The Prince’s Bride (Part 1)

by J. J. McAvoy

  I stared at the phone, frozen. Her words were like ice water in my veins and spread a chill from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. I was only joking, and she brought a bomb to a word fight. All the amusement and teasing, she flushed it all out in two sentences so that anything I said in return would feel inadequate. However, I did not want to say nothing in return, either. Unfortunately, she beat me to it, adding:

  You do not have to keep flattering me or keep sending flowers, Gale. They are nice. But if you do it too much, I will only think you are pretending and using your playboy moves on me. —Odette

  Okay. It was all I could come up with.

  She did not reply, and I was a bit grateful because my mind was still reeling. I glanced over at her flowers. She wrote that it was the symbol of those who stood strong in his or her sacred values. That was her for sure.

  “Are you all right, sir?” Iskandar asked.

  “Did she reject you again?” Wolfgang questioned far too gleefully.

  When I shot him a look, he went back into the kitchen. Iskandar, however, stood there just watching. I noticed he had changed. When and how I did not notice—proof of how transfixed I was while talking to her.

  “She did not reject me,” I said, rising from the couch and standing in front of her flowers.

  She merely reminded me that words are empty when said without feeling. Growing up in the palace, I was used to people flattering me, especially when I was younger. They would go on about how handsome, or smart, or talented I was. But I soon realized, it did not matter if I was ugly, stupid, or inept, they would still flatter me.

  It also made me realize I did not have to try so hard to be better than anyone. Simply by being a prince, everyone would treat me as if I were great. There was no need for much effort. If I wanted friends or women, all I needed to do was utter a few compliments and offer a gift, and they stuck by me until I got tired of them, and I had to leave. I told myself I had grown bored of them. But I think I always knew that it was the fakeness of it all that I grew tired of. Behind their actions was only the desire to be the friend or the lover of a royal. They took whatever I gave and then gave nothing back but empty words.

  But Odette did not want a royal, and her words were not empty.

  “I doubt she will want to see me today. So, let us go to this city,” I said, lifting one of the flowers and smelling it.

  “Sir—”

  “I am not just going to sit here all day and wait for her. I am not on house arrest. Figure out a way,” I replied, putting back the flower.

  I needed the air, a good walk in the cold to see her city. Maybe that would help me figure out what more I could do for this woman. She was tougher than I expected. “Maybe I can find someplace to take her for the weekend?”

  “This weekend will not work. Her concert is this Friday, and I already have tickets.”

  Both Iskandar and I looked at Wolfgang as he texted on his phone. It took him a few seconds to notice, as we had not replied, and when he did, his gaze shifted between us both. “Yes?”

  “Why do you already have tickets to her concert?” I questioned.

  “I thought you might want to go at some point and saw she had one coming up, so I took the initiative. I am your personal secretary to have your needs met,” he answered.

  Something was off. However, I let it go.

  That settled this weekend. What was I supposed to do until then?

  Chapter 15

  I woke up to another letter, no flowers, just a letter my mother had decided to put next to my pillow. And it read:

  NOVEMBER 3

  Dear Odette,

  Some say the moon and the sun are at war,

  others say they are wed in the sky,

  But what if they are neither?

  What if they are simply burning and freezing rocks?

  Burning and freezing.

  What, then, does that say about those who said?

  The first poem I ever wrote was this—do not laugh. I know it is not very good. And I do not know why I am sharing it now. I wanted to write to you, but I wasn’t sure what to write. You left me a bit flat-footed, and I am not sure what to make of myself or this situation. So yes, I hope you have a good day.

  See what you have done to me?

  —GM.

  I smiled for some reason without thinking. When my mind finally come back to me, I put down the letter.

  I wasn’t going to give in to him just because of a few lines of poetry. Besides, I had things to do—a concert to prepare for.

  No princes.

  No more dates.

  Just focus, Odette.

  NOVEMBER 4

  Dear Odette,

  Since my poetry failed to move you, here is one I read today that reminded me of you.

  She was a phantom of delight

  When first she gleamed upon my sight;

  A lovely apparition sent

  To be a moment’s ornament;

  Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;

  Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;

  But all things else about her drawn

  From May-time and the cheerful dawn;

  A dancing shape, an image gay,

  To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

  —William Wordsworth

  It just occurred to me that you might actually hate poetry altogether? And if that is the case, I am very much screwed. For if I do not have the right words, and the greats do not have the right words, whatever am I to say to get your attention?

  GM

  I laughed. I didn’t mean to, but I did. Without even realizing it, I began to message Gale back then froze. What was I doing?

  What was he doing?

  Honestly, he couldn’t plan on writing to me every day, could he?

  Even if I did not reply?

  NOVEMBER 5

  Dear Odette,

  I must admit a small part of me hoped you would have called, written a letter, or sent a carrier pigeon if all else failed—however, no matter. I will not let this discourage me. Your city, Seattle, is very damp. It reminds me a lot of England. But it has its own charms. The people most especially. I find myself entertained just watching people here. Never mind me, though, how has your week been?

  How do you move and breathe through this world?

