, Arty? It’s fate. That’s your big advice? That does not help me at all. As I said, the problem here is not me. It is her.”

  “I guess you are going to have to figure out how to change that.”

  “Goodnight, Arthur, and stop calling me so much.” I yawned, hanging up on him and tossing the phone to the side.

  She is the one. I snickered, burying my head into my pillow. Note to self: do not ask Arthur for romantic advice.

  Tomorrow, I’d try another date.

  And the day after that, and the day after that.

  She just needed to get to know me better.

  Once she did, I’d win her over. She wouldn’t be Odette, the cold-hearted with me.

  Rising back up quickly, I marched to the door and wrenched it open. “Iskandar.”

  “Yes, Your Highness?” he said, rising from the couch below.

  I stared at the pillow and sheets that were now his makeshift bed, confused. “Wait, why are you sleeping there? There are three bedrooms here, correct?”

  “One is for you, the other is the personal one of Ms. Wyntor—and I do not believe she would be comfortable with that—and Wolfgang is using the other.”

  Right on cue, I heard the snoring come from the other side of the door beside me. “I said not to lecture him. That did not mean pampering him, either.”

  “No pampering, sir. We alternate. I slept there last night,” he answered.

  “Just share the room. I do not want you snoring later because you did not get good enough rest.”

  “Was that all you needed, sir?”

  Oh, right. “I want to send more flowers to Odette in the morning. I want them to be there before she wakes up. I know it is late, but is it possible?”

  “We will make it possible.”

  Chapter 14

  “Well, how was it?” my mother asked me when I got home...well, back to her home.

  But I just couldn’t talk right now.

  I felt like I was still dancing with him. In my mind, I was going through the whole night.

  Walking upstairs, I was glad she didn’t follow me. I still really needed the space. I was glad I had called for a Lyft instead of going back with Wolfgang. He looked so panicked like he could not possibly allow me to go back to my home. We were in my city. He even called over Iskandar as I was calling for another ride to try to talk me out of it. I quickly told them I was going somewhere else before he went back upstairs to call Gale.

  And I did go somewhere else. I went to the Great Wheel.

  It was my favorite place in Seattle. And I sat there going around and around by myself, looking out at Elliott Bay until they closed, hoping I would have some epiphany. What was I supposed to do with my life? Did I deserve all the great things in my life? What was the meaning of life? I tried to think of anything to avoid the question—did I want to see the Prince of Ersovia again? Did I want to try dating him? We had a date, and it was probably the best one I had been on in years. He said he was going to keep trying, but did I want him to? If I really hated it, I shouldn’t have gone out with him at all. If I really hated this arrangement, why was I so excited to see how far he would go? If I put my foot down and said no, seriously, honestly, and intensely, my mom and even he would have to back off, right?

  He even said it.

  All the power was in my hands.

  And yet, I was unsure.

  To date or not to date. That was the question. And I went about asking myself that in the most dramatic of ways, but it worked. I got my answer, and now I was back home.

  Falling onto the bed, sighing, tossing, and agonizing like a teenage girl, but the truth of the matter was I wanted to date but not date. I wanted to get to know him more, but I was worried about getting to know him more. I didn’t want to get married, and yet, I didn’t really mind getting married.

  “Why am I like this?” I whispered, putting my hands on my face.

  Why was I a wishy-washy person? My mother was a decisive person. My father was a decisive person. What happened to me? Was I spoiled? Did I just want everything?

  “Go wrap your hair before it keeps tangling,” my mother said at the door.

  “You do know I’m an adult, right, Mom?”

  “Okay, Ms. Adult. For your next date, I’m not going to help with your hair at all, no matter how badly you ask.”

  Frowning, I sat up and looked at her. “Can I ask you something first? Since you are in mother mode.”

  “I am always in mother mode, but go ahead.”

  “How did you decide to go out with Dad?” It didn’t work out in the end, but at the beginning, there must have been a sign.

  “I realized the only way I could stop thinking about him was if I was actually with him.” She smiled, moving from the doorway to the bed.

  Oh no.

  “Are you thinking of Gale? Even though you were just with him.”

  “I’m going to go get ready for bed,” I said, quickly hopping off the bed and running to the bathroom.

  “You can run from me but not the thoughts in your head!” she called out. Once again, my mother knew exactly where to strike.

  No more thinking, Odette. Just go to sleep. Tomorrow, when this night isn’t a
t the forefront of your mind, everything will look so much clearer.

  Yep.

