MARRIED at the tender age of eighteen, under the guise of business prosperity- Mary Charlize Bourbon-