Arranged British Love

Phoebe Brit couldn’t believe what was happening to her. She sat at the extravagantly carved table, glowering at her mother and stepfather while stuffing a bar of Cadburys into her mouth. Damien Alexander, the Step-creep put an arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her closer.

“Now listen here madam,”

Phoebe rolled her eyes at the condescending tone he was using. “No you listen to me! I am not going to travel to a different country to marry some guy I haven’t even heard of before, let alone met!”

Tears were welling up in Mrs Alexander-Brit’s eyes. “Pheebs, please. You know that it’s important for our family’s status and money.” She grabbed the chocolate from her daughters hand and replaced it with a bowl of carrots the maid had just finished peeling and cutting.

“You are such a hypocrite!” Phoebe screamed at her. Her mother’s eyes widened incredulously. “No, you aren’t making me do this mom. Your parents made you marry dad but you divorced him for love, even if it is with him,” she shot the Step-creep a dirty look. “Love, mom, something that I want!”

“Nadia, don’t listen to her. This marriage is for her own good.” Damien comforted his wife while smirking at his stepdaughter in victory.

She shook her head in disbelief. Her stepfather had won again. She would be shunned from her house, her home, her mother! She couldn’t leave her darling mother with this creep.

“No. I’m not going. You may control mom but you can’t control me father.” She drawled his name, making fun of his insistence for her to call him that.

“You are going, end of conversation.” His tone was firm and, as a sign that the argument was over, walked out of the room with Nadia in tow.

“Wait!” Phoebe called out. “What about Charlie?”

Nadia looked over her shoulder as she was dragged out of the room. “What about him?”

“Well, err, let’s see...he’s my boyfriend!”

Damien sneered at her without her mother seeing. “You’ve always wanted more independence, figure it out for yourself.”

Phoebe sat on her bed flipping through a magazine and listening to her iPod. Okay, she was procrastinating, doing anything to put off calling her boyfriend. She signing, rolling over and turning off her music. How? How could she break Charlie’s heart? He loved her so much...but yet, did she really love him? He told her he loved her yes, but not before he raised his hand and slapped her clean across the face. But that was her fault. She had made him angry, called him names so it was only fair that he hit her.

Four times.

On the bright side, at least she wouldn’t be in the same country in time for her to get another beating.

Phoebe picked up her phone and flipped through her contacts until she found Charlie’s number. Taking a deep breath, she clicked the call button.

Beep beep.

Beep beep.

Phoebe felt her pulse race. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t break his heart.

Beep be...”Hey, P! How are you?” she heard Charlie’s voice in her ear. “Phoebe? Are you there?” He asked with a hit of worry in his voice when she didn’t say anything.

“Err, Charlie...I don’t...really know what to say.” She spoke, stumbling over her words.

“What do you mean?” His voice was starting to sound angry and she felt her heart drum harder, if it was possible.

“Charlie, I can’t be with you anymore. We’re over.” Phoebe’s voice broke as she told him.

“C’mon P, what do you mean we’re over? It’s a joke, isn’t it? Well it’s not a very good joke.” He laughed maliciously at the idea of her ever having the guts to break up with him.

“I’m not joking, Charlie. I’m sick and tired of our relationship. I don’t want to be with you anymore.” So she used her impending marriage as an excuse...but she wouldn’t have been able to do it if she had any choice in this.

“What?! I hit you because you deserve it, and you know you do, P, you drive me to it.” He spat, and Phoebe shrank away at the thought of every single time she had been hit and kicked.

“Goodbye, Charlie.”

She hung up the phone and smiled to herself. Finally. Finally she had managed to do what she had been terrified to do for months.

Nadia walked into the huge bedroom and sat down beside her daughter on her king sized bed. She wrapped an arm around Phoebe’s shoulders and pulled her close. The two of them looked very alike; they both had long, straight, light brown hair and bright blue eyes. They were both tall and slim, but where they mirrored each other in appearance, they lacked in personality. Nadia was calm, goal-orientated and cared more about herself, money and society than her family. Phoebe, on the other hand, was impulsive, emotional and would rather have been well-off than filthy rich with people using you to get money, get into the best restaurants. With Charlie, Phoebe felt normal, and didn’t have to hide herself from the world.

“How did he take it?” Nadia asked, for once sounding kind and motherly.

Phoebe shook her head. “Not well. But I’m glad I did it.” She felt her mother squeeze her shoulders gently. “So, who is the mystery man?”

“I think you’ll like him. He’s the son of an old family friend of mine, and as I told you before,” She paused and cringed at the thought of the scene in the kitchen. “He lives in England. And is rather rich, high up in society. He’s two years older than you, eighteen.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes at her mother’s shallowness. “What is his name, mom?”

“Ethan.” She smiled at her.

“Ethan...” Phoebe raised her eyebrows, digging for a last name.

“Prince Ethan of Wales.”

Phoebe’s mouth hit the floor. “WHAT?!” She practically screamed. “I am marrying the heir to the British throne! That is why you are flying me out to England to marry some...posh, stuck up, idiotic heir to the throne!”

Nadia smiled happily. “Think of what it will do for the family name!” She squealed, clapping her hands together. “The private plane leaves in two hours. The car is outside waiting to take you to the airport. Your father and I would love to see you off, but we have a gala in an hour. Darla has already packed your bags, they’re in the car.”

Phoebe stared in disbelief at her mother, tears welling up in her eyes at the prospect of living in a different county to her mother, even if she wasn’t around most of the time.

“Don’t forget to visit Chris in London.” Nadia reminded her daughter.

“I won’t. He is my dad after all.”

They both stood up and Nadia pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “We’ll visit as soon as we can.”

And she walked out of the room, leaving a miserable sixteen year old behind her.