An Excerpt from
"Engaged to a Stranger"
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As a little girl, I was fascinated by the story of Cinderella.
How did she go from being alone and depressed to a major life upgrade that included the adoration of an entire Kingdom and most importantly, the love of a smoking hot Prince who cherished her so much that he even thought her feet were perfect? Deep down, I knew it was just a fairy tale, but it gave me hope. At night, I would close my eyes and imagine myself in that major Cinderella moment, the one that changed her life. I remember telling my best friend, Jessica, about this when we were seven years old. It was one of those rare Saturdays that Mother took off work to spend a day with me, and on the weekends, spending a day with me also meant spending a day with my best friend, Jessica. So, Mother took the two of us to Belle Maison, a fancy plantation in Donaldsonville, Louisiana. The sprawling mansion had become a tourist attraction, event venue, and restaurant. It also featured a tea service that everyone who was anyone in Louisiana sampled at least once in their life. On our way to the tea service, Mother allowed Jessica and I to take a peek at the plantation’s grand ballroom, which was where wedding afterparties and other major events were held. “It looks like the staff is preparing for an event. So, you’ll have to hurry up and take a quick look,” Mother warned as we stepped into the room, the heels of our shoes tapping against the clean marble floors. Awed, Jessica and I looked up at the high ceiling, where a large, elegant chandelier hung in the middle of the room. |
“Whoa,” Jessica muttered, her one-word response to the beautiful room summing up my feelings entirely.
At the moment, a slew of Belle Maison workers were bustling about the ballroom, each clad in crisp white shirts and black pants as they scurried from one task to the next. Some were setting up tables, others were cleaning windows and doorknobs, while still others walked around with tape measure, preparing for the set-up of furniture and items that had yet to make an entrance.
I blinked, and in my imagination, the workers were gone.
Their presence was replaced by a well-dressed quartet that played a waltz and dozens of men and women on the dance floor, their movements as elegant as their clothing.
Standing just off to the side was the man of the hour, Prince Charming.
And I was no longer a seven-year-old in a floral dress from Sears.
I’d been transformed into Cinderella.
Sighing dramatically, I nudged Jessica and said, “This is where Cinderella had her moment.”
“Yeah,” Jessica said, her eyes beaming. “It looks just like it!”
“Can’t you just see it?” I asked and then pointed to the entrance we’d just used, “She walks through there and everyone in the ballroom stops talking and dancing to stare at her. And then she looks at the Prince and he looks at her and-”
“Oh, please,” Mother said with a laugh that shattered my fairy tale.
Jessica and I, plucked from the realms of fantasy and replanted in the withering garden that is reality, turned to Mother as she arched a perfectly drawn dark eyebrow at us and said, “Fairy tales are garbage. Now, tell me ladies, what kinds of creatures feed on garbage?”
Jessica and I exchanged a glance before Jessica hesitantly replied, “Um, I guess, like, rats?”
“Yes, rats.” Mother smiled at my best friend in a way that made me protectively slide my hand into Jessica’s and give hers a comforting squeeze. Even then, I recognized that my mother could be a little scary. “And, are you a rat, Jessica?”
“No, of course, she’s not,” I pipped up.
“Correct. You are refined young ladies,” Mother said. “And refined young ladies do not feed on garbage. They feed on truth, which is what helps them to blossom and grow. So, if fairy tales, like the story of Cinderella, are lies, do we want to feed on them?”
“No,” Jessica said.
I took one look at my friend’s expression and realized she was only telling Mother what she wanted to hear. Relieved, I knew Jessica and I would still be chatting about Cinderella, and maybe even watching it on the TV in my bedroom before we went to sleep that night.
I returned my attention to Mother, and she was staring at me expectantly.
Gulping, I quickly said, “No, ma’am.”
“Very good. Now, that’s why I’m going to tell you a true story, ladies,” Mother ushered us out of the ballroom and began leading us towards Belle Maison’s parlor, which was where the tea service was held. “Are you familiar with the Tale of Adelaide LeBlanc?”
I shook my head and so did Jessica.
Mother slowed her stride and as we sauntered down a narrow hallway with walls that were painted a soft blue, she touched the wall on her right and said, “It’s a true story that happened right here in this home. Adelaide touched these walls with her own hands, and walked these hallways just like you girls are right now. She grew up here.”
