First it was passion, then it became duty, and finally an intolerable burden.
-Carl Jung
…………
Tiana looked up gratefully when she heard the door to Duke's Diner open and Maddy, the new young waitress Buford had just hired, step in. It had been a remarkably busy day and Tiana was relieved to have her shift being taken over.
"You look beat," Maddy said sympathetically. "Busy day?"
"And how," Tiana muttered. "You have fun."
"I'll do my best. You better go home and get some rest."
Tiana shook her head. "I need to get some work done on my restaurant before I work at Cal's tonight."
Maddy sighed. "Girl, if you don't take a break soon, you're gonna fall apart."
Tiana sighed too, untying her apron and hanging it on a hook near the kitchen door. "There's a lot of work to do, Maddy, and I'm only one person. Louis helped me move a lot of the heavy stuff out and knocked down some walls for me, but his arms a little too short and stubby to help me with the painting… and I'm about ready to start the painting, that is once I solidify the foundations and fix that hole in the roof—"
"That's way too much work for only one person. You need some help. From someone who ain't an alligator." Maddy took the apron from the hook and tied it around her waist, pulling out the notepad and pencil from the pocket and quickly making her way over to the customer who had just walked in. "How can I help you, sir?"
"Just a bowl of your chicken gumbo for me."
"Right away." Scribbling his order down, Maddy turned to Tiana. "And how can I help you?"
Tiana blinked. "What… what do you mean? You offerin' to help me with my restaurant?"
Maddy shrugged. "I ain't much for physical labor, but I think I'm decent with a brush, anyway. If you need help—and I know you do—just give me a holler."
Tiana smiled gratefully. "Well, alright, but I won't let you walk out for free. I'm gonna pay you. You'll be my hired hand."
Maddy laughed. "Ain't gonna argue there, I need the money! See you tomorrow, Tiana."
"See you, Maddy!" Tiana stepped out of the diner and to where the streetcar was just pulling up. Right on time. Tiana hopped on board just as another man was stepping off. In the seat he had been occupying, he left a newspaper behind.
"Sir," Tiana called out, "do you want your—"
But the man had already walked off. Shrugging, Tiana sat down in the seat he had previously occupied and picked up the paper.
That was a mistake.
Tiana hadn't forgotten what day it was—Saturday, June fifth. She hadn't forgotten what that meant, what was happening in Maldonia, it had been weighing on her mind the entire day. But she hadn't been expecting it to be front-page news in New Orleans.
LOCAL DEBUTANTE WEDS PRINCE TODAY!
Miss Charlotte LaBouff of New Orleans, the daughter of sugar baron Eli LaBouff, has for many years been our local celebrity, but today is the day that she officially becomes a princess, due to her marriage to Prince Naveen of Maldonia. Our own local daughter will by day's end be princess of the small island nation located in the eastern Mediterranean Sea.
Mr. LaBouff himself has been in Maldonia for the past few weeks, overseeing the hasty marriage preparations.
"Charlotte didn't want to wait a minute," he said. "All her life she's dreamt of becoming a princess."
Some writers of royalty magazines have already remarked with disfavor on the haste, the couple having only met less than four months earlier, when His Royal Highness visited our fair city during Mardi Gras. Many royal marriages in the past were arranged at birth or soon thereafter, but the more modern thinking of a prince choosing his bride on his own terms has become the norm in many a monarchy, including this one. The circumstances of the engagement, however, is what causes many to worry. Naveen and Charlotte had only known each other for a day before Naveen, recently cut-off financially, proposed to the wealthy debutante. A marriage of convenience seems hardly enough to curb the notoriously philandering prince, many worry, and gossip columns in the area have low predictions for the long-term prospects of the couple.
Miss LaBouff, soon to be Princess of Maldonia, however seems determined to live out her dream of being a princess. If she can keep her new husband in check we feel that the marriage will be a successful one.