  By tomorrow, he’d no longer be on my mind.

  He was the first thing on my mind when I woke up, and it was not my fault. It was his!

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” my mother gushed as she held the white peonies in my face.

  Once again, he had sent a massive bouquet, even after the conversation we had last night. And my mother, who was no longer in mom mode but part of the prince’s support team, decided to wake me up just to stick them in my face.

  I glanced over to my phone. It wasn’t even 7 a.m. yet. Why was she up, let alone waking me up? And who delivers before 8 a.m. in this city?

  I was annoyed.

  “Mom, please get these out of my—”

  “He sent another letter, too. What does it say?”

  I kicked my feet under the sheets like a six-year-old. “Mom! I’m tired. It’s six fifty in the morning. The letter will still be here later!”

  “Fine, sleep your beautiful life away.” She huffed, but instead of taking the flowers with her, she set them down at my bedside. “I mean, it must be so hard being you and getting flowers before the sun comes up from a handsome man.”

  “Yes, it is. Goodbye,” I grumbled, tossing the sheets up above my head only for her to smack my thigh! “Ouch!”

  “You deserve it. Anyway, I’m going to get ready for a lady’s breakfast party, so I will see you later.”

  I made a face and muttered under my breath, “Oh, it must be so hard going to a rich breakfast—”

  “What was that?”

  “Enjoy yourself!” I lied, grinning.

  “Um-hum,” was all she said in reply before closing the door behind her.

  I took the sheet off my face and turned onto my side, trying to go back to sleep. But all I saw were the flowers. Just there...in my face. Flipping onto the other side, I tried again, closing my eyes and snuggling into my pillow. Still, no luck. I knew the flowers were there. I knew I had a letter there. And it was keeping me up just knowing.

  I will just read it and then go back to sleep—no big deal. I shifted back over and stared at them for a moment longer before sitting up and taking the letter from the top.

  NOVEMBER 2

  Dear Odette,

  First, remain calm. I have learned my lesson from yesterday. I only sent a hundred this time. Also, these flowers are not cut yet and are still in the soil. So, they will only die if you let them.

  The white peony is one of the four flowers of Ersovia. It symbolizes prosperity and good fortune. I recall you telling me you get stage fright at shows, and that you have one today. I truly wish I could be there. My sister would be beside herself with jealousy. In fact, she might even cry out in anger and frustration, then stomp her feet before calling me the worst brother ever. I do not know what it is about your music that affects her so deeply, but it does, and I hope one day, I will understand, too. For now, when you are on stage, just remember that your music is so impactful that somewhere a princess, who could invite any musician to come to see her, is having a temper tantrum because she is not there to listen to it.

  Everyone in that crowd has things they are afraid of, by the way—even me. I have a horrible fear of heights that I keep a secret from everyone. When I was eight, I climbed up a tree on a dare and then was too petrified to come back down. Everyone in the palace saw me shaking and hugging the branch. I was so embarrassed. I am still embarrassed about that, actually, so you must keep this secret to yourself.

  Until we meet again,

  GM.

  “You have hijacked my morning,” I whispered, looking down at the full page he had taken up. So much for not thinking about him. How was I going to get the image of him as a boy stuck in a tree out of my mind? Or his sister—a princess—throwing a fit? What could I even say? I sat there, rereading and rereading, then smiling before getting mad at myself for smiling. What happened to my new day?

  He really didn’t have to do this for me. Yes, I enjoyed it, but part of me felt like he was using moves. Did I like it? Yes. But still. All of this felt like a step-by-step play for me to fall for him.

  Reaching over, I grabbed my cell and prepared to text him back but saw the time.

  Well, if he can wake me, I can do the same to him, I thought, opening a message.

  Your flowers woke me up. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. That sounded rude. My mom’s comment about getting flowers in the morning was right. It wasn’t the worst thing. It wasn’t even a bad thing. The last thing I wanted to do was insult him over it. But I also didn’t know how else to send a message to him. And then it came to me.

  All I needed now were flowers.

  If he could send them, so could I.

  It was after four in the afternoon before I woke up. My body was aching and heavy. Jet lag always hit harder the second day than it did the first, and it completely knocked me out last night...and all of this morning. I figured Iskandar must have left me to sleep, which was why my clothes weren’t already laid out by Wolfgang. However, now that I was dressed and downstairs, I could clearly see he hadn’t let me sleep in. He hadn’t woken up, either.

