'The future is what we make it, and hopefully like me, Harry-son, you will make it a rich one' the words that had been the basis of my rising came flooding into my mind as my so-called future came walking in the room with blue eyes that challenged my own, little future wife with her blond locks.
"Father, I though it was my future. We had no discussion of a wife epically an arranged marriage."
"Well, Harry this is a far more important thing, business is the main thing in this family and this is business my boy. There is no discussion, go greet your blushing bride-to-be, isn't she lovely?"
'Isn't she lovely?' as I came closer taking angry steps in designer shoes that we're not built for angry his words (only those words because the rest were of course just bullshit) she was lovely.
"Miss Bishop, It's a pleasure to meet you, we are getting married after all and I would love to get to know the person I'm getting married to."
Soft hands with a hard grip greeted me warmly with a smile that seemed too nice, too warming, when all I've known is the harsh and cold part of people (father-dearest) from the moment her fingers entwined with mine I knew this would something new, something far more then the rest of them.
The rest of them, big girls that know how treat a rich man but they only last a night, one night of my, my mister Osborn and you're the one, you're the one, before it they come out true faces with fangs ready to suck away as much of my riches as possible, you believed our words? Harry Osborn, such a sad, sad little man.
The grip tightened even more, the warming smiling turning to one full of mischief and a plan was forming in that blond little head of hers, or maybe she had one already, I'll never know.
"Oh, Mr. Osborn, Harry, don't you worry your pretty little head about that, it will be over soon enough. Not to be rude or maybe I am, but if I was getting married it wouldn't be to you or any stranger because I already have someone picked out and full of I dos waiting for me (Peter, Peter, oh Peter don't forget the rings). This thing whatever our daddies are doing (being stupid of course) is just something that needs to be taken care of and I'm the girl to do it. Well, Goodnight Mr. Osborn, don't dream of me."
No, no she was nothing at all like the others, the ones that pulled me in waiting for a heavy check. The ones I put out a fishing hook for, my smiles and words that make them turn to putty in my hands, but in this case she didn't even give me the chance to pull out one hint of smile before I heard her heels clicking away.
"Good day, Miss Bishop, you would have made one hell of a bride."