CHAPTER 2: Parents Are Such Buzzkills
Friday, November 6th, 2239
Henri Pemberton, Viscount Enfield
"Friction in negligible thank God." I mutter as I read the problem in front of me. I know, I know, engineering homework on a Friday afternoon isn't the funnest plan out there, but it's the only excuse I have for not going downstairs and interacting with my family. Why, oh why, do four-day weekends have to be a thing? And to rub salt in the wound, we're supposed to be excited about them.
Maybe for people with normal families that was a good thing, but for me it just meant more time spent being forced to talk to my parents.
A knock sounded on my door, and after a moment, Father pushed the door open, allowing himself in. I sigh. Clearly the concept of personal space has never occurred to him. He's still in his military uniform, the gold buttons on his blue coat gleaming, either heading to a shift or getting back from one. I don't care enough to ask.
"Hey." He said, coming over to me. I don't respond, keeping my eyes focused on the sheet of paper sitting on my desk.
"How's college going?" He asks, trying to force some sort of conversation between the two of us.
"Fine." I answer. I've been giving him the same answer for the past two and a half years.
"Do you have any plans for this weekend." Father puts a hand on my shoulder, which I immediately shrug off. I don't like him touching me anymore. Father sighs, somehow after five years he still hasn't taken the hint."Sorry."
"Maybe." I say vaguely. I don't have any plans, but admitting that to him would end with me being forced to go somewhere with him and Mum. I couldn't think of anything worse then the three of us plus my little sister all trying to pretend we actually like each other for an afternoon.
"Am I going to get any answers out of you that have more than one word?"
"No." With that I resume my engineering homework, thoroughly signaling that this conversation is over.
"Alright." Father pauses for a second as he stands in the doorframe to my room. "What do you want for dinner?" He asks in a last-ditch effort to get me to talk to him.
Some people never learn when their presence isn't wanted.
It's only 12 pm, how was I supposed to know what I wanted for dinner? That's way too many words to say to Father though, so instead I mumble "Just order sushi." Mum was a horrible cook anyway, she wouldn't particularly care that I didn't want her to make peanut tofu or some equally disgusting vegetarian mess. She had rarely cooked in her life before coming to Illéa, always having some servant or chef do it for her. The first time Mum cooked for us almost made me throw up.
"What type?" Father asks.
"I'll decide later." I say, plugging my earphones in. Maybe that'll be enough for him to realize I don't want to be in this conversation.
Luckily, it is. He closes my door with a gentle thud, leaving me all alone with nothing but my thoughts and my insanely complicated engineering homework.
My phone buzzes on it's charging dock, providing a welcome distraction. Or, at least a more welcome distraction then Father visiting was. I enter the passcode, the lock screen giving way to a cartoon picture of ice cream.
Car: can u go get lunch 12:17
Henri: yea sure 12:17
Henri: where do u want to go 12:17
Car: idk maybe that restoration harbor place 12:18
Car: i want tomato soup 12:18
Henri: okay 12:19
Henri: do u want to meet there 12:19
Car: i can stop by ur house so the guards can pick u up 12:19
Henri: that works 12:20
Car: see u in like half an hour 12:20
Great. Much better use of my time then wallowing in my own self-pity.
Exactly 27 minutes later, surprisingly early for once, I hear my Mum's voice calling from the first floor of our house. "Henri, the princess is here."
"Oh, you don't need to call me that." Carrie says, her voice muffled from the floors in between us. I hear the sound of sneakers on the dark wood staircase. She pushes my door open, a much better visitor than my father was a few minutes ago. "Have I told you how much I love your room?" She asks, sitting on my bed.
"Quite a few times." I say, sitting next to her. I didn't know what she liked so much about my room. To be frank, it didn't even feel like mine most of the time. When my family had moved from England I left most of my decorations up, assuming that I'd be back within the year. Unfortunately for me, that was one of the few instances where I've been wrong. Now most of the time I felt like I was living in a strangers house, the modern architecture so far from what I was used to. Even after five years it still feels more like a vacation house then my actual home.
