20th ♕

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20th

Bridge,

Helloooo

This sounds excessively formal, but it still turned out that I couldn't tell you in person. On your behalf, I'd try to use proper everything. I mean, I'm really fond of small caps for some reason. I have the tendency... inclination... invitation...or yeah, I tend to do that all the time.

So I kind of used these expensive looking papers I had found on your desk while waiting for you to come out of your meeting with the others. You know, the ones working in the palace, who also dresses almost the same way as you do. Black everything. Only that they sometimes wear skirts and you hate it and stick to slacks.

And yes, your extra fountain pen. I'm also using that. I'm kind of asking for permission while writing this. There are no other plain papers or pens on your desk, so I'm really sorry if this paper will turn out to be an all-exclusive paper for important things and the fountain pen to have an ink that costs more than my life. I only took two pieces of paper, and I'm telling you that just in case you're counting the exclusive papers them. I promise to conserve the ink of your pen to a certain degree, because I keep on blabbing away my nervousness. Sorry.

And the meeting's taking a long time (and I'm trying not to think on a paranoidal level that it's about me... for now), so here I am scribbling this very important news, before Jack will drive me home. I heard from the one who got out of the meeting room to go to the bathroom that you guys weren't even half done with the agendas. You gave me a weekend off. Just a quick note and to let you know why I'm in a hurry. Okay, I'm not. Blunt truth: thinking of telling you this is frightening me enough to piss my pants (or dress, 'cause there's Lenora and Co. And yup, I'm wearing this white lace kind of dress since this morning and it's itchy.). But don't worry, I'm not pissing on your leather chair right now. Or Lenora's dress. I swear. If you find a piss here, ask Jack about that cat loitering around the palace and doing supernatural acrobatics to get in and out upon will.

I'm also going to give this note to Jack to pass to you later. Yes, Jack knows. And Art. You're the third one to know, and I'm not going to count after that.

Please do not freak out. Take a deep breath first. This is huge. You will hate me. Okay, here goes. Bridge, I have a weird family. It was not as simple as I'd told everyone before. Like Mom and Dad and me simple. I have a different biological mother. She's not the one I'd put on the form. But she's my legal mother.... the one on the form.

Everything's only partially true. I was embarrassed at how I'd sound, so I didn't mention this at first. I really wanted this job. Like, badly. I didn't want to make a big deal out of my life before, since I thought it would only be temporary anyway. If it's up to me, I never wanted to let the public know about this side of my life. It's not pretty and I'm kind of ashamed of who I am and the story behind my life.

I just wanted to keep these things to myself and have a job for a while. I just never thought of the people who would get close to me along the way. In the end, it was really selfish and cowardly of me, but I only did it to survive. Sometimes, it takes a bit of those in order to do so. Still, somehow, even if it's a little bit late, I want to start making things right.

A quick breakdown of my origin/family tree:

A. Biological Mother + Dad = Me

B. Biological Mother met Roger (stepdad, sort of) = marriage = twins (my half-brothers)

C. Dad got me back from Biological Mother and then he met Hannah (legal awesome mom now) = marriage = my current family

Okay, that's the summary for now. I will explain everything to you in details, but I really have to be home by ten thirty this morning. Because guess what? We'd, as in all these complicated people, all have lunch together (minus Roger). Yup, in a few hours.

And the time the news came to me (about this lunch) and now wasn't enough to let me come up with a plan on how to avoid the reporters. The few ones around our house, and you know, biological mother and the twins and I are going to the zoo later. So a herd of them would probably appear....... i'm sorry. :(

I only have two choices now: tell my biological mother what's going on 'cause she still doesn't know that I'm actually the princess-in-training. The newspaper is not where she usually checks with her daughter. That (which is going to be disastrous and I'll tell you why later) or I'll freakin go to the zoo and let the reporters eat me alive. But I pity the twins. I'm sure the flashes of lights from the cameras will drive them to tears. So I'm most probably going to tell my biological mother and Dad the news. Yes, they both don't know about it yet.

I never thought I'd be chosen. And when I did, I never thought I'd last. And now this. I dunno what to do anymore and I'm confused.

I'm making this letter to warn you before everything get wild. If in the end, I will be disqualified, I want you to know that I'm more than willing to oblige. Public apology and everything, I'd do that. I have to.

