I had always known I was pretty.
My mother and father spoiled me badly. My father, a wealthy businessman, almost never came home from work empty-handed. Usually his arms were laden with gifts for my two brothers and I.
Timothy and Holloway were well loved by my mother, but I was most definitely her favorite. She delighted in taking me anywhere.
Whenever we went out, she'd fix my gorgeous blonde hair into a variety of hairstyles. She'd put on one of my prettiest dresses, and smile when people stopped to coo at me.
Usually, Holly walked a few feet behind us, pushing Timmy in the baby stroller. Even if we were just going out to buy groceries, my mother had to boast.
I did fairly in school; I had a solid B average. My parents didn't care about school. I only saw it as a social center, another kingdom for me to rule.
And rule did I ever! The only thing missing was a scepter. My girlfriends and I were the prettiest students there, especially Vera. All the boys wanted to court us, and all the girls sent us nasty glares. I didn't care. I was queen.
From the time I turned twelve, I was rarely without a beau. I never dated seriously, never went out with the idea of getting married. But it was all part of my monarchy. The queen needed a king beside her.
Vera was different than me in her approach. She looked for a suitable husband, someone she loved. When she was fourteen, she and her sweetheart Laurence were talking of marriage.
I couldn't even remember who I was dating at fourteen. All I knew was that as soon as I walked into a room, all male eyes were on my long blonde hair and sky blue eyes.
Vera's charm was a bit different. She won people over with charisma, not intimidation. Pretty and well-liked, she was my very best friend.
Like everyone else, she was jealous of me, of course. "Rose, you're so pretty," she used to say daily, sighing with envy as she combed my hair. It was a hallmark of our sleepovers to do each other's hair. Sometimes we even experimented with a bit of her mother's rouge or eyelid paint.
"Well, you're the nice one, so we're even," I'd reply. "Laurence loves you so."
She grinned, happiness bubbling around her. Vera had such a happy glow around her. "He does, Rosie, he does. You ought to think about getting married."
"Now where's the fun in that?" I'd laugh. "I'm only fifteen. I'm not making such a commitment, not now."
At fifteen, I had kissed my first boy; Rudy Stevens, a high school senior who planned to graduate and then go on to Harvard. My parents had been so disappointed when we broke up, but their spirits lifted when I inevitably found another companion.
"Oh, but you'd love it," she gushed.
I giggled. "It? I would love it? Vera, you sinful girl."
She cracked up laughing. "No, that's not what I meant!" We took a minute to catch our breath, grinning devilishly at each other. "I meant you'd love being engaged."
My eyes widened. "Vera! You didn't tell me you'd made it official!"
Vera looked away. "Well, I haven't gotten a ring yet. But Laurence and I are awfully serious."
"Now, Vera, how could I ever be serious?" I teased. And I was right.
I was pretty and desirable, but I was as shallow as a tidepool. I only cared about basking in the sun of my beauty, my parents' money, my luxurious life.
During the course of a typical day, nearly twenty people stared at me. Yes; I was actually vain enough to count. Even when I brought my father's lunch to his work, his coworkers gave me a once-over. At school, I had every pair of eyes on me. Silly as I was, I enjoyed it.
It wasn't only boys. Girls ten years older than me gave me envious stares. Mothers lamented they wished their daughters were as pretty as me. Elderly women looked at me and remembered days gone by.
Even with what I'd told Vera, I did wish for a husband. But I didn't worry about it. When I was ready to stop growing up, I'd be able to marry within months. What man wouldn't want me?
My mother had other ideas. She pressed me to marry as soon as possible. "There are successful, willing men out there, Rosalie," she'd tell me again and again. "You just have to look for them."
"Oh, Mama, you know I'm not ready to leave you so soon," I'd respond. She would laugh and kiss me on the cheek.
"Now, what are you wearing to..." That was how all our conversations started. My wardrobe consisted of only the city's finest clothing, the best that money could buy. She always did my hair; I had scarcely any idea about how to do it myself, because Mama had been doing it for so long.
Most of the time she'd just brush it and let it go. Sometimes, for very fancy gatherings, she'd pin it up and give me a lovely hat to wear over it. I really didn't care; people would be looking at me either way, so why bother?
After I graduated high school, I didn't know quite what to do. I broke up with Roger, my then-boyfriend, because he wasn't going on to college. With Mama's help, I resolved to pinpoint the perfect husband.
If only I could have gotten it right.