“Wow,” Jessica softly said. “She grew up here?”
Intrigued, I asked, “So, she was rich like a princess?”
“Yes,” Mother looked down at us and said, “But being as rich as a princess means nothing, when one is not intelligent. Adelaide learned that the hard way.”
“What happened to her?” I asked.
“Adelaide fell in love with a handsome man when she was only eighteen years old,” Mother says. “He was tall, had dark hair, beautiful dark eyes, and he was rich too. But eighteen is too young to fall in love, that was Adelaide’s first mistake. She should have waited until she was older and wiser. Because guess what happened?”
I folded my arms across my chest, beginning to dislike the direction this true story was taking. It sounded suspiciously like the things my mother would say when she was angry with my father and ranting about “the mistakes she’d made in her youthful ignorance.”
“What happened?” Jessica asked.
“This handsome man,” Mother said, coming to a halt at the end of the hallway, where the parlor’’s entrance was just ahead. We stopped with her and looked up at her as she continued with her depressing non-fairy tale, “He was the jealous type. Meaning, he didn’t like Adelaide having any other friends but him. He also didn’t want her to get an education. He just wanted her all to himself. Does that sound normal to you, girls?”
Jessica and I shook our heads, no.
Honestly, I only shook my head because if I didn’t, the story would drag on for even longer.
“But Adelaide ignored the warning signs, and when this handsome “Prince Charming” asked her to marry him, she said yes,” Mother continued. “The wedding was going to be the finest event south Louisiana had ever seen. It would be right here, in Belle Maison, in the Ballroom you girls were just in. The mayor and the governor were planning to attend. But it was a good thing their carriages were late because something horrible happened on the wedding day.”
I’ll admit, I was a bit hooked at this point.
“Horrible?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, my dear,” Mother said, looking into my eyes. “That men cannot be trusted.”
Confused, I asked, “The man she was going to marry, he did something bad?”
“Very bad,” Mother said. “On the day of the wedding, while Adelaide LeBlanc was in her room, being helped into her beautiful white wedding dress, her intended discovered that another man who’d been in love with Adelaide had been invited to their wedding. This sent him into a jealous rage.”
“Jealous rage?” Jessica repeated.
I’d never heard the phrase before either, but I could guess what it meant.
“Yes, darling,” Mother said. “He lost his mind, got a gun, and walked into the wedding venue. Then he opened fire and killed everyone in sight before turning the gun on himself.”
I gasped and Jessica covered her open mouth with her hand as tears formed in her eyes.
Mother pointed to Jessica and said, “That’s exactly how Adeladie reacted when she walked into the venue and saw the remains of the bloodbath.”
“They were all dead?” I cried.
Mother frowned and glanced around, “Lower your voice, Martha. And yes, they were all dead. And after that, do you think Adelaide was ever the same? Or, do you think her capacity to love, to make decisions, to live, was interrupted? What do you think?”
I glanced at Jessica and she was wiping tears from her eyes.
I slung my arm around her shoulder and fed Mother the answer that I thought would get her to end the terrible story, “She shouldn’t have trusted the man.”
Mother smiled, “Right. Because he ruined her life. Adelaide was never the same after that, and for the rest of her short life, she sat in Belle Maison’s drawing-room wearing her silk white wedding dress, day after day, she sat there waiting for her groom to return to her. She died, insane and unreachable when she was only 23.”
Silence sifted between the three of us as guests trickled down the hallway and into the tearoom ahead.
Mother smiled down at us and clasped her hands together as she said, “Now ladies, once again, what is the moral of that true story I just shared with you?”
“Never trust a man,” I repeated.
“Ever,” Jessica whispered.
Mother gave us a thumbs up, “Excellent. The value of truth is that it can save your life. Remember that, ladies.”
We stared at my mother, horrified.
At the moment, a slew of Belle Maison workers were bustling about the ballroom, each clad in crisp white shirts and black pants as they scurried from one task to the next. Some were setting up tables, others were cleaning windows and doorknobs, while still others walked around with tape measure, preparing for the set-up of furniture and items that had yet to make an entrance.
