** Welcome to my new Molly x Chase Fanfic! If you're here after reading any of my other stories, thank you so much for sticking with me! :D
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARVEST MOON. **
"Oh, dear, sit up straight," Mother said to me as we sat at the dinner table.
"Yes, Mother," I said and obeyed without protest.
It was quiet between my mother, father, and I as we ate our dinners, while butlers stood at the other end of the dining room, waiting for one of us to finish our food to pick it up, or for one of our glasses to be refilled.
It always felt weird for me to let them take mine and my family's orders, though they were being paid for their services. And even if I tried to get up and do it for myself, I wouldn't know what to do anyways. I was born into one of the wealthiest families in the country and have had everything given and done for me without having to lift a finger.
Besides, Mother would just simply stop me and say, "Oh, dear, just let Martin or Hugh get that for you! Must you put your father's money to waste?" She sure knew how to lay a guilt trip on me.
"We had a chat with the Paxton's this morning," Father said to me.
The Paxton's, too, were a very wealthy family, but not quite as much as my family. They have always been close to my family for generations. My parents have even offered my hand in marriage to the family's only son when we I was born. Mother and Father say that when the Paxton's brought their four-month-old son to visit my Mother and I after I was born, he reached out from his mother's arms and touched my newborn hand. They say a cute smile formed on my face and called it fate. All that we are waiting for now is my eighteenth birthday, which is only three short weeks away.
Mother and Father are so overjoyed about the arranged marriage and have made sure that the wedding will be flawless and luxurious beyond belief. It's like the whole world is revolved around this wedding. Father has told me that he has, so far, spent over five million dollars on just the ceremony. I insisted that he shouldn't spend so much for me, but he just laughed and patted me on the head.
"They say that Bryce will be visiting you tomorrow," Mother said with a satisfied smile. "Isn't he such a nice boy? He's going to be a fine husband for you. Don't have such a frown, Margaret!"
I sighed and gave a light smile to humor her. "That is very considerate of him to visit me," I said, my voice rather monotone.
"Oh, Margaret, dear, finish your beans," Mother said. "You didn't eat your eggs this morning, so I won't allow you to skip your beans."
"We don't want to risk having you becoming protein deficient," Father agreed.
My family lives on a vegetarian diet, on account that Father owns a chain of restaurants called "Mont Veggie" that serve only vegetarian-friendly foods. It's very popular among vegetarians and also people that wish to lose a few pounds.
My father feels it would be too ironic if he himself weren't a vegetarian, so he persuaded my mother to switch to the diet and raised me to be vegetarian along with them.
I've never ate a bite of meat before, but I have smelt it once when Bryce took me into the city for a day of shopping. I was walking down the city's sidewalk beside Bryce, who kept trying to hold my hand, when we came across a hotdog stand. The wind blew the scent into my nostrils and made my mouth water.
Bryce looked at my lustful expression and chuckled. "Silly, Molly. You know you can't eat that stuff." And then, like a slap in the face, unaware of how much the aroma intoxicated me, he bought himself one and ate it in front of me. "Come on," he said, pulling me by the hand. "Let's get you something to eat. You must be starving!"
I didn't fight with him about it. Mother wouldn't be happy if I quarreled with him and risk getting the marriage called off, though I highly doubt Bryce would ever cancel anything that involved us doing the smallest thing together, let alone our wedding. Plus, Mother and Father always said it was inappropriate for a lady to shout. I had to obey their rules. What other choice do I have? A Montgomery doesn't belong anywhere else…
I am Margaret Amelia Rose Montgomery, though I prefer to be called Molly as a nickname, not that Mother and Father would ever call me that because, according to them, Margaret has class.
I having both Amelia and Rose as middle names seems a bit much. Why two middle names? I don't know a single person who has two middle names, but I guess that doesn't count for much since I don't know very many people.
I once asked Father why they gave me two and he replied with, "Because, Margaret, normal people have merely one middle name. You are a golden girl, so you deserve two." I should've saw that one coming…
I am born into an orderly and ridiculously wealthy family consisting of myself and parents that enjoy spoiling me with expensive, luxurious things, the best that money can buy. I am bound to be a proper lady that will marry a man, who I have known since I birth, and be taken care of for the rest of my life. What other life could I have? That's the only life I have been offered.
After being excused from the table, I went up to my room on the third story. I wiped away the painted smile I made for Mother and let my mouth go back to its usual frown.
I changed into my silk pajamas, which had two M's sown onto it, and brushed my long, gold hair.
I honestly don't know why people get so worked up over it. It's only hair, yet my parents, the Paxton's, and several others always complimented it, saying things like, "It's so beautiful!" or "It suits such a pretty girl!".
But it isn't just my hair people fret over. It was EVERYTHING about me; everything from my hair, eyes, skin, my figure. Heck, someone once even complimented my hands for Goddess' sake!
I don't see the beauty they see in me. Everything they say that is so beautiful looks plain to me. My blonde hair… I hate my hair the most, and yet people say it's the most striking feature about me. I say it's an eyesore. But there is something I can agree on: my sparkly, brown eyes.
Other than my eyes, every time someone compliments me, I want to gag. Are they really saying those nice things because they're true, or because they want to suck-up in order to get close to my family's wealth? What about my parents? Do they only say this stuff to make me think that they love me? It's caused me to question everybody I know. But I don't enjoy thinking about that. It makes me feel alone in a world of fakers.
I climbed into bed and closed my eyes, imagining cheerful things to help me fall asleep happy.
I found my ankle chained to a cold, stonewall in a room and I wore a white stray-jacket. Was I in some type of jail? Asylum? I saw the color gray everywhere, except for the small window that revealed a blue sky. Luckily, the chain was long enough for me to approach the window.