  What are you seeing?

  What are you hearing?

  GM

  I wondered where the poetry went this time. Did he think I disliked it? I bit my lip, not sure what to say back, especially after not answering. Taking my phone, I recorded the sound of my guitarist and sent it to him as a message.

  She speaks...well, sort of. However, I shall take it! He texted back.

  I laughed.

  “Odette?” One of the guys called out to me from the stage.

  “Huh?”

  “We’re ready.”

  “Right.”

  Sorry. Busy. I messaged back before putting my phone away. I was really busy, but I was sort of...excited to see what he’d write tomorrow.

  He didn’t write.

  I waited all freaking day.

  But no letter came.

  So now I was lying in bed feeling a little anxious.

  But I didn’t call, either, because...But what if he wanted me to write, so he stopped writing? And I didn’t want to show that it bothered me because, apparently, I was ridiculous.

  NOVEMBER 7

  Dear Odette,

  First, forgive me for not sending you a letter yesterday. There was a bit of a mix-up, and Wolfgang nearly died trying to get through the rain and lost it. Anyway, more importantly, what do you look like now? It feels as if it has been so long since we last met. At first, I was bothered by it, but now, I like to think that you enjoy this just as much as I do. After all, you could have easily called and told me to stop with my damn letters. I was expecting it, honestly. But seeing as how you have not, I am further encouraged. Clearly, you are starting to warm up to me.

  GM

>   “You’re a little too smug,” I muttered down to the paper. And I was annoyed at myself for reading it! I knew he was going to do it again, but still, I read. Grabbing my phone, I texted.

  I am not warming up even a little bit.

  I beg to differ. —Gale

  You cannot differ on the topic of my emotions. —Odette

  I can, and I do. —Gale

  You’re annoying. You know that, right? —Odette

  And yet, here you are messaging me. —Gale

  Because you keep writing to me. —Odette.

  Tell me to stop writing then. —Gale

  I frowned, not texting back.

  Did someone turn up the temperature? I do believe your hesitation is proof that you are warming up to me. —Gale

  You aren’t funny! —Odette

  I beg to differ. —Gale

  “Ugh!” I groaned, lying back down.

  Let me know when you wish to stop avoiding me. —Gale

  I am not avoiding you. —Odette.

  Are you sure? —Gale.

  Yes. —Odette.

  Then join me for lunch or dinner today. —Gale.

  I’m busy. —Odette.

  Yes, busy avoiding me. —Gale.

  For some reason, I had a feeling he was laughing at me.

  “Sir?”

  I looked up from my phone to find both staring down at me, confused. I simply showed them the string of text messages between us. “I do think she likes me.”

  “Or she could be annoyed—”

  “Forgive me. I am preoccupied at the moment.” I winked at him, grabbing a piece of toast and stuffing it into my mouth before lying back on the couch to text her back.

  This was fine.

  No, this was perfect.

  I had spent so much time talking to Gale that I was clearly and completely late for the Etheus Women’s brunch to support women in technology. Truthfully, I hadn’t wanted to come at all. I was busy, but I came because my mother had called me, saying she was no longer going. Where she went instead, I had no idea. But her words from a few days ago were stuck in my mind. Yvonne wanted to erase my mom, and I wouldn’t let her. She was just as much a part of this company and my father’s legacy as Yvonne was.

  So I was now dressed in my very best, all-white power suit. My hair slicked back, my heels high, a designer clutch in hand. However, when I got there, all the women were dressed in long-sleeved company shirts and jeans. Even Yvonne, who normally never skipped a designer label, had her blonde hair in a messy bun, and she wore little to no makeup.

  “Odette, you’re here!” Yvonne reached out to me, making sure anyone who hadn’t noticed me did, and there was no running from this. The invitation had clearly said formal dress—well, the invitation my mother received had.

  “Yes, I am. Sorry, I didn’t get the memo.” I forced a smile, walking up to my stepmother. “I would have much preferred to wear jeans.”

  “That’s fine. Please, sit.” She smiled and glanced behind me. “Is your mother here?”

  I leaned and shook my head. “No, sorry, you won’t get a chance to embarrass her today.”

  She shot me an icy look, and I just turned back to the table of women. “Hello.”

  “Ladies, this is my stepdaughter, Odette. Sadly—well, happily, my daughter, Augusta, is currently on her honeymoon.”

  “Congratulations to her,” one of them said back.

  “Odette, I heard you were good at coding, but you didn’t stick with it, is that true?” another black woman around my age asked.

  “I was decent. My father taught me. But that was never my passion, so I didn’t pursue it.”

  “Yes, Odette takes after her mother and prefers pageants and the arts.” Yvonne smiled, pouring herself more coffee. “You should have seen her when she was young. She was the cutest little beauty queen. What is your mom always saying? Beauty is just as important as technology.”

  “She’s not wrong. What she meant...” I started to say when another person cut in.

  “Yeah, she is,” the one beside me spoke again. “What can you do with beauty? Technology affects our daily lives every second of the day.”

