Chapter 6 #2
After winding through the quaint city, I was captivated by the beauty of the quiet countryside.
Fresh powdery snow covered the rolling hills, and in the distance, I could make out picturesque mountain peaks covered with lush pine trees.
I cracked my window, and the smell of pine and snow flooded the SUV. It was breathtaking.
As we turned into a long drive, Vince buzzed through an ornate wrought-iron gate leading to an immaculate manor. I could tell that in the spring the gray stone walls would be covered in ivy and imagined that the sizable fountain out front must be magnificent when the weather was warm.
“Here we are,” Vince announced.
“This is your house?” It was a far cry from the split-level I had grown up in in Michigan.
“Well, it’s my family’s home. I live here with my brother, Bronson.”
“It’s beautiful.” I stared at the three-story house growing bigger as we rounded the long cobblestone drive. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that this would be my own home for the next several weeks.
Vince parked the car. I paused.
“Vince, you seem like a really nice guy. And I really appreciate you sponsoring me. But I have to ask, in your honest opinion, do you actually think I have a chance? Because I can’t picture Prince Oliver wanting to marry some American waitress when he has the opportunity to marry someone…like him.”
Vince stopped from where he had been about to open the driver’s-side door and turned to me. He took my hands in his own.
“You want my honest opinion? I believe you are exactly what he needs. Someone who doesn’t have an ulterior agenda.
Someone who can remind him what it is like to be human, not just sovereign.
It has been a long time since I have seen him as relaxed as he was in New York—thanks in large part, I believe, to you.
He was just a man, not a man with the weight of a country on his shoulders. ”
I didn’t know what to make of that. Vince was being genuine, that I could tell. But I needed time to digest what he’d said.
I turned to see an older man in a tailored suit walking toward us from the manor’s arched entrance. He opened my door as Vince stepped out of the driver’s side.
“Mr. Alexander. It’s a pleasure to see you, sir.” The man nodded to Vince.
“Levin, it’s always good to see you as well. I’d like to introduce you to our guest.” Vince rounded the SUV and held his hand out to assist me. “This is Bernadette Hamilton.”
“Oh, please call me Birdie,” I said, reaching out to shake Levin’s hand.
Levin politely took my hand. I made a mental note to ask Vince how I was supposed to greet people, as it felt like a handshake wasn’t it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hamilton. If you’d like to follow me inside, we can get you to your room.”
“Sounds great.”
I followed Vince and Levin through the magnificent French doors and was greeted by a large, curving staircase.
On the second step stood a man who had to be Vince’s brother, and while the family resemblance was clear, his face lacked the warmth of Vince’s.
He appeared to be several years older than Vince’s late twenties; his black hair was speckled with gray and starting to thin.
He wore a pinstriped suit with a purple pocket square peeking out from the chest pocket, and his immaculately polished black shoes reflected the light from the crystal chandelier and the white marble floor.
He was exactly what I had pictured when I thought of someone from a noble house.
“Birdie, this is my brother, Lord Bronson Alexander. Bronson, this is Birdie Hamilton,” Vince introduced.
“Birdie?” Bronson asked, raising his eyebrows. He said my name as if it tasted sour on his tongue.
I held back my handshake this time. “It’s short for Bernadette.” I wasn’t sure why I was so quick to correct him, but Bronson had a presence about him that demanded order and manners.
“Mmm,” he responded, lips pursed. “Welcome to Lexington Manor. I will show you to your room. Vincent will spend some time preparing you for tomorrow’s gala. We clearly have our work cut out for us.” His muddy brown eyes narrowed as he glanced me up and down.
“Bronson, don’t be rude.” Vince’s voice was clipped, a tone I had yet to hear from him.
Bronson turned sharply to his brother. “I would never be rude. I am simply stating the obvious. We must prepare the American if she is going to contend for a royal heart.”
I bristled at his use of “the American” as though I was not standing right in front of him.
As Bronson turned and we climbed the stairs, I took notice of the family portraits lining the wall.
Generation after generation of Alexanders stood frozen in time, posed in their frames with dour expressions on their faces, the family sigil featuring a silver wolf with its teeth bared marked in the corner.