I had plenty of opportunities to get the decor back, of course. My family stayed in our old house for the holidays every year. I didn't know exactly why I never chose to take them back to Illéa, I guess at the end of the day I was still holding on to hope that one day my life would go back to normal. So far that hasn't happened, but maybe somewhere in the near future.
Maybe.
Probably not.
"Hmm." Carrie's mouth puckers. "Well, I still love it."
"And it's still not really my style." I counter, putting an arm around her. Her skin is hidden underneath a blue knit sweater and blue silk skirt with white tights, but I can still feel the warmth radiating off of her.
"Speaking of your style, did you get me the sweater from Stanford?" Carrie asks, her hands clasped together in excitement.
I chuckle. She had requested one of my college's sweatshirts after I wore it with her for movie night a few weeks ago. "You're in luck." I say, getting up and finding a plastic bag I had placed under my desk. I toss it to her, "If it's too big I can return it." I assure her.
"I wanted it over-sized." Carrie says as she digs into the bag. "Yay." She lets out a squee as she holds up the red sweater with the Stanford logo. "Ooooh it's so pretty. I love it."
"Now it'll almost be like you go there." I remark, sitting back down next to her.
She swats my arm. "Stop. You know I would have gone to college if I could have."
"Welp, what can you do?" I ask, shrugging. In her position, I probably wouldn't have gone to college either. Conveniently though I was 17th in line for the throne instead of the heir like she was.
"Not much apparently." She mutters. What did that mean? I shoot her a glance, wondering what on earth she was talking about. "Never mind. Let's just go get lunch."
As much as I want to know what she meant, I know better than to pry. "Okay, if you say so."
The guards knew me so I was spared the usual pat down that anyone accompanying the princess was subject to. The limousine was familiar to me, and I buckled my seatbelt despite an odd look from Carrie. "Safety first." I say shrugging.
"You're in the backseat. You don't need to do your seatbelt." Carrie says, holding back a laugh.
"I'd prefer not to die in a car crash. You're free to make your own choices."
"Ugh fine. You win." Carrie says, fastening her seatbelt across her chest too. "You'd think with all the money they spend on making limos they could make the seatbelt a bit more comfortable." Carrie grumbles crossing her arms.
"Send them a suggestion letter. I'm sure they'll take it."
"I have a better idea. You're an engineer. Why don't you just make seatbelts more comfortable for your final project or something?"
I laugh. "Not how it works, Car. I'm doing industrial engineering. I'll definitely pass your idea along though."
Carrie seems to consider my words, "Works for me."
The restaurant Carrie picked out was along the Angeles coastline, overlooking the water. Most of the wooden tables were outdoors on a dock, plush chairs pushed underneath them. The main decorations were the flowers that surrendered almost every inch of the patio. Though vibrant, I knew at least half of them had to be fake considering how cold the November air was.
There was no flicker of recognition in the eyes of the waitress who showed us our table, probably because Carrie used her nickname on the reservation, and no one expects the princess and a foriegn royal to be in sweatshirts and jeans. It was a welcome relief after the articles about us pumpkin picking last week.
Carrie seemed to get nervous when we sat down, she started to drum her nails against the wooden planks of our table. "Everything okay?" I ask, concerned.
Carrie takes a deep breath, stalling for some reason. "I don't really know how to say this." Carrie starts. I swallow hard, possibilities racing through my head. She was breaking up with me? She was stepping down as heir? She had developed an allergy to milk?
Probably not that last one. Or the second-to-last one either. I knew how much she wanted to be queen, she wasn't about to throw all that away. Plus, the country left in Garnet's hand would go up in flames. I still had to do her little cousin's math homework most of the time.
"Just promise you won't judge me?" Carrie asks, her fingers tapping faster and faster against the table. It was creating a steady sound, it would be calming if she wasn't so nervous.
"Car, I love you, I won't judge you." I promise, taking her hand from her before she ruined her nail beds. Those were surprisingly important to her.
My words seem to reassure her, and she nodded before speaking. "My..my parents. They want me to have a selection." She said quietly, her eyes searching my face for a reaction.
Oh.