  There he was lying still, upright, and almost like a dead man on the couch. Immediately, I did what any rational person would do, and I got out my phone, bent over the couch, and took a photo....no one would believe this otherwise. Iskandar the Rock had overslept. He was sleeping, in fact! It was amazing. It was the sign of the end times.

  Slam.

  The front door behind me opened and closed.

  “Sorry!” Wolfgang said when I turned back to him.

  However, I was more confused about the giant basket of white and yellow flowers in his hands.

  “What are you carrying?”

  “Flowers?” he replied.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I can see that, but why do you have them?”

  “They look to be delivered, sir.” Iskandar’s voice was right at my ear

  “Jesus Christ!” I jumped away from the now very awake man, sitting up as if he came from the grave right behind me. “You are awake?”

  He nodded and got up off the couch, bowing. “Forgive me. I overslept.”

  “Yes, I noticed that, too. Wolfgang, you should slap him on the back of the head for payback after what he did last night.” I grinned, really wanting to see that.

  “Who sent flowers? Are they for Ms. Wyntor?” Iskandar ignored me to ask Wolfgang. “Competition for the prince?”

  I cracked my jaw, annoyed at that, and how he said it as if he were hoping so. Did he forget his duty in his nap? He was supposed to be on my side, not cheering on someone trying to—

  “No, the flowers are for him.”

  My head went back to Wolfgang. “Him, who?”

  “Him, you.”

  “Are we writing a Doctor Seuss book? What do you mean him, you? What kind of explanation is that?” I snickered.

  “I mean, Ms. Odette sent you flowers and a letter. The front desk called earlier, and I went to pick them up. Where should I put them?”

  “She sent me flowers?” That was a first.

  He handed me the letter before putting the flowers onto the coffee table. And that was a very strange sentence to even think of. I did not understand what this meant.

  Glancing down at the card, I saw my name. Not Gale. But Galahad, written in tiny, slanted cursive handwriting in the center. Pulling out the letter, I was not sure if she was messing with me. She teased me for my speech being formal, and yet, her handwriting looked like it was stolen from the eighteenth century.

  Dear Galahad,

  Hold fast to dreams, Langston Hughes once wrote.

  Galahad, I like to dream. If you are going to send flowers, please do not let them wake me. I am thankful for them, anyway, so I am returning the gesture. The flower I sent to you is the Seattle Dahlia. It is the symbol of those who stand strong in his or her sacred values and Seattle itself.

  I hope you enjo
y your time here.

  Odette

  “Odette.” I snickered to myself, looking in absolute amusement over the flowers she had sent me.

  Was she going to do this every time I sent her flowers? Would we have a flower war? Also, the poem she had taken very much out of context.

  Shaking my head, I wanted to send her another letter, but I knew she might not be there, and wanting a response immediately, I took out my phone.

  Ralph Waldo Emerson said, ‘The Earth laughs in flowers,’ and I am laughing at yours. —Gale.

  She responded instantly. Odette says, if you laugh at my flowers, I will throw away yours.

  I roared with laughter, my whole body shaking. Leaning on the couch, I nodded. You quote yourself now? Well, that is at least better than stealing Mr. Hughes's poem and twisting the meaning for your own gain.

  Isn’t the beauty of poetry that it is left to the interpretation of the reader?—Odette.

  No, the beauty of poetry is the expression of the human heart, which is why I am so touched that you felt the need to not only search for a poem for me but also to send it with flowers. I have never received such a gift. —Gale.

  Don’t read too much into it. I was trying to say ‘thank you, but do not send them at sunrise. They woke me up.’ Nothing more. —Odette.

  “So, what you are saying is, I may keep sending them, so long as I choose a more convenient time of day? —Gale.

  I did not say that. You are infuriating. —Odette

  You did not, not say that. And yes, I know. But you are also infuriating. —Gale.

  How am I infuriating? —Odette

  I grinned, shifting to sit on the couch. How do you vex me? Let me count the ways. One, you vex me in sight. Your face haunts me day and night. Two, you vex me in might. Your wit matches mine fight by fight. Three, the most vexing is how amused you leave me. —Gale.

  It was not a very good poem, but I enjoyed sending it to her nevertheless. Because just as I thought, she was struggling with what to say back. I could tell by the way the three dots appeared and disappeared over and over again.

  Checkmate.

  Write me a poem, sing me a song, tell all the world of my beauty, dance for me from dusk till dawn, and they will say I am lucky to have you. But I will ask, did you love as you wrote, as you sang, as you told, as you danced? —Odette.