I blinked, and in my imagination, the workers were gone.
Their presence was replaced by a well-dressed quartet that played a waltz and dozens of men and women on the dance floor, their movements as elegant as their clothing.
Standing just off to the side was the man of the hour, Prince Charming.
And I was no longer a seven-year-old in a floral dress from Sears.
I’d been transformed into Cinderella.
Sighing dramatically, I nudged Jessica and said, “This is where Cinderella had her moment.”
“Yeah,” Jessica said, her eyes beaming. “It looks just like it!”
“Can’t you just see it?” I asked and then pointed to the entrance we’d just used, “She walks through there and everyone in the ballroom stops talking and dancing to stare at her. And then she looks at the Prince and he looks at her and-”
“Oh, please,” Mother said with a laugh that shattered my fairy tale.
Jessica and I, plucked from the realms of fantasy and replanted in the withering garden that is reality, turned to Mother as she arched a perfectly drawn dark eyebrow at us and said, “Fairy tales are garbage. Now, tell me ladies, what kinds of creatures feed on garbage?”
Jessica and I exchanged a glance before Jessica hesitantly replied, “Um, I guess, like, rats?”
“Yes, rats.” Mother smiled at my best friend in a way that made me protectively slide my hand into Jessica’s and give hers a comforting squeeze. Even then, I recognized that my mother could be a little scary. “And, are you a rat, Jessica?”
“No, of course, she’s not,” I pipped up.
“Correct. You are refined young ladies,” Mother said. “And refined young ladies do not feed on garbage. They feed on truth, which is what helps them to blossom and grow. So, if fairy tales, like the story of Cinderella, are lies, do we want to feed on them?”
“No,” Jessica said.
I took one look at my friend’s expression and realized she was only telling Mother what she wanted to hear. Relieved, I knew Jessica and I would still be chatting about Cinderella, and maybe even watching it on the TV in my bedroom before we went to sleep that night.
I returned my attention to Mother, and she was staring at me expectantly.
Gulping, I quickly said, “No, ma’am.”
“Very good. Now, that’s why I’m going to tell you a true story, ladies,” Mother ushered us out of the ballroom and began leading us towards Belle Maison’s parlor, which was where the tea service was held. “Are you familiar with the Tale of Adelaide LeBlanc?”
I shook my head and so did Jessica.
Mother slowed her stride and as we sauntered down a narrow hallway with walls that were painted a soft blue, she touched the wall on her right and said, “It’s a true story that happened right here in this home. Adelaide touched these walls with her own hands, and walked these hallways just like you girls are right now. She grew up here.”
“Wow,” Jessica softly said. “She grew up here?”
Intrigued, I asked, “So, she was rich like a princess?”
“Yes,” Mother looked down at us and said, “But being as rich as a princess means nothing, when one is not intelligent. Adelaide learned that the hard way.”
“What happened to her?” I asked.
“Adelaide fell in love with a handsome man when she was only eighteen years old,” Mother says. “He was tall, had dark hair, beautiful dark eyes, and he was rich too. But eighteen is too young to fall in love, that was Adelaide’s first mistake. She should have waited until she was older and wiser. Because guess what happened?”
I folded my arms across my chest, beginning to dislike the direction this true story was taking. It sounded suspiciously like the things my mother would say when she was angry with my father and ranting about “the mistakes she’d made in her youthful ignorance.”
“What happened?” Jessica asked.
“This handsome man,” Mother said, coming to a halt at the end of the hallway, where the parlor’’s entrance was just ahead. We stopped with her and looked up at her as she continued with her depressing non-fairy tale, “He was the jealous type. Meaning, he didn’t like Adelaide having any other friends but him. He also didn’t want her to get an education. He just wanted her all to himself. Does that sound normal to you, girls?”
Jessica and I shook our heads, no.
Honestly, I only shook my head because if I didn’t, the story would drag on for even longer.
“But Adelaide ignored the warning signs, and when this handsome “Prince Charming” asked her to marry him, she said yes,” Mother continued. “The wedding was going to be the finest event south Louisiana had ever seen. It would be right here, in Belle Maison, in the Ballroom you girls were just in. The mayor and the governor were planning to attend. But it was a good thing their carriages were late because something horrible happened on the wedding day.”