Tiana snorted bitterly, setting the paper back down. No, that man-whore of a prince was going to keep screwing around and breaking more hearts, no matter what Charlotte did. Tiana really shouldn't be mad at Charlotte, she should be pitying her for the mess of a situation the poor girl was in. And yet at the same time she should be thanking her for saving her from a similar fate, because it wouldn't have been any different if she had married him, right?
She realized almost too late that the streetcar had already made it to her restaurant stop. The car was beginning to move on again as Tiana hurriedly jumped out and made her way to the old sugar mill, the newspaper rolled up underneath her arm.
Oh, and the paper was right about something else too. Charlotte was only marrying Naveen because he was one, a prince; two, close to her in age; three, handsome; and four, available. The only purpose that girl thought marriage served was a stepping stone to a higher social plane! As if being the daughter of the richest man in Louisiana wasn't good enough for her?
Tiana pushed open the door to the still vastly unfinished restaurant—a little too forcefully. The door clanged against the wall loudly, but the wall still stayed in place and no damage to it or the door seemed to be visible. Well. Always good to test these things.
No, no, no, it wasn't right to be angry at Charlotte. This was her lifelong dream, after all. It was just… a really ridiculous one, to make such a light deal of marriage like that. Especially someone like Charlotte, who was always babbling on about true love, reading over-the-top romance books, giggling madly every St. Valentine's Day… but no one could possibly think for a minute that she was marrying for love now. How could she? Tiana felt her face flush in anger. I know Naveen so much better than she does, and—and—
She angrily kicked a wrench lying on the floor, sending it skidding on the floor and crashing into a (thankfully empty) pail, knocking it over. No harm done. She was going to need to use the wrench over there anyway… eventually.
Oh yes, Tiana thought with anger, she knew Naveen much better than Charlotte did—knew him well enough to know that she had narrowly escaped a life of pure hell! Why would she want to marry him now knowing what she knew—that he was only leading her on, that he only intended on marrying for money, that his roving ways likely hadn't changed a bit, and wouldn't have even if he had married her? Tiana was being saved a lifetime of heartbreak and despair, the only possible life a marriage to Naveen would produce. And yet apparently the trade-off was to be bitter and miserable trying fruitlessly to make this huge building something that it wasn't with limited manpower and limited resources and all alone and her heart was aching because everywhere she turned something reminded her that the man she loved was marrying someone else?
SMASH! In her frustration, Tiana punched the crumbling inner wall that had blocked off who-knows-what in the old sugar mill. Letting out a cry of pain, she pulled her hand to her mouth and sucked on it, tears of both physical and emotional pain welling in her eyes, as she looked to see that her fist had actually made a good-sized hole in the wall. Oh well. That wall needed to go down anyway.
Still sucking on her sore fist, Tiana helplessly sat down on a railing and rocked forward, rocked back, rocked forward again, trying to will herself from crying.
"Shit," she murmured.
The curse fell from her lips and disintegrated into the dusty air, but Tiana still felt a bit better with letting it out. Rocking back and forth one more time, she swallowed the unshed tears and brought her hand away from her mouth, red from the impact but not bleeding.
What was wrong with her, anyway? She had never planned on getting married. It wasn't just a "I-can't-ever-see-myself-getting-married" deal, either. It was always a "I-DON'T-want-to-get-married-ever-because-there's-gonna-be-no-room-in-my-life-for-a-husband-and-God-forbid-kids" deal. (Although Eudora still didn't seem to have gotten Tiana's hints on that.) For a few brief moments as a frog, she had been caught up in the obvious lies of an obvious womanizer and had forgotten that resolve, that was all. She was back on track now; there were no ridiculous notions of love in her way now. It wasn't weak of her to have fallen; surely many other strong-willed women before her had fallen for his charms. Surely he had fed that line about doing anything to make the girl of the day's dreams come true to every single one of his prospects.
He faked being genuinely awkward well.
He faked being genuinely affectionate well.
He faked being genuinely fond of her well.
I'm not gonna think about him anymore, Tiana resolved, looking up at the hole in the ceiling of the building, where the chandelier would one day hang, she was sure, when she had her restaurant and everything she'd ever dreamt of and she'd finally feel complete and happy.