That certainly wasn't one I had seen coming. "But you hate the selection." That's the only thing I can think of right now, the true implications not setting in. Besides, how many times has Carrie ranted about the tradition while I nodded along, occasionally interjecting something about how her parents found love or that it usually works. In concept I wasn't as opposed to it as she was, I found it romantic, but it wasn't as if I was the one who would ever have a selection. My cousin Barron maybe, but not me.
"I know. It's a waste of money, effort, and time." Carrie says, folding her hands in her lap.
"So then why are you doing it?" I ask desperately.
"Do you want the honest answer?" Car asks, continuing to bite her lower lip.
"What do you think?"
"Right. Well, don't take this the wrong way, but it's because of you." I lean back in my seat, stunned. I knew people didn't like me, thought I was a disgrace to my country, but hearing Carrie say that hurt more than I thought it would. "My parents don't think that the public would consider you and I a good match, so maybe if there's a selection, people will be more inclined to approve." Carrie explains quickly, her voice a few octaves higher than usual.
Her reasoning makes sense, I know that. It doesn't stop the pain from crawling into my heart though. I hate my father. I really do. If he wasn't so selfish then I could have had a normal life but instead I'm known as the bastard son of the Earl of Cottenham.
And that's considering the fact that my paternity test results could be obtained with a simple google search of my name. Not to mention that it was my father who claimed I wasn't his, meaning that I would have been the Countess' illegitimate child, not the Earl's.
Sometimes the level of stupidity in people amazes me.
"Henri?" Carrie asks. "Say something."
I clear my throat. "Sorry. Yeah. It seems like a good idea." I say woodenly. "Won't people think it's rigged though?"
"Probably. I would. They'll have no proof though. And even if they think it, there's nothing they can do about it." Carrie tells me, her face solemn.
"Good thing for that." I say, smiling slightly.
"We're announcing it on the report tonight, I thought I should tell you beforehand." Car says, her voice small.
"Hey, do I actually have to fill out an application? Or will it just be done for me?" It's the first thing that pops into my head, so I say it in an effort to lighten the mood.
Carrie snorts, "You'll be filling it out yourself, Your Highness." The mockery of my title makes me smile.
"And what about you? It seems only fair that the princess has to mail one in too." I tease lightly.
"What? Would I date myself?" Carrie considers for a moment. "Actually, that might be a good match. At least I would never have jealousy issues."
"Maybe, but you would also have to buy your own valentine's day gifts. That seems like a deal breaker for me."
"Of course it is. If I had the chance to be with someone as fabulous as myself, I'd take it and never look back. You're a good consolation prize." Carrie bites into a roll after she finishes, holding a hand over her mouth as she chews.
"Well, since your first choice is unattainable, I'm happy to be your backup plan." If I do have to be her plan B, at least her first option is herself. I'll admit, Carolynn Schreave is a very high standard to meet. If I were her, I'd pick myself too.
In the end, Father ended up ordering the sushi without asking what type I wanted.
Typical of him.
"So, you went out with Carolynn today?" Mum asks from across the table. Her blond hair had been curled and was pinned behind her ears. She was wearing a green blouse and a pair of dark, tailored jeans. I didn't recognize the jewelry piece around her neck. She and Father must have gotten into another screaming match recently, he always bought her new jewelry after that.
"Yeah. It was nice." I say, picking at my salmon rolls.
"Where did you go?" Mum continues.
"Restoration Harbor. It's by the water." I mumble, not particularly interested in having a conversation right now. My little sister, Delia, is checking her phone under the table. Wish I had thought of that, instead my phone is up in my room..
"That's the-" Father starts, Mum cuts him off though.
"Please John. Let him speak." Mum holds up a hand, turning to me, "Go on dear." I decide not to point out that I had already finished speaking.
"Sorry Beth." Father says, before turning to me as well.
With the attention of both my parents and a stifling silence surrounding the dinner table, I guess I have to say something. "Can we watch the Report tonight?" I ask. We don't usually watch that, instead spending the evenings by ourselves.
"Why?" Mum asks. I shrug, not feeling like explaining. "Sure, it could be nice." Key word could. It never is in my house.