I know I've failed you in many ways. And one more thing I'm sorry about is for thinking so less of myself and making the same mistake you did before. Why do we do that, Bridge? Why are we the ones who always push ourselves down before anyone could? Why do we always fire the first bullet, pointing it right back at us?

Bridge, I wish I could have been more confident about myself. To embrace who I am and never be ashamed of it. I wish I did. Because now I've realized that what my friend, Pete, said to me before was true. There's nothing wrong with who I am. As I closely look at the world and open my eyes, I've come to see that everyone got a story to tell and it's not always pleasant. In fact, perfect lives round close to zero percent. Nobody has it.

And that I'm not unlovable as I thought I was. Hannah, my dad's wife and my mom, loves me then and even now. Only in this search did I truly realize that, as I put things together and think about them as a whole. That not because I've been rejected by a jerk before or that my parents aren't the best example of people who fall in love, it doesn't mean that I should generalize the population. That there are a few good guys out there. And I'm sorry for hurting one of them. You specifically told me not to hurt Art, but I still did. As a consequence of my actions.

I'm sorry.

Hope you forgive me,

Georgiette

♔~♕

They said that foreseeing things before they actually happened was a bad thing. Like you were dictating destiny, and in return, it would shake its head at you in disagreement. But for a million times now, I'd always seen this coming.

How to Make a Disaster

Ingredients:

1 Biological Mom

1 Biological Dad

2 Half-brothers (the twins)

1 Mom

1 Offspring in between all this (me)

Procedure:

Meet for lunch.

"You look good, Frank," Mom no. 1 said, as we were, supposedly, having a peaceful lunch. There. She hit the warning sirens. This hour couldn't even fast forward any quicker.

"Thanks," Dad subtly replied, clearing his throat. I stole a glance at Mom no. 2. She was clearly wishing the same thing as me, as she was insipidly slicing the roasted into pieces.

I was looking for the right moment to break the news to the two. Like tell them, 'Surprise! You have a princess-in-training daughter! And this is not a reality TV!' But I didn't think I should do it in the middle of Mom no. 1 flirtatious actions, which were blatantly directed towards my dad.

"Is that a new shirt?" Mom no. 1 pursued. How would she even know that? They hadn't seen each other for years.

"No," Dad replied, dismissively. "Hannah bought it for me."

Mom no. 1 said, "You have a great taste, Hannah. He loves that kind of design. Typical rock guy shirt."

"He picked it himself," Mom no. 2 replied.

"At least he helps with the errands." Mom no. 1 laughed.

I muttered, "That was hardly a chore."

"What is it you were saying, Georgey?" Mom no. 1, unfortunately, heard my mumble.

"Nothing relevant," I replied.

"I also like what you did with your hair, Georgey," Mom no. 1 said to me, wiping her mouth with her handkerchief.

"My hair?"

"It looks good. What shampoo do you use? And it's probably the first time I see you wearing it down," she added.

"Oh, this? It's nothing. It's quite chilly today." I held up a bunch of it. Dad threw me a quizzical look. Yeah, sweats were beading down my back and all. We only had one ceiling fan, and I forgot to tie my hair up. It was still blow dried from this morning, explaining the tidiness.

"It's summer. Do you have a fever, honey?" Mom no. 1 asked.

"Nope!" I said, excitedly again. Pulling all my hair to one side and fanning my face, I added, "I'm also starting to feel the humidity, too."

"Shall we open the windows?" Mom no. 1 said, standing up from her seat.

"No!" Mom no. 2 and I said at the same time, and we both stood on our feet. Alert, more than ever.

Of course, Mom no. 1 would be startled. "Oh, okay."

"That one's broken. It will fall off..." I scratched the back of my neck. "...if we open it."

"Yes, we don't want it falling and startling the neighbors," Mom no. 2 backed up my story. "Let's just eat lunch without opening the windows."

"Of course, we don't want to startle the neighbors," Mom no. 1 said, taking a seat again.

"It's all right," Mom no. 2 chanted.

Mom no. 2 and I clearly avoided looking at each other, and it was good that nobody seemed to give our distressed reactions another meaning. Dad kept on eating without saying a word. The twins were still sleeping in the living room, and we didn't wake them up.