I peeked through it and there was a dock with a white ship. The ship was enormous and had a blue stripe around its body and had a quote painted in black that I couldn't make out. The seawater was a cool, sparkly blue and the sun in the sky shined brightly. I could see the island across the sea. I'm not sure how I saw the island, for it seemed like the sea between where I was and the island was hundreds of miles far. The island had a vast garden with jaw dropping, stunning violet roses. It was paradise, heaven.
"Why can't I be there?" I screamed, hitting the stonewall that kept me away from the outside.
I then felt my mother, father, and Bryce's hands dragging me away from the window. I tried to brush them off, but they over-powered me. "No!" I screamed again, my voice giving out.
Suddenly, I sat up, breathing heavily and looked around to see that I was in my room. "Just another dream…"
I calmly went to my bathroom to wash the beads of sweat from my face. I then went down cases of white, marble stairs to the first floor kitchen. I could've easily taken the elevator, but using such an unnecessary luxury made me uncomfortable.
You couldn't look anywhere in the kitchen without seeing black frying pans, and many different sized spatulas and ladles hung up above high-tech stoves with giant, silver pots on them. There was another room on the left side, which was the break room for the kitchen staff where there were open tables and a small kitchen for snacks and quick microwave meals.
I always went to this room in the middle of the night after a weird dream; and lately, that has been happening every other night now. Of course, Mother and Father wouldn't approve of me mixing myself with the cooks and workers, so I never tell them about my late night adventures in the break room.
I walked into the empty room and sat at the usual table I liked to sit at. I positioned my arms and used them as a pillow for my head while I waited.
"Hey! Looks like Lady Molly is having another rough night!" I heard a voice laugh.
It was Shelley, the head chef of the house. She was possibly the only person I could speak to without having to worry about if I'm speaking properly with polite manners, or worrying about saying the wrong thing. I felt free when I talked to Shelley.
"Yeah, another dream…" I groaned.
"I tell ya, it's this dang veggie diet you guys have! Ya know, as a chef, it's very insulting," she said. "Y'all are missin' out on all sorts of good food, like fried chicken!"
Shelley was always straightforward with what she felt; she didn't hold back. That was one of the things I liked about her besides her brown hair, and her big, honey brown eyes. She says that we have the same eyes, which is why I've come to love my eyes.
I laughed, something that seemed to only happen involuntarily around Shelley. "Where have I heard that before?"
She laughed too. "So, what was your dream this time? Did you have another one about getting lost in a carnival, or what about the one where you found a talking bear in the middle of the desert. That one's my favorite!"
"No. I was chained up in an asylum or a jail and there was this small window in my cell. I looked through it and saw a sea and a ship. And, somehow, I could see an island from far away and there were violet roses there. The whole time…I was wishing I could be there instead of being chained up in the asylum. Then, my parents and Bryce pulled me away from the window…"
Shelley raised an eyebrow. "Wow, that one sounds disturbing."
"I really wish I didn't have these weird dreams…" I said almost in a whisper.
Shelley gasped and started waving her arms frantically. "Oh, no, don't be upset! Maybe these dreams are just your brain trying to tell you something!"
I gave her a skeptic look. "A talking bear in a desert?"
"Well, the asylum one seemed symbolic. I bet when your parents and Bryce pulled you away from the window, it symbolized them controlling your life! Jerks!"
"Ha, I don't think Bryce could control me if he wanted to. He's too soft on me. Besides, I think you're just saying that because you don't like my mother."
"She accused me of putting chicken in her soup!"
I smiled. "Speaking of food, you think we can have some ice cream?"
"Oh, heck yeah!" she cheered.
She pulled out a huge tub of chocolate ice cream we kept in the freezer just for our late night talks and placed it in the middle of the table and handed me my big spoon.
"Why did you become a chef?"
She beamed. "My dad is the famous Gourmet Pierre! He would always make the tastiest things for Mama and me. Eventually, he started teaching how to cook and I fell in love with it. I just love it so much!"
"Oh, yeah, I've heard of him. If your dad is so famous, why didn't Father hire him?"
"Dad wanted to stay with Mama at her farm. He's the one who recommended me to your dad, which is how I managed to get such a high paying job so early in my career. Getting a job like this at only twenty years old is pretty remarkable!"
"I'm really glad Father hired you. If you weren't here, I wouldn't have anyone to talk to…"
Shelley's face fell and looked at me with sympathy. "You must be so lonely…"
I looked away from Shelley and concentrated on the tub of ice cream while my stomach became tied into knots.
"I…I don't know why people say such nice things about me when I feel so inferior…"
Shelley rushed over to my side and hugged me so tight that I could barely breath.
She let me go, but kept hold of my shoulders when she looked seriously into my eyes. I had never seen her look so serious before, so it was easy to believe what she said. "Molly, you are an amazing girl. I know you hate it when people say that kinda stuff, but I really mean it. You're such a sweet, selfless, beautiful girl."
I couldn't say anything; my mouth felt stitched tight. I only stared at her like a deer in headlights.
She tried again to make sure what she was saying was sinking in. "You are anything but inferior."
** You're probably saying, "WHAT? WHY DOES MOLLY HAVE BLONDE HAIR?" Hahaha, don't worry. Everything will soon fall into place and make her the Molly we know and love. And before you ask, yes, Shelley is the grown-up daughter of Pierre and Chelsea from Island of Happiness/Sunshine Islands!
I hope you liked reading it as much as I did writing it! And don't forget to review and let me know what you think so far! :) **