by Ruby Vincent
“Ma’am, shall I clear?”
Blinking, I came to. A server stood over me, preparing to take my dessert.
“No, leave it, please,” I said. “Would you mind bringing me hot water and the collection of teas? Or we could skip over that and go straight to the chamomile. Two spoons of honey.”
He inclined his head. “Right away, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
I needed food to clear my head and tea to settle my stomach. I had a talk with Dad and the dame coming up and I needed to prepare my arguments.
“Excuse me.” A sharp, smoky voice reverberated through the ballroom, silencing the dull chatter.
Standing on the dais, smiling at all she surveyed was a woman in a floor-length lace mermaid gown. One look at her and Preston shone through in her honey eyes and bronze curls.
Rosalie Desai.
The woman who’d taken over managing the events at Citrine Cove for the last fifteen years and extended the invitation to my parents for me to join.
How had I gotten on her radar and why in the hell couldn’t she and her spawn have left me alone?
“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the Citrine Cove marriage reception.”
Applause rang through the room. I didn’t join in.
“It’s an honor to have all of you with us. An honor I share in as this summer, my own son will journey to the cove.”
The crowd clapped again and Rosalie twisted her head this way and that, obviously looking for Preston.
He’s still cleaning up the blood, lady.
“I hope you’ve all had a chance to mingle and introduce yourself to new faces,” she continued, “for in a few days, you’ll share in common the nerve-wracking experience of waiting at home while your child makes one of the most important decisions in their life.
“Some of us have been through it ourselves, and others are joining in this tradition for the first time as parents.” She placed her hand over her heart. “Whichever the case, you can rest assured that your children are in good hands. I will be watching over them myself, ensuring that whatever decision they make is best for them and their families.”
More claps and nods of approval spreading around me. I stuffed a bite of dessert in my mouth to give my lips something to do other than curl.
Why were these people so happy? Nineteen-, twenty-, and twenty-one-year-olds press-ganged into arranged marriage and parents holding their kids’ inheritances over their heads to make it so.
Because that is what this tradition was truly about.
The community was simply the nation’s oldest and wealthiest families. We didn’t all live in the same place and most didn’t know each other outside of passing conversations at Christmas balls and charity events. But what these families did have in common was obscene amounts of money and a strong sense to hang on to it.
Many a fortune had been halved or wiped out by a gold-digger smart enough to get a ring on their finger before the parents started talking prenups. One too many a young fool had chosen a partner below their station who wasn’t fit for high society, and their constant faux pas relegated them to the back table at functions.
But rich people were problem-solvers.
No need to worry about passing on everything you worked for to your lovesick daughter and the scheming jackass that she married, when you can send her to schools with the right kind of people like Blackburn Academy. And if she hasn’t scoped out a potential fiancé by then, send her to the cove to finish the job.
People in the community only marry others from the community, and as such, the money stays where it belongs.
“This tradition was started ninety-five years ago by Lawrence Desai.” Rosalie Desai launched into the scripted version of our history. “It was his idea to reach out to the Knights, the Princes, the Van der Bergs, the Winthrops, and our ancestors in hopes of forming a community built on cooperation and family.
“Back then, it wasn’t uncommon for parents to arrange suitable matches for their children. In Lawrence’s case, and having married a woman his parents had chosen for him, he felt there was a better way for his own son and daughter. A way to ensure they made the best match but were also included in the process.”
The server returned with my tea, setting down the steaming mug and an extra piece of tiramisu. He winked at me. “There’s also an extra plate of prime rib and herb sauce if you’re still hungry.”
Smiling, I shook my head. Of course he knew I hadn’t eaten anything after clearing untouched plates from my table.
Funny how this kind and thoughtful guy is seen as the less suitable match over the likes of Carter, Nathan, and Preston.
“—continue the tradition for the good of our children.” Mrs. Desai was still speaking. “This Friday, you will fly to our private stretch of land on the tip of Citrine Cove—so named for the endless fields of orange trees. You’ll spend your days swimming, sailing, hiking, fishing, and enjoying the natural beauty of the area.”
Love how she’s dressing it up as a vacation.
“In between, you’ll participate in various activities and challenges designed to help you find your right match. And don’t be surprised if it’s not who you think.” She laughed—a light, charming sound like tinkling wind chimes. “Let me admit to all of you, my friends and community, that my husband was not my first choice. I kept thinking, I don’t know who I’ll choose, but it certainly won’t be that silly boy with the puppy-dog eyes.”
Everyone laughed. Loudest of all a deep, masculine treble. Mrs. Desai blew a kiss to someone at the front table who snagged it out of the air.
“But choose him I did,” she said, “and I know now that if I married one of the men my parents not-so-subtly pointed out to me, I wouldn’t have known the happiness I’ve had for the last twenty-five years with that silly boy who became my love and partner in life.”
I might’ve awww’d with the rest of them if I hadn’t heard this story from Preston—who was a liar in every sense. I bet his parents can’t be in the same room as each other without trading barbs or thrown martini glasses. That silly boy spends all his time running secret lovers and his chosen bride weaves pretty romanticized tales of loving her married life, so the community doesn’t recognize the tradition her family started wasn’t good for her or any of us.
