I don't own Twilight, but I do own this plot line. =D At least it's something!!
** Takes place in the early 1900's but I probably won't go too much into it, sorry!
The design I had traced in the wood of the table with my eyes slowly blurred to a smudge as the tears threatened to pour down my cheeks.
"Isabella, please do not be upset. Your mother and I are only doing what is best for you…"
I looked up at my father and wiped the tears from my eyes angrily.
"How could I not be upset?! I am only seventeen!"
"Yes, and so was I when your father and I were arranged to be married. It's not as bad as your making it out to be, darling. Just look at your father and I. We're happy as ever."
I rolled my eyes as they smiled lovingly at each other and made a disgusted sound as I stood up.
Yes, Renée and Charlie were happy together. They were one of those lucky few who were matched perfectly. Not me. I would never be happy with marrying someone I hardly knew. And at seventeen! My life has hardly begun! But there was no use arguing. They would win. They always won.
"Can I at least know his name? Since that will probably be the only thing I find out about him before we are hitched, the whole ball and chain-"
"Nonsense. We are going over to their house tomorrow afternoon for tea, so none of your stubborn antics. You will be the proper young lady we raised you to be." Renée cut me off.
I crossed my arms, and then uncrossed them as my mother raised an eyebrow at me. I was never usually this curt with my parents. But when they lay something as big as a pre-arranged marriage on me, I feel as though I have the right.
"His name is Edward Anthony Masen. His father and mother: Edward Masen, Sr. and Elizabeth Masen." Charlie looked past me out the window, his face revealing how against this ordeal he was, but only because of the natural father-protective nature. He would be no help in trying to get me out of this. Not so long as my mother is content with it.
"Masen. As in W.B. Masen, the paper company?"
"No," Renée interjected, clearly annoyed with my remark. "Masen as in Dr. Masen, the head physician. They live across town so it wouldn't surprise me if you have never run into their son before in the market."
I pursed my lips, trying to pick out an argument from her answer but I couldn't find one.
"Well… if Mr. Masen is a doctor, then they are probably rich. I don't want to be married to an arrogant, self-centered, snob." I held in a smirk as my mother racked her brain for a reply, but came up short.
"I'm sure they are very nice people. Now go to bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, Isabella." I turned at my father's word. It was practically a sin to go against your father's order.
I traipsed up the stairs after a round of 'goodnight's' into my room.
Slinking under the duvet I realized I hadn't asked the most important question. When. When was my life of freedom, my life surrounded by people I actually genuinely knew going to end?
Hopefully not anytime soon.
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