  “So, does beauty—”

  “For the superficial maybe,” the other spoke out. “Getting all dolled up and always trying to look like some supermodel. That’s why guys don’t take us seriously.”

  “I’m not trying to say we—”

  “That’s why we wore jeans today. To say, women in technology aren’t office showgirls. We are here to work. Just like the guys.”

  “Of course, you are—”

  “It is so hard to get into this field. I can’t imagine my father owning one of the major tech companies and just refusing to learn anything.”

  “Wait, I didn’t refuse—”

  Once again, as they spoke, I glanced over to Yvonne, who pretended she didn’t set this up, nor could she stop it. She set this trap for my mother, but it was working perfectly well on me. Did she have to be a real housewife villain every time I saw her? I didn’t understand.

  “Odette?”

  “Huh?” My attention focused back on them.

  “Did you hear us?”

  All eyes were on me, and I shook my head. “No, I stopped listening.”

  “What?” the woman beside me asked.

  I looked at her. “I stopped listening because you were not listening to me.”

  “Odette, don’t be rude,” Yvonne finally whispered beside me. “These women work really hard at Etheus.”

  “And I came to support them,” I said, looking back at all of them. “Because women in technology are important and should be praised. But that doesn’t mean women who do other things should be put down. Would you rather have women here that do not care about their jobs, or would you rather have the most passionate people around you? My mom and I are passionate about different things than you are. When my mom said beauty is just as important as technology, she meant that everybody has something that is important. Everything has a purpose. Don’t you think?”

  None of them said anything.

  “Why don’t we order lunch?” Yvonne said to them.

  “Yes, why don’t we.” I flipped out my napkin. I had a feeling I was going to be the subject of gossip the moment I left the table, so why not get comfortable and make them feel awkward for a little bit, too.

  I stayed and pretended to be interested for another hour before using my show as an excuse to leave. It wasn’t until later tonight, but I didn’t want to stay next to Yvonne for longer than needed.

  Sadly, she didn’t feel the same. “I will walk you out,” she said, rising with me.

  “Sure.” Why?

  She waited until we were at the front of the restaurant before speaking. “Augusta tells me you aren’t answering her calls,” she said, turning back to me. “I never want what is going on between your mother and me to affect you and your sister.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s not,” I said, giving my ticket to the valet to get my car. “I’m not answering Augusta’s calls because of her actions, not yours. But I have to ask since you’re here. It’s been over twenty years. How much longer do you plan on tormenting my mom? I know the reason you seem to want to keep my inheritance away from me isn’t just greed. Now that Augusta has gotten half, she has more money than she could ever need in her life. She will never be able to spend it all. The reason you want to stop me from getting mine is that you hate my mother and want her to have nothing. Why? I don’t want to think you are just evil. My father wouldn’t have cared about you if you were. So why? Aren’t you tired, Yvonne?”

  She forced her thin pink lips upward, and in her eyes, all I saw was anger. “You have only ever seen the world from your mother’s perspective. I’m sure in your eyes, she has done no wrong and that I am the only one plotting. But that is Wilhelmina’s gift. She makes people underestimate her and then strikes.”

  “Again, this hate—”

  “Did she tell you that she wa
s still in contact with your father—not about you—behind my back until he died?”

  I froze and shook my head. “That’s a lie. They always fought.”

  She snickered bitterly to herself. “Sure, they did. You don’t know, yet you are always asking for it to end. I’ll be honest with you. I hope your mother drops dead one day for the things she did to me.”

  Just like that, she walked back into the main restaurant as my car pulled to the front.

  What did my mother do? Were she and my father still in some sort of relationship?

  I wanted to know, but I was also scared to find out. I tried to push it to the back of my mind. This was the last thing I needed to be thinking about now.

  Chapter 16

  The next night, my secretary had a button on his coat that read, “We are Wyntor’s storm,” and he was not the only one. We stood in the very front row of over a thousand people, if not more, and they all had buttons or shirts or writing on their faces with some sort of tribute to Odette. I had heard people refer to themselves as Wyntorbirds, Odette’s swans, and Wyntor Nation. Not just women, either, but men, too, like Wolfgang, who was obviously a fan but somehow had hidden it well up until this point.

  “Would you like a photo, sir?” Wolfgang questioned, lifting his phone.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Iskandar asked him, and he was truly curious.

  I never thought the day would come when I would see Iskandar as normal, but the day had arrived. Because I really did not understand the rest of the people around us who were shaking with excitement.

  “When did you become part of this Wyntor Nation?” I finally asked him.

  He grinned sheepishly. “I was driving the princ—your sister, and she requested I play her music. I know all the songs on her album, The Watch of the Nightingales—that one really got me. Her songs are full of symbolism. A Parliament of Owls, The Conspiracy of Lemurs, Lion’s Pride, The Parade of Elephants, and The Brace of Mallards.” He listed all of the albums or songs, pointing to his hands. “The last song on it she titled ‘WyntorsBird.’ It sounds odd, and she never mentions any of the animals outside of the title, but you sort of understand who she is comparing to them. It is like a code, and you have to figure out how they relate.”