Page 1 of The Prince Falls First
one
Another charity ball, another fight, another day of hell in this house. Sometimes I envy Diana, who doesn’t well remember the good times we had when Papa was alive. If I didn’t know things could be better, I’d probably expect less from my life now. Instead I am doomed to daily disappointment. ~ Gen’s diary, July 1973
GENEVIEVE
“Gennie!”
Genevieve sighed and continued to apply her makeup, not responding to the yell.
A few seconds later, the door to her room burst open and her youngest sister, Henrietta, burst in, her waist length, chemically straightened dark blonde hair a flurry around her. Gen glanced at her via the mirror; Henrietta’s face was seething.
Henrietta was always mad, especially at Gen.
“I was supposed to go to the next ball. It was my turn!”
Gen simply continued with her mascara. “Talk to our mother about it, it was her decision.”
“It’s your fault! You convinced her somehow.”
To Henrietta, everything was Gen’s fault.
It was Gen’s fault they were poor and trying to keep up appearances, which meant only one new dress and one person attending each royal ball or party.
It was Gen’s fault their father had died of a heart attack far too young.
It was Gen’s fault their mother didn’t want to work to bring in funds, but chose to sell artwork and antiques around the house instead.
It was Gen’s fault it was raining today.
It was Gen’s fault the milk ran out.
And on and on and on.
The worst thing wasn’t being blamed for everything that went wrong in the family, it was that no one stood up for her. Her mother saw her as a tool to get a rich husband (riches she was then expected to somehow hand over to her mother), Henrietta took after their mother and hated Gen too. Diana, the middle sister, was more sensible, but it was Gen’s job to protect her from their mother’s tirades right now. Maybe when she was a little older, she’d have her as an ally, but right now she was all alone, figuratively if not literally.
“Ugh, I hate you!” Henrietta whirled, her hair flying once again, then slammed the door shut. If only she had a lock that worked, she wouldn’t have to deal with this nonsense as much.
But, with the house falling apart as it was, a lock for her room was very low on her mother’s priority list.
She put down the mascara and gave herself a critical eye. She was in her twenties and beautiful. She begrudgingly admitted that some of these looks came from her mother—she and hersisters shared the same dark blond hair, nipped in waists, and breasts that were just large enough to be annoying (at least hers were annoying to her). She’d probably get more curves after she had some kids, but those required a husband, which she was determined to get this year.
If she married, at least she’d be out of this house. But she wouldn’t settle for merely anyone. No, she was going to marry someone who would be kind to her. That was it. That was her only requirement. Tall, short, rich, poor, she didn’t care. She didn’t mind working and had a degree she could use if she needed to. Diana was also off to college this year, on a full scholarship too, so she would be safe from her mother’s clutches for a few years, at least.
Gen had only one goal this year: get out of this house, for good. Whether that was as a bride, or an entry-level employee, she’d see, but things were changing this year for her.
After checking the time, she got up, taking care with her long dress—a silver, backless, halter dress that featured a pleated skirt and glittering bodice, paired with a Vallerian purple purse and shoes—and headed out. She double-checked her purse had everything she needed, then adjusted her long earrings as she carefully stepped down the stairs in her heels—she was on the shorter side so nearly always wore them—and tucked an errant strand of hair into her updo. She’d kept her hair up to show off her back, but she wondered if it was too risqué for a royal ball. She could always arrange her long hair down instead in a pinch.
She exited the house without saying a farewell to anyone, especially her mother, who would’ve scrutinized every inch of her body and found her lacking. Instead she walked down their long drive to the gate, opened it, walked through, closed it, and then walked to the car waiting in front of the neighbor’s house.
She got into the passenger seat and gave her friend Samira a broad smile.
“You look amazing, Gen!”
They kissed each other on each cheek, a traditional Vallerian greeting. “So do you! I love that dress.”
Sam was wearing a halter dress similar to hers but in a deep, rich pink. Where the halter in Gen’s dress covered her cleavage and looped around her neck with a thick band, Sam’s halter featured a great deal of cleavage. Against her brown skin and long, sleek black hair, she was sure to stand out.
Sam pulled out after she buckled her seat belt and started driving. “I was a little surprised you were coming. Isn’t it what’s-her-face’s turn?”