The clear legacy here in this house and this country was jarring to me.
No doubt there was a book somewhere here detailing every birth, death, and marriage in this family going back hundreds of years.
Meanwhile, I could barely remember the names of all my great-grandparents.
And they are just a noble family, not even a royal one, I thought.
Prince Oliver must be able to recite his family tree going back to Adam and Eve.
Yet again, feelings of inferiority swept over me.
I was an outsider; no matter how hard I tried or how much Vince tried to prepare me, I was sure to make an idiot of myself. And the prince didn’t deserve that.
But you’re here now. You can’t exactly turn back at this point without looking like a total ass, I reminded myself as we came to a spacious landing, with wide hallways stretching out on either side. Make the best of it. Someday you can tell your kids and grandkids about this.
Bronson stopped in front of a set of double doors, opening them to a large, high-ceilinged room.
A carved four-poster bed stood against the wall to our left.
A white duvet was laid over it like a cloud, with fur-lined throw pillows and a delicate blanket arranged perfectly.
Across the room, a large mirror stood in the corner next to a velvet loveseat and armchair.
A writing desk sat between two of the large windows.
An open door led into what looked to be a spacious ensuite bathroom.
“I hope this will suffice for your stay,” said Vince.
“This is my room?” I asked. It’s bigger than my entire apartment back home!
“Yes. This is where you will be staying while you are here,” Bronson quipped. “Now, if you don’t mind, I will let Clarence know that we are ready to begin.”
I tore my eyes from the beautiful room and turned to Bronson. “Start what? Who is Clarence?”
“You need to be fitted for your formal dresses. Clarence will be assisting with this. And you will certainly need a lesson on our customs and etiquette.”
I knew I was about to piss him off, but I couldn’t help myself. I turned on my best New Yorker accent. “What, are you sayin’ there’s something wrong with the way I dress?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Bronson replied, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. He turned sharply on his heel and strode out of the room.
“Don’t mind him, Birdie.” Vince sounded tired.
“He doesn’t respond well to humor, does he?”
“That he does not.” Vince smiled. “Given how well I know Oliver, Bronson entrusted me to choose the woman we would sponsor. But now that I have chosen an American, he is feeling the pressure and, per usual, questioning everything I do.”
“The pressure?”
“To have you be chosen. You may have picked up on this, but Bronson is hyper fixated on image and status. He feels that the positive press and accolades that would come from assisting in finding our queen would be a boon to our family legacy.”
I flushed, realizing that there was more riding on my being there than I had previously thought. I hadn’t considered the ways in which my participation in this nonsense could affect Vince and his family, even if I personally might not understand them.
Our conversation was cut short as Bronson reentered the room, followed by a short, squat man in a green velvet jacket and four lithe assistants. The man in the velvet jacket introduced himself with a flourish as Clarence. “I will be helping you to stun the prince.”
Before I knew it, the assistants were unfolding a screen and rolling in racks of gowns.
One by one, dresses were shoved into my hands as I was shuffled behind the screen to change.
Some dresses elicited a furrowed brow and a shake of the head from Clarence, while others prompted a quick snap of his fingers, leading the assistants to adjust hemlines, mark where the bodices needed to be taken in or let out, and, at more than one point, adjust my cleavage to their apparent liking.
When I had tried on what felt like a hundred dresses, Clarence approached, pulling my chestnut hair out of its ponytail. It fell just past my shoulders. He inspected the ends, then peered closely at my face.
“Well. At least we don’t have any split ends to contend with, although those eyebrows need some cleaning up.” He snapped his fingers again, and I was rushed into a chair, where I received an eyebrow wax and had some kind of mud mask applied to my face.
Now I know how Mia Thermopolis felt, I thought.
Bronson and Vince, who had disappeared while I was poked and prodded and pinned, returned as one of the assistants finished wiping the mask from my face.
“Bernadette. Are you familiar with any of the royal customs? Have you ever met royalty before?” Bronson asked.
“I once spotted Beyoncé at a Starbucks in Brooklyn, does that count?”
Bronson rolled his eyes. Vince let a half-grin slide across his face, his dimple appearing.