I spent my holiday at my grandmother's villa.
Unlike what you'd expect, I didn't spend my time having fun or relaxing. My holidays were filled with training and lessons to refine and polish my so-called skills. Grandmother's only business with me was making sure I didn't let down the image of The Rayners' Legitimate Daughter — the perfect, youthful, modern aristocrat.
Her words, not mine.
Every day was a repeating cycle of early morning etiquette classes, afternoons spent revising public speaking and posture, and evenings buried in thick books about diplomacy and graceful behavior. They even had me practicing walking up and down the grand hallway in heels, balancing a book on my head — okay, they didn't do that last bit.
Some days, it felt like they were grooming me to be a museum exhibit: observe the perfect young lady in her natural habitat.
After the "proposal" at the start of the holidays, relations between my family and the Helms skyrocketed. They only needed a figurehead, it seems. Now, everyone acts as though we're one big happy family. Grandmother even gave her approval. Yay!
(That's sarcasm, in case you're wondering.)
I haven't exchanged a single text with my 'boyfriend' since the day of the proposal — not to mention seeing or talking to him. Not my fault, though. I don't even have his contact information. And come on, it would be weird if your friend asked you for her boyfriend's number. What would I even say? Hey, random friend, can you give me my boyfriend's number? No, we've never spoken before, why do you ask?
Of course, I could get his number if I really tried, but hey, I'm not doing that. Not out of spite or anything.
Besides, what would I even text him? Good morning, Your Highness? Or maybe: Hello, stranger I seem to be betrothed to. Seen any good family merger contracts lately?
Honestly, the whole thing felt like a bad joke that had gone way too far.
"Kath?"
My daydream broke apart at the sound of my big brother's voice. Raymond Rayner — aka Ray Square — stood in the doorway, frowning like he'd been watching me spiral into madness for a while now.
He gave me a worried look.
"Are you okay?"
"Of course…" Not! But I can't exactly say that out loud, can I? I pulled my lips into the best polite smile I could manage.
Raymond didn't look convinced.
"Did you hear a thing I said?"
Rule one of being a perfect modern aristocrat: avoid awkward silences. Rule two? Fake it till you make it.
"No." What? Honesty is the best policy.
Raymond let out a short, amused breath, shaking his head.
"I found you the tutor you asked for," he said.
I blinked. I asked for a tutor?
"The one for literary writing?"
Oh. Right.
"Oh, come on, Raymond! Just say no if you don't want to help me. What am I supposed to learn in two weeks?"
My voice rose a bit sharper than I intended. Stress? Probably.
I almost felt a flicker of excitement for a second there. School was resuming in two weeks. Am I supposed to find the time to come all the way here for lessons?
"Hey, don't snap at me, Kath," Raymond said, holding up his hands in surrender. His grin softened the scolding. "You're the one who asked, remember?"
I rubbed my forehead, feeling the dull throb of frustration pressing behind my eyes.
I did love writing. But the perfectionist mentality that had been drilled into me kept me from feeling satisfied with anything I wrote. Every sentence felt wrong. Every poem felt shallow. So, in a moment of weakness (or maybe desperation), I asked for a tutor — or someone, anyone — who could guide me.
Grandmother thought it was a complete waste of time. Fiction and poetry? Even worse: learning how to write them.
Dad, on the other hand, had said he'd think about it. I was almost certain he'd use it as a way to compensate me. I thought of it as my small reward for helping his business boom so tremendously this time. But nope. Instead, I got a limited-edition handbag as a gift. Apparently, that's all my sacrifice was worth.
"He has written a few bestsellers, and goes to your school," Raymond added.
That almost confused me — but then it hit me. My heart skipped a beat. Someone from my school also meant less of Grandmother's tips and advice.
RAYMOND!!!
"You can continue till you want…" Raymond started, but I was already halfway across the room, flinging myself into his arms. Well, don't I have the best big brother ever?
"Thank you so much!! Do I know this person?"
"I don't think so," he said, grinning cheekily. "Doesn't seem like the type you'd hang out with. He's very calm."
"Calm, huh?" I rolled my eyes at him. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
Raymond's grin only widened.
"Nothing. Just… you'll see."
"Raymond!" I protested, swatting his arm. But my curiosity had already taken the bait.
"Okay, let me give you his contact," he said, fishing out his phone.
I fetched mine too, unlocking it, but just as I did, my eyes snagged on a message from an unknown number.
'Let's meet on Saturday. I'll pick you up by 1. Wear something you'll feel comfortable being photographed in.'
I paused. It didn't take much thinking to figure out who it was.
THE AUDACITY!!