Her own words that she had spoken to the shadow man suddenly echoed through her mind.
My daddy never did get what he wanted… but he had what he NEEDED! He had love! He never lost sight of what was really important! And neither—will—I!
Tiana moaned in despair, bringing her sore fist to her mouth again and seeing not the future home of a chandelier but instead a gaping hole in the ceiling that would probably never get repaired. "What's wrong with me?" she whispered.
Nobody was there to answer.
…………
Princess Charlotte of Maldonia sat at her desk in her royal bedroom late at night, the room thankfully being far enough away from the ball downstairs to not hear its music and laughter, holding her pen poised above the paper, trying to figure out where to start with the letter. "Dear Tiana"—that was obvious, that was how all the letters started, but what then? In the past three months since her marriage she had written about a dozen letters to her friend, all filled with what life in the palace was like, gleefully recounting the best parts and completely skipping over the worst parts, the worst parts that actually took up the majority of the time. Tiana had written back only twice, both letters short, with little to say other than she was still working, still working on the restaurant, missed Charlotte, sorry for not coming to the wedding.
Charlotte bit her lip, her eyes narrowing for a brief second. She was still a bit upset at Tiana for not being there—although it was a lie to say that she had been all that surprised at the equally short and apologetic letter Tiana had sent in the mail, saying that she couldn't get away from work that long. She could, she just didn't want to. That was the problem. Although, in hindsight, perhaps it was best that Tiana wasn't there—the whole day was a fiasco, such a mad rush that even now, not long afterwards, the day seemed like just a blur in her mind—and not a happy blur. It was a blur of demanding reporters, demanding tailors, demanding photographers, all wanting her to look perfect.
Perfection was the word that guided every critique of Maldonia's new princess. She had to be perfect in posture. Perfect in manners. Perfect in charity. Perfect in refined sense of humor. And yes she had to do all this while being at the same time a perfectly modern princess. Attend parliament meetings, support almost every charitable cause under the sun, be well-versed on foreign policy, attend meetings of state… while all the time fending off the Maldonian press, an incessantly nit-picking bunch who seemed eager to watch Princess Charlotte fail.
It was why Charlotte had actually been looking forward to the ball that evening. Finally she'd have a chance to wear a real princess dress, waltz with her prince and other nobility present, and generally spend the night dancing and feeling every bit like the princess she was…
…Not so. Reporters were there, too.
Charlotte rubbed her eyelids in frustration. Her excuse as to why she had left the ball early—a pounding headache—was actually not entirely a lie. "Dear Tiana, the press can go to hell," she muttered, looking at her blank page. Oh sure. That would go over well. No, it was best to continue writing to Tiana about how amazing it was being a princess. The more she wrote it, the sooner it might actually be true, right?
A timid knock on the half-open door interrupted her angry thoughts. "Charlotte? Are you alright?" It was Prince Asher.
Charlotte smiled warmly at her young brother-in-law. That was one thing she didn't have to lie about—she did like Asher, Shakir, and Avani immensely, and Naveen… well, she didn't dislike Naveen, anyway. "I'm just peachy, Ash. Why ain't you down at the ball?"
"It was getting noisy," Asher said. "I think I might have a headache like you do. Does yours hurt?"
"Not too bad, no. But you'd best be gettin' to bed if your head's poundin'. It's much past your bedtime, anyway!"
Asher smiled. "Madrina and Papeto said I could stay up for the ball if I was good."
"And have you been behaving yourself?" Charlotte asked with a smirk.
"Yes!" said Asher proudly. He peered over at Charlotte's desk. "What are you writing?"
"A letter to my friend Tiana. I'm gonna get her to come visit us if it's the last thing I do. Even if I have to go back to New Orleans and drag her on the boat myself! I might need your brother's help in persuading her, though. See if he can work his charm on her like he did on Princess Hessa earlier tonight."
"He was talking to Princess Selene when I left."