The doors flew open and Carter, Nathan, and Preston swept inside.
“I also wouldn’t have our wonderful, handsome son, Preston,” Mrs. Desai continued. The timing was so uncanny on that entrance, I wondered if they planned it.
“Preston, come and join me.”
Preston broke off from his friends, obeying her command. He’d changed his clothes and fixed his perfect hair, but as he climbed up in front of everyone, the mark I’d left on him shone angry under the lights.
I saw Rosalie’s eyes bug from halfway across the room. “Prest—!” She slapped her hand over the mic, heatedly whispering something to her son.
His nose had ballooned to twice its size.
He didn’t look so much like a mythical siren then.
Yes, he does, a bitter voice whispered. He looks cold, beautiful, and completely unaffected by what he did to me. He didn’t hesitate to stand up in front of everyone with a busted face because why shouldn’t he display his victory over me as a badge of honor?
My hands shook picking up my tea, putting me in danger of the hot treat dropping on my lap. I needed to get out of here. Mom and Dad would understand.
“Mom?” I reached for her under the table. “Mom, we have to go.”
“Go? Darling, please, we’ve discussed this.” She patted my hand and put it back on my lap. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“You don’t understand,” I said through gritted teeth. “Something happened. Carter Knight and Nathan Prince are here.”
She turned away, suddenly finding her napkin so interesting as she folded and refolded it. “I know.”
“You know? Oh my gosh. Did you know they would be here?”
>
“Darling, you refused to read the information packet with the participant list. I did not.” The dame’s nose rose higher and higher in the air. Primness was bleaching into her speech. She got like this whenever she did something wrong and was determined to pretend otherwise. “I took it out of the trash and put it on your desk twice.”
I put my cup down harder than necessary. “The third time I set it on fire and kicked the ashes in the pool.”
“Do not make a scene, dear.”
“I’m not making a scene. I’m asking my mom why she didn’t tell me two guys who made my life hell would be here tonight and be staying at the cove.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Mother’s nose was higher than ever. “Those two will mind their business this summer and you’ll mind yours. You won’t have anything to do with them.”
“They’ll be hard to avoid on a private island.” I kept my tone even with difficulty. “Mom, don’t you see now that I can’t go. You can’t hate me so much you’d force me to spend the summer being tortured by them.”
She dropped her chin, facing me. “It is precisely because we love you that we’re sending you to the cove. I’d never allow boys like that to get in the way of your future, and neither will you.”
“Mom—”
“That is enough, Belle. I’m tired of arguing about this. If you push the matter further, you’ll have your father to deal with.”
I shoved the chair back with a loud, ear-ringing screech. Flinging my napkin down, I turned my back on her and marched off.
“Belle? Belle? Belle!” She raised her voice to a light exclamation for most people, but a scream for the dame.
Our community may have thought this was the best way to ensure a strong pedigree and lasting wealth, but until last year, I thought my parents and I agreed they were a bunch of snobby twits.
I don’t know what to believe anymore. All I know is I’m still sore from Preston’s little game, and she wants me to believe those guys won’t come up with new, fun ways to get to me when we’re all trapped on the same island together.
I’m not going. She can throw me at Dad but he’ll get the picture when Friday comes and the air’s been let out of the tires and our pilot suddenly wins an all-expense vacation to anywhere that’s not here.
“—son would like to say a few words.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
I paused inches from the door to the terrace. There was no reason I should’ve. His voice didn’t hold power over me anymore. But still, I stopped. And even worse, I turned.
“I’m not going to hold up much more of your night,” Preston began. “After speeches, Mom opens up the bar, and with impending marriages bearing down on us, I’m sure most of you are looking to get drunk.”
I spun to leave.
“I came up here to tell you,” Preston got out in a rush, “the story about how I met Cinderella.”
If he meant to stop my retreat. It worked.
“One day, a not-very-good day, I escaped to one of my favorite places. There was a girl there—so beautiful and sad because she ran from her life and only made it as far as the garden. That girl didn’t believe her fairy godmother was coming to save her.”
Slowly, I twisted and those golden orbs trapped me again.
“I wanted to be her knight in shining armor. To tell her that she didn’t need magic or fairies. I was right here.” Preston took the mic off the stand. He spoke to everyone but looked only at me. “But Cinderella didn’t want me to be her knight. What she truly needed was the strength to change her life and someone to believe that she could.”
Mrs. Desai approached her son, likely to cut short his seemingly pointless story. She squeezed his shoulder and got no response. Following his line of sight, she landed on me.
“I walked out of her life hoping I’d see her again, but deep down knowing fate didn’t give second chances. I gave up on finding Cinderella, and then one night... she was there.”
“Preston.” Mrs. Desai came through the speaker. As did her subtle hint to wrap it up.
He continued like she hadn’t spoken. “Out of nowhere, she appeared to remind me that if I wanted something, I had to get off my ass and take it. One time was luck. Two times is a miracle, and a third chance doesn’t happen unless you make your own fate.