"Frank, why don't you fix it later?" Mom no. 1 suggested. I thought we were through with the window affair. Should I break the windows for good? But the reporters would feast if I'd do so. We kept the windows tightly shut this morning and put thick curtains like some hobbits hiding from the world.

"It's okay. The weather will get better in the afternoon. We have another fan, let me just get it." Mom no. 2 stood up and went to their bedroom. First escape. She would take a while there, and I could only envy the unaccompanied time she was extravagantly having.

"Where did you sleep yesterday?" Dad asked me all of a sudden.

"Hmm?" I should try another punch line if I wanted to prolong the moment.

"Your boyfriend's place?"

My drinking a glass of water moment was off timing. So I ended up coughing. Mom no. 1 gave me her handkerchief. I took it, wiping my mouth. "No, I didn't sleep there."

Lie.

My boyfriend's place was very huge and they had more than a hundred rooms. But each room could stand alone as an apartment, so it wasn't really that much of a lie. Just a bit. Or insanity, in other words.

"Pete's?"

"Is that another guy?" Mom no. 1 interjected.

"Her best friend," Dad explained.

"A guy?" Mom no. 1 looked as if she couldn't believe it.

"Yeah, why? I don't think there's a problem with that," I told her, defensively.

She held her hands up. "Okay. It's just I was thinking of this other best friend of yours who's a girl. I forgot her name. You were always with her before."

"I'm not friends with her anymore," I mumbled.

"Oh, too bad," Mom no. 1 replied.

"So where were you last night, then?" Dad kept on asking.

"Pete's?" I sounded excessively unsure.

"With the guy best friend?" Mom no. 1 had a coy smile on her face. "I smell something there."

"Okay," Dad said, leaving it at that.

"What did your boyfriend say about that?" Mom no. 1 had the most uneasy questions.

"He was fine with it," I said, stabbing a piece of chicken.

"No tension between the best friend and the boyfriend?" she asked.

"Nope."

"You should bring your boyfriend sometime," Dad said.

"Yes! Bring your boyfriend here next time," Mom no. 1 agreed. Could I get another fan? I had a small one in my room. Mom no. 2, like expected, was surely taking her time. She must probably be laughing behind their bedroom door.

Dad looked at me. "What's his name again?"

I froze.

"She's blushing. Look how grown-up she is now. A few weeks ago, she swore she didn't have time for this. But look at her. So in love." Mom no. 1 stared in amazement and delight.

"His name's Art...hur," I said, settling for a longer name. I should be telling them that I was the princess-in-training, and now seemed to be a good way to introduce the news. But no, I kept on going around in circles. It was like breaking the news to strangers, and I didn't know where to start and what to say.

"How old is he?" Mom no. 1 asked.

"Nineteen," I replied.

"His name sounds old, though," she replied. "Where does he live?"

Face palm.

"Around here," I said. This interrogation would be promptly through if I'd only say that he was actually the prince of the kingdom. His name sounded old because he was most likely named after a guy in history. He lived in the palace, and the place was hard to miss. What else? He was nineteen and was looking for his princess. Which brought us to me. I had won the search.

"What do his parents do?"

And I didn't even have to elaborate that one.

"They, um... work... in, um, politics," I struggled with the words.

Mom no. 2 got out of the bedroom and plugged in the said electric fan. She had this amused smile on her face, and I could only imagine her enjoying this situation a lot. She took her seat again, going back to idly slicing the roasted chicken on her plate.

"Hannah, Georgey is telling us about her boyfriend. Have you met him before?" Mom no. 1 asked no. 2.

Mom no. 2 looked up. "Yes, I did."

"So what's he like?"

"Handsome and kind."

Mom no. 1 couldn't hide her joy. "Was he polite to you?"

"Very," Mom no. 2 replied, grinning.

"You should focus on your studies first, George," Dad said, disagreeing with the two.

"I will."

"But you should let me meet the guy sometime," Dad still said.

The said boyfriend was eager to meet the family as well, actually. "Sure. I'll tell him."

Mom no. 1 frowned. "But I wouldn't be here. Can't he come here today?"

"He's very busy," I told her.