"That don't surprise me," Charlotte muttered. As much as the press liked to scrutinize Charlotte for every tiny mistake she made, it seemed to like to be slightly more forgiving to Naveen… or at least to his wandering eyes. And wandering everything else. Everyone tried to hide it from Charlotte, but she knew. She heard the twittering of the chambermaids, she heard the hushed tsk-tsking of the palace guards. She knew. And while, yes, part of her was angry, a strangely larger part of her… didn't really care. "Men will be men," she said aloud. She then looked at Asher and grinned. "And boys will be boys. And it's time for boys to go to bed!"
"No, no, I am going to stay up all night long!"
"No you ain't!" laughed Charlotte, swooping Asher up and carrying him up the stairs to his bedroom despite his playful protests. "You're getting in bed!"
…………
Asher wasn't the only prince getting in bed that night.
Princess Selene collapsed onto the bed in the Saint Joseph's room, one of many bedrooms used to house dignitaries, her dress long since discarded on the floor, her arms wrapped against her body covering up the areas her brassiere, slip, and panties didn't, gasping with barely-contained anticipation and pleasure. "What… what about your wife?" she managed to ask.
Naveen lifted her arms to expose her flesh, kissing her abdomen hungrily. "What about her?" he murmured. "She left early, remember?"
"As did we," gasped Selene, arching her back to unhook her bra and slide it off her shoulders.
And how. Naveen had moved in on Selene like a hawk. He saw the way she watched him. The way nearly all women watched him. He was a man possessed. Swooping in and suggesting he take her on a tour of the palace with a suggestive wink, he had felt like his old self again. Halfway down the corridor, probably still too close to the throngs of people in the ballroom, their lips had met, not in love but in lust, and it was all he could do to steer her to the rarely-used room and push the door closed behind them, their clothes not coming off fast enough.
He pulled off her slip and panties, exposing her to him, and threw off the rest of his own clothing, still stroking her abdomen, her thighs, reaching between her legs and hearing her moan in pleasure…
…and immediately took note that, yet again, the rush he felt—oh, he still felt a rush alright, but something was… missing. The torturous pleasure that he had always felt during sex was now far more torturous than pleasurable. Charlotte hadn't given him the experience women in the past had. The maid Paula's repeat performance had been just like their previous encounter, it should have been just as marvelous, yet it still left Naveen feeling unsatisfied. As had Yvonne, as had Fatima, as had Loretta—
"What's the matter?" Selene asked when Naveen had stopped momentarily.
Picking right back up where he had left off, Naveen stroked Selene's clitoris again and automatically flashed her his bedroom eyes. "I am just taking in your beauty," he said.
Funny. Usually that didn't feel like that much of a lie.
Unsatisfied. Unsatisfied. Unsatisfied.
With an animal growl that Selene must have interpreted as pure lust rather than actual frustration, Naveen brought his mouth back to her stomach; her breasts; her neck; her mouth; and forced himself into her, Selene squealing underneath him with a noise that would have made the old Naveen even more passionate.
He moved against her. In and out. Out and in. Selene continued to moan, wrapping her legs around his waist, entwining her fingers in his hair.
Unsatisfied.
Please, please, please be the one to make me feel whole again.
The more he silently begged her, the fiercer he moved against her, the more she moaned underneath him, the more he realized that she wouldn't be the one. Nobody in the world would be the one—except—
"Ti—" And he bit his tongue to keep from calling out the wrong name, instead remaining silent, giving only a shudder to accompany his orgasm, his strangely unfulfilling orgasm that had become the norm these past few months.
He laid on top of her for a few moments, catching his breath, allowing her to catch her breath, then rolling out and off of her to stare at the ceiling, still breathing heavily.
"I… I've heard you're good in bed, and they were right," Selene said, also with deep, heavy breaths.
"Glad you enjoyed it," Naveen murmured, not looking back at her, not wanting to see the human sack of disappointment in his bed, just like every other woman had been, none of them igniting the passion in him like they had before. It wasn't just sex, either… music was losing some of its luster, as was dancing, wine, food… in other words, everything he had ever lived for.
What's wrong with me? he thought helplessly to himself.
Nobody answered.