I’ll admit, I was a bit hooked at this point.
“Horrible?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, my dear,” Mother said, looking into my eyes. “That men cannot be trusted.”
Confused, I asked, “The man she was going to marry, he did something bad?”
“Very bad,” Mother said. “On the day of the wedding, while Adelaide LeBlanc was in her room, being helped into her beautiful white wedding dress, her intended discovered that another man who’d been in love with Adelaide had been invited to their wedding. This sent him into a jealous rage.”
“Jealous rage?” Jessica repeated.
I’d never heard the phrase before either, but I could guess what it meant.
“Yes, darling,” Mother said. “He lost his mind, got a gun, and walked into the wedding venue. Then he opened fire and killed everyone in sight before turning the gun on himself.”
I gasped and Jessica covered her open mouth with her hand as tears formed in her eyes.
Mother pointed to Jessica and said, “That’s exactly how Adeladie reacted when she walked into the venue and saw the remains of the bloodbath.”
“They were all dead?” I cried.
Mother frowned and glanced around, “Lower your voice, Martha. And yes, they were all dead. And after that, do you think Adelaide was ever the same? Or, do you think her capacity to love, to make decisions, to live, was interrupted? What do you think?”
I glanced at Jessica and she was wiping tears from her eyes.
I slung my arm around her shoulder and fed Mother the answer that I thought would get her to end the terrible story, “She shouldn’t have trusted the man.”
Mother smiled, “Right. Because he ruined her life. Adelaide was never the same after that, and for the rest of her short life, she sat in Belle Maison’s drawing-room wearing her silk white wedding dress, day after day, she sat there waiting for her groom to return to her. She died, insane and unreachable when she was only 23.”
Silence sifted between the three of us as guests trickled down the hallway and into the tearoom ahead.
Mother smiled down at us and clasped her hands together as she said, “Now ladies, once again, what is the moral of that true story I just shared with you?”
“Never trust a man,” I repeated.
“Ever,” Jessica whispered.
Mother gave us a thumbs up, “Excellent. The value of truth is that it can save your life. Remember that, ladies.”
We stared at my mother, horrified.
***
Sixteen years later, I am once again horrified.
I am also now 23 years old, the same age Adelaide LeBlanc was when she passed away, “insane and unreachable.”
Over the years, I’ve come to the conclusion that my mother is traumatized and bitter, a state which inaccurately informs her perception about all men being untrustworthy.
That said, I also think she was right about one thing.
Fairy tales are garbage.
I believed them and now, here I am, in Belle Maison with my fiance as he shoves a Glock 22 into my right rib cage and shouts to a room full of guests, “Stand down, or I’ll shoot her.”
My heart beating so fast it feels like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest, I stare at the man who claimed, only days ago, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.
It dawns on me that Adelaide LeBlanc and I are going to go down in history with a similar fate.
I am also now 23 years old, the same age Adelaide LeBlanc was when she passed away, “insane and unreachable.”
Over the years, I’ve come to the conclusion that my mother is traumatized and bitter, a state which inaccurately informs her perception about all men being untrustworthy.
That said, I also think she was right about one thing.
Fairy tales are garbage.
I believed them and now, here I am, in Belle Maison with my fiance as he shoves a Glock 22 into my right rib cage and shouts to a room full of guests, “Stand down, or I’ll shoot her.”
My heart beating so fast it feels like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest, I stare at the man who claimed, only days ago, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.
It dawns on me that Adelaide LeBlanc and I are going to go down in history with a similar fate.
This was the prologue of a novel that I'm currently writing, "Engaged to a Stranger."
Hopefully, the book will be completed and available on Amazon sometime within the next hundred years.
Seriously, it's taking me a while to finish writing this one, but hopefully it'll get there!
Thanks for dropping by to read my weird stories!
Hope you have a great week!
Sincerely,
Paula
Hopefully, the book will be completed and available on Amazon sometime within the next hundred years.
Seriously, it's taking me a while to finish writing this one, but hopefully it'll get there!
Thanks for dropping by to read my weird stories!
Hope you have a great week!
Sincerely,
Paula