Delia looks up from her phone, "I have plans. I'm meeting some friends at the mall." She says, twisting a strand of her golden brown hair around her index finger.
"Do you want me to drive you?" Father asks. Delia makes a noncommittal noise, flicking her hands. She was never one to cement to a plan too early. My guess was she was going to try and see if one of her friends could pick her up. "Is that a yes or a no?" Father repeats.
"Ugh. Yeah. You can drive me." As if she's doing him a favor by letting him drive her to the mall. Good for her.
"Great. What time do you want to leave?"
"Can we go now?" Delia asks, standing up from her seat. She's already dressed in a cropped sweatshirt and leggings.
Father looks at Mum for approval. She makes a shooing gesture. "Let me grab my keys." He says.
"Wait, Delia, can I have your sushi?" I ask, eyeing her half full plate. I like avocado rolls more than I do the salmon Father had ordered for me. Something he would have known if he actually bothered to ask. Sure, I ate -or at least picked at- the salmon, but I would really prefer to eat something I actually liked for dinner over something that I tolerated.
Delia pushes the plate over to me, "Go ahead. I'm not that hungry."
"Thanks."
Once Father and Delia are out the door, Mum turns to me. "So, now that he's gone, tell me about your last week." Mum is well aware of my distaste of engaging in conversation with Father, feelings that I presume she shares on occasion. You would think that a failed divorce would lead to them hating each other, but somehow it only simmered to a mild dislike.
"They were fine. I don't know, I had two tests. I got pretty good grades on both of them. What do you want to hear about?" I ask.
"Is university really that boring for you? Maybe you should have gone to a province school over a pseudo-ivy. No matter though. I saw the pictures of you and Carolynn last week. That was messy. I thought you knew better then that. You really need to be more careful." Mum scolds lightly. Not another lecture on this. I already put up with my roommate cracking jokes about it all week. "Help me carry the plates into the kitchen?" She stands, taking two plates from the table.
I grab the other two and follow her to the kitchen. "I wouldn't worry about that for much longer." I remark as I place them on the marble counter.
Mum looks at me quizzically. "I'm sorry?"
I shake my head quickly. "Nothing, I mean...just...never mind. I'll explain later."
Mum presses her lips together, clearly not happy with my answer. "Does this have anything to do with your mysterious desire to watch the Report tonight?"
"Maybe."
Mum's clearly not happy with my answer, but I can't blame her. I just didn't feel like sharing right now. Mum glances at the time on her phone, probably deciding that it wasn't worth pressuring me to talk to her when she would just find out in 10 minutes anyway. Smart choice on her part. I wouldn't have said anything just out of sheer pertinacity. "The show starts at 7, do you want me to pour us some wine?"
I look up at her in surprise, "My birthday isn't till next month."
Mum waves her hand in disregard of my statement. "Oh please. You're 20, that's old enough to drink in most places. It's not as if you haven't had alcohol before." I don't think I've ever heard a parent -other than mine, of course- try to justify having their offspring drink illegally before, but what more could I expect? Neither my mum nor my father are in the running for parent of the year.
"Not in Illéa." I point out, raising an eyebrow. Unlike many of my peers, I actually followed the laws when it came to parties. I didn't need another reason for my family to try and disown me.
Mum seems utterly unimpressed, but shrugs. "Alright, ice cream then?"
"Sure. I'll take vanilla." I reply, putting the dishes into the silver washer.
Mum hands me the glass dish of ice cream, taking a glass of wine for herself before following me to our sparsely used living room. The white leather couch was as pristine as the day it arrived in my house, and as much as I would love to tell myself it's due to our cleaning lady, I'm not that big a moron. I pick up the remote, changing it to channel 1, otherwise known as the Government Network.
At precisely 7pm, the Illéan flag flashes across the screen, accompanied by the national anthem. Personally, I thought it was a bit gloomy, but the Queen never asked for my opinion on the matter. Lindsay Holten, the pretty, blond, A-list host greets the viewers like she does every time. She was nice on the few occasions I spoke to her. All things considered, she was good at her job. She was new in the grand scheme of things but she had been hosting for as long as I had been watching the show.
Admittedly, that wasn't a very long time, but still.
"You wanted to watch this?" Mum murmured in my ear as some financial analyst droned on about quarterly reports.
"Just wait."
Finally, after nearly half an hour passed, Lindsay changed topics, inviting Carolynn to the cusp of the stage.
"Princess Carolynn, I've been privy to some very exciting information. Now, would you like to share or should I?" Lindsay asks.
Carrie takes a moment to smile. She had changed into a frilly white dress, dripping with lace and ruffles. She had tied the front sections of her hair back, the rest of her dark curls framing her face. "Of course I want to be the one to tell the country." She giggled at the end of her sentence.
"The suspense is killing me." Linday faux-complains.
Carrie faced the cameras, smiling broadly. "Illéa, believe me, I've seen the papers and the magazines, all wondering when I'm going to find love. Unfortunately for you, I don't have a precise date, however I can say that I am going to be looking. And we all know how I'm going to do that." She pauses for dramatic effect, "A selection."
I'm fairly sure that the sound of applause in the studio is genuine, not generated by a computer audio. The sound resonates through the living room as Mum leans over to me, "Did you know about this?" She asks, her voice laced with suspicion and concern.
No point in lying. "Yes."
Mum hums for a second, "I don't like this idea." She says firmly.
I don't like many of the things my parents do, but I never comment on them. Quite hypocritical when you come to think of it. "It's not up to you."
"I don't want you to get hurt." Mum tells me. Ridiculous. It's a televised competition, the royal equivalent of a reality television show. No one's gotten seriously injured in a selection for over a century. Unless of course she wasn't referring to my physical wellbeing. Oh. To be fair, that thought had occurred to me too. I knew it was a serious possibility. That Carrie might find someone else. She was being presented with 34 other men squabbling for her attention. It hurt to even think about her falling in love with a guy from Denbeigh or Carolina, but if that's what she wanted I was in no position to argue. Life comes with rejection.
"I don't care." I say simply. "I'm trying to listen." Mum shakes her head, but doesn't say anything further. I had missed many of the finer details, though I suppose I could always ask about it later. Carrie was talking about the selection process now.
"Envelopes will be picked live on the Report in one week's time, and the selected will be arriving on the 16th. The competition will be opened to those identifying as male, between the ages of 18 to 24. Forms will be mailed to every household that reports having someone meeting these qualifications, but if you don't receive one by Monday, don't worry! Your local province service office will have plenty of extras. This is also where you go to drop off the form, and if you'd like, you can take a picture. That's by no means required, but I would love to see a photo before you arrive at the palace. I am so excited to see who fate chooses for me."
Fate.
That was an interesting choice of word, especially considering that at least one (I wasn't about to make assumptions about the rest of the selected) wasn't going to be fate at all. Rather, it would be pre-chosen. No other boy from Angeles even had a shot.
How many of them were going to fill out an application not knowing that they had a better chance of getting struck by lightning then going to the palace.
I swallow back the guilt rising in my throat, realizing belatedly that Mum had said something "-know about this?"
"Hm?" I ask.
Mum huffs, clearly not very happy with my lack of attention. "Does your dad know about this?" I bite my lip at her use of the word dad, but I ignore it. It's not worth getting upset.
"Why would I? Do you honestly think I would talk to him out of my own free will?" I study my fingers as I talk.
Mum must see the validity in my words because she shrugs. "Good luck then, I guess."
Not that I need it.
A/N: So, just for a quick update schedule, it's probably going to be once a week till I get all the submissions that way I don't end up at the introductions with only three boys submitted. That would be awkward. In November, updates will probably be twice a week. I'm aiming for Mondays and Fridays but it might be more like Tuesdays and Saturdays depending on how my week goes.
Anyway, for all those who submitted, thank you so much. I love all these characters. If you're still planning on submitting though, mayhaps we could try to move away from names that start with an N. I've gotten a lot of those. Reservations are still open, the form is in my bio and you can check the list of reserved provinces there too.
I hope everyone had a great week, see you next Monday!
