Portrait of a Beauty

Portrait of a Beauty

Status: In Progress

Genre: Romance

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Romance

Summary

With only six months to experience her first and last taste of freedom Eve knows she will never have an opportunity like this before she is married to someone she barely knows. She has always been the quiet reserved girl, always able create artwork and beauty; but will having freedom, love and lust prove to be more harm than good.

Summary

With only six months to experience her first and last taste of freedom Eve knows she will never have an opportunity like this before she is married to someone she barely knows. She has always been the quiet reserved girl, always able create artwork and beauty; but will having freedom, love and lust prove to be more harm than good.

Chapter1 (v.1) - C'est la vie.

Author Chapter Note

The first chapters are always the hardest, I promise it'll get better ;) (hopefully)

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: September 21, 2017

Reads: 182

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: September 21, 2017

A A A

A A A

“I don’t even know why you want to go on this little…. ‘vacation of yours’.” My father said disapprovingly, stuffing his mouth with mother’s roast chicken with gravy seeping from his lips, or maybe it was wine, I wasn’t sure.

“Dad, it’s not a vacation, I’m studying; it’s going to be very beneficial for me and mark the end of my degree, the painter training me is renowned for his works and…”

“Oh darling, you must stop babbling, it’s only an art degree, how much can you really learn? I mean, anyone can paint or distinguish between oil and water colour.” My mother mused, dabbing at the corners of her mouth, the napkin tinted with her bloody lipstick. Everyone at the table hummed and giggled with amusement. I sometimes think they only made me study painting so I would become passionate and not learn anything else; well anything that would actually be of use to me in later life.

“Well… it’s not all relaxing on the beach and shopping, I’m going to be studying and learning you know.” I ‘calmly’ argued.

“Learning to do what; hold a paint brush, learning the benefits and disadvantages of painting a stroke upwards in comparison to downwards. Honestly darling your little hobby can’t be called a profession, but we’ve gone this far with you, so once you come back you can get all settled in with Owen and get married and this mess can be over, it’s been a waste of money anyways.” I almost felt like being snarky with my mother but knew no good would come out of it. Marriage… it’s such a strange word; here’s a piece of paper to seal your everlasting depression with someone who you are not angry with at the time but will be in later life but by then it is too late; it’s definitely the happily ever after that I always dreamed of.

Owen… the first and last letter spell ‘no’, I’ve always wondered if that was destiny or some higher power warning me that this is the worst decision of my life; though I had no say in it.
He never proposed; his parents and mine proposed for us. He seemed nervous when they broke the news to us; staring at the floor, I could see the sweat on his Adams apple and the marks in his hair of how he had been constantly running his fingers through it. He showed no signs of protest nor happiness at the news; rather I guess shame that it had to be me he married; the skinny freckled red-head girl who always had paint under her nails and ink splotches on her face, baggy clothes and a flat chest.

Owen had always seemed selective; wanting the girls who knew the difference between concealer and foundation and how to apply mascara without poking an eye out, the ones who wore silk and lace to display their skin like fine art to the opposite sex. Then there was me, I was like an emaciated raggedy-Anne doll with curls. Surely not what he was expecting nor hoping to be stuck with for the rest of his life.

‘You’ll learn to love each other’, they said; how can one who has never experienced love know that it will be love and not just mutual respect, or utter contempt for the other. I was sure that that the years of marriage would be a chronological clock for them; maybe after three years they would want us to breed, I wasn’t sure; in a way I knew it was somewhat for our happiness, that we would never have to go through heartbreak and those painful moments in life, yet it was more for their benefit.

My parents made more money, his parents more money, from the ‘peace treaty’ of merging the two companies… fucking hallelujah for them. I was going to make the most of my time in Paris; my last six months of freedom before saying yes; accepting my fate as reproducing with someone for the rest of my life and then being buried next to them.

 

* **

I was nervous, I mean I had been on a plane before but never to a foreign country, mother and father never saw the point, maybe I moved states for when they couldn’t find a babysitter for me when they had meetings. It took hours of persuasion to convince them that I didn’t need a chaperone, I’m twenty-two, but oh no ‘the French are romantics and will seduce at every chance they get and we can’t ruin your virginity for your wedding night, it’ll make it even more special’. I swear not only were they ignorant but from the 1800’s too.

But they insisted that I call them every night and they would also call my teacher once a week to make sure I wasn’t smoking marijuana or inhaling paint to get high, and actually making progress with my ‘useless hobby’.

I felt my phone vibrate at the moment, an unknown number?

Hi, I just wanted to say that I hope you have a good trip, you’re really good at painting. I know we or you didn’t plan this future but I promise I’ll try to make you happy . Have a safe trip.
Sincerely, Owen.

… Could anything have not been more awkward than that message, I hated and didn’t want to know how or why he had my number. I bet my mother just bought another phone and texted me to numb the pain and irritation of this partnership.

I turned off my phone, he would understand, I’m not allowed to text on a plane anyhow. Whenever I heard or thought of him, my stomach would just drop and my heart would pound through my chest; it wasn’t passion, rather fear I guess…

Teal, vermillion, ochre, lavender… I was going to try draw the air hostess in front of me who was  performing that thing they do to explain what to do in an emergency situation to take the edge off my mind. Pencils would be better for a sketch, I thought, the lady next to me was old, smelt like mothballs and stared down at my clothes; I knew if I took out my charcoals and made a mess with my fingers that would piss her off. 


© Copyright 2017 LadyMidnight. All rights reserved.

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