Chapter Two
Percy
"Excuse me, sir?" Grover, damn him, turns the lights of my bedroom on. I glare at him and toss a pillow over my head. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Jackson, but it's your father. He's asked me to wake you."
I poke my head out from under the pillow. The clock says 9:30. It's too early, but I've learned to come when my father calls. Which, granted, is not very often, but when it happens it's important. "Give me twenty minutes." Presentation is important when it comes to him. Pajamas are only acceptable for the privacy of one's bedroom or on Christmas morning. I begin to get out of bed and start to head towards the bathroom to shower when Gover stops me.
"He says it's urgent, sir, and to not bother changing." Okay then.
I toss on a pair of sweats and follow Grover to the dining room. My feet tap lightly on the marble floors of the hallway as I make my way to the entrance hall. The dining room is to the left, and I'm greeted by the sight of my father sitting at the head of the long table meant for twenty people. He clears his throat and gestures for me to sit at the other end of the table. I sit.
"Thank you, Grover. You're excused." Grover bows and retreats into the shadows.
"Percy. We have a very pressing matter to discuss."
"Am I in trouble?" I can't help but ask. He's been on my case lately about putting the music down and starting to take life seriously. To learn how to run the company, not play air guitar.
He chuckles. "No. It's about... You settling down." I hold back rolling my eyes. He's not on this spiel again, is he? Dad takes a breath and continues. "Percy, I've let you run free for far too long. You haven't shown interest in marriage, so I've taken matters into my own hands." Oh gods. What is this leading up to? When I don't respond, he continues. "You're betrothed-"
"What?!" I protest loudly. "You can't be serious!"
"Perseus Jackson. My word is final in this house. Listen to me, young man. No more interruptions." When it's clear that I won't be interrupting, he continues some more. "She's a lovely girl. Annabeth Chase, from California. She'll be arriving next week, and you'll be married in September."
He's got to be kidding. I have no desire to marry some strange girl. Why California? What's so special about her? What's so wrong with music?
My thought train is stopped when Dad says one last phrase. "Make her feel welcome, Percy. She'll be your wife, and she's practically alone in a strange place."
She doesn't have to come to the strange place. She can stay home. She doesn't have to be my wife. So many thoughts I want to say, but I can't. The conversation is over when Lotta, the head kitchen maid, announces that breakfast is served. And I can only stare at the condensation slowly dripping down my glass of orange juice, internally screaming at the unjustness of it all.