“I know most of you guys,” Preston said. “I’ve watched you moon over the same girl for four years, or walked in on you in the broom closet with the guy from third period.”
“Preston,” Mrs. Desai hissed over a mix of titters and cleared throats.
“If you’re looking for advice from me, here it is. Forget that we’re young and this whole marriage/Hunger Games thing we’re doing on a secluded island is old-fashioned and weird as hell. If there’s a girl or guy there that you see even the possibility of a future with, then go for it. Don’t hold back. Don’t cross your fingers wishing for a second, third, or fourth chance.”
My swallow lodged around the lump in my throat. His speech burrowed deep, seeking my walls, and sounding the trumpet to bring them crumbling down.
“Cinderella will walk off that island with someone else.” Preston took a step like he was going to climb off the stage and come to me. “Unless you give her a reason to choose you.”
The audience burst into applause, and I took off. Not to the garden that did a terrible job of providing me sanctuary.
No. The click-clacks of my heels echoed in my ears. Their cheers were fading and Preston was growing closer. Bigger. Less beautiful as his swollen nose came into sharp focus. I didn’t know what I planned to do, and neither did Preston. He stiffened as I stomped on the stage, but my raised arm wasn’t preparing to deliver another blow.
“Lovely speech, Preston. Mind if I have a go?”
“Belle, after this, let me explain—”
“No.” I ripped the mic out of his grip and spun on the guests. “How about it, everyone? One more round of applause for Preston.”
They complied, whooping it up for their friend and golden boy.
“You really liked that speech?” I cocked my head. “You bought that story about meeting some random girl by chance and pining because he couldn’t be her knight in shining armor?”
The cheers died a slow death.
“Dear, speeches are over. Please, take your—” Rosalie made a grab for the mic and I swiftly ducked her.
“Preston says to forget that we’re young and most of us haven’t hit our twenties yet. We should forget this tradition is almost one hundred years old and that the world has moved on from passing women from their fathers to their brothers, and then off to their husbands, so they always have a man on the end of their leash, keeping them in line.”
“That is quite enough,” Rosalie said.
“We should not forget that we’re young,” I said over her. “We have so much more learning and exploring to do. So much that we still need to figure out about ourselves. Why marry that guy from the broom closet too young and end up divorced in five years, when instead you could live with and screw him for the same amount of time and decide if you really work as a couple.”
“Belle!”
That was the dame, and it was a scream by everyone’s definition.
“What if he’s crap in bed? Or clips his toenails at the dinner table?” I narrowed on Preston. “What if he’s a manipulative liar that gets off on hurting people? Do you really want to tie yourself to a guy like that for the rest of your life?”
I gave him my back. “Same thing to you dudes. College is a well-known time for sexual exploration. Do you honestly want to walk on campus tied down to someone you barely know? I can tell you from experience, it’s a real mood killer when the fiancée shows up.”
“Young lady, give me the microphone.”
It was only social propriety keeping this woman from snatching it from my hand and drop-kicking me down the stage. Though the expression on her face said I was testing that self-control.
“You see, our parents don�
��t want us asking these questions,” I said to Mrs. Desai’s purpling face. “They can’t have us asking why the rest of the world gets to pick their partners, and we’re trading away the few choices that belong to us alone. But deep down we all know why. Locking us down when we’re too young to know better ensures we, and their money, never stray too far.”
“Belle, get off that stage this instant.” Mom and Dad were moving fast, zipping through the tables. “Now, Belle!”
“This tradition survives because we let it. If you want to take your choices back, you have to shut this crap down and say no. As we’ve all been reminded, no one is going to wave a magic wand and do it for us.” I looked at Preston, speaking to him and him alone. “You won’t get another chance.”
“I am so sorry, Mrs. Desai.” Mom yanked the mic free. “She’s a headstrong girl. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“Mom!”
“That is enough, Belle.” Dad hooked me around the waist, lifting me bodily off the stage.
Mom’s apologies were on a steady stream. “Belle didn’t mean a word of that. Please, don’t rescind her invitation.”
“I’ll do nothing of the kind.” Rosalie took Mother’s hands, gazing at me over her shoulder as Dad carried me away. “She’s not the first headstrong girl I’ve come across. In the end, they all accept that we know best.”
“THAT WAS THE MOST SHAMEFUL, humiliating display I’ve ever seen!”
Dad stormed through the mansion. His grip was iron around my wrist. I tripped over my heels straining to keep up with him, and fell against his back. He hauled me up and continued without a hitch in his step.
“You embarrassed us! You embarrassed the community! And you embarrassed yourself!”
“I don’t want to get married! Why won’t you listen to me?!” I yanked against his hold. “Dad, let me go!”
Mom scurried behind us. “Darling, why don’t we all calm down? We can sit and talk about—”
“The discussion is over!” Bursting into his office, Dad dropped me into an armchair and leaned over me, his red bulging eyes filling my vision. “We’ve tried, Belle. We’ve explained why it has to be this way. We’ve told you that we’re doing what’s best. Yet you refuse to see past a summer gallivanting around the world.”