"Speaking of busybodies, I saw a royal security personnel and a black limousine parked a little from here. You won't believe how huge the guy is. He looked very professional with the earpiece and radio," Mom no. 1 told us. "I bet he has a gun, too."

Jack.

"Really? I wonder if one of the royal family members is around here," Dad said, giving it a thought.

My palms were sweating by now.

"I saw around five of—"

Then the doorbell rang.

Mom no. 2 and I looked at each other, astounded. We didn't know who that was. He could be the neighbor, or he could be a reporters. Ringing our door. They'd never done that, because that would be trespassing. And Jack was standing on guard. He would have texted me. But, who knew?

I looked at my phone and saw that the battery was dead.

Shit.

"I'll get it," Mom no. 1 volunteered.

"No! I'll get it! I—" I was so fast that I was standing at the door—past my sleeping half-brothers—in less than three seconds, leaving all of them stunned at the crowded dining table. Reassuring them, I said, "It's okay. I'll take it. I'm always eager to get the door, you know?"

Taking a deep breath, I'd decided that this couldn't get worse and I had to unbolt the door before anyone else could. I had no more time to think.

When I opened the door, our visitor greeted me with a wide grin. "Hi."

"What are you doing here?" This couldn't be happening. I knew he wanted to come, because he said he would help me explain. Lowering my voice, I added, "I told you not to come."

"This is me treasuring our remaining moments together," Art replied.

"Ugh." Why did his brain function like this? No was sometimes a real no.

"After our love confession, you don't want me anymore, no?" Art said with a smirk.

"Hate you," I muttered under my breath.

"I brought you flowers." He handed me a bouquet that he was hiding behind his back.

"I told you, I don't want flowers. This is not a cemetery," I insisted.

"It's an act of love, earmuffs." Art pinched my nose.

I moved back. "I'd never get used to this."

"It takes practice. Stop staring at me like that. It's true. You'd eventually stop... hmm, looking this repulsive," Art said slowly. "You'll make the flowers go in a forced drought."

"Fine. Give me those flowers and please come in." I finally gave up, opening the door and giving way. When he stepped in and I was closing the door, I remembered that he might introduce himself as he was—the prince. Beat me to it by mile length. Pulling back his shirt, I stopped him from showing himself to my parents yet. Standing on my toes and dragging him back, I whispered to him, "They still don't know. I haven't started with the confession yet."

"And you can kiss my cheek while you're at it," Art teased back.

I let him go and slapped his left arm. "Seriously."

"George? Do we have..." Dad was asking from the dining room. Only a tall cabinet separated me from the rest of my disclosure. There was no turning back now.

"A visitor," I shouted back.

"Ready?" Art asked in a hushed voice.

"This is weirder than I thought it would be," I said back.

"At least you're not alone anymore," Art replied, pinching my nose again.

"Come on," I said, pushing him forward. And hiding behind him. Almost tempted to slam my head on his back out of frustration.

"Oh, it's a boy," Mom no. 1 said when she saw us, like the way the doctors announced the gender of the baby after childbirth.

"Arthur?" Mom no. 2 tried to casually say his name, but you could hear her voice trembling. Art wouldn't hold her responsible for not adding prince with that, she should really know. He wasn't ruthless.

"Arthur!" Mom no. 1 said in recognition, walking towards us. She clasped his hands in hers. "It's nice to finally meet Georgey's boyfriend!"

I saw Mom no. 2's face wince in response, and she hid her astonishment by putting her hand over her face. Nobody realized who Art was. It would have been easier if Mom no. 1 and Dad knew the princes' faces. That would cut my anxiety to more than half.

"It's nice to meet you too, ma'am." Art politely returned Mom no. 1's warm handshake.

In a moment, Art was shaking hands with everyone else in the room. Except for the twins. They were still asleep despite the noisy sounds we were making.

"So you're the boy," Dad said, decisively shaking Art's hand.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Art replied.

Dad still didn't let go of his hand. With a serious tone, Dad told him, "You better be good to my daughter. There's no or or if."

I swallowed. Nope, Dad didn't want to threaten Art like that.

Mom no. 2 came to the rescue by taking Art's hand from Dad. "Hey. Hi. I'm glad you could come."

"George told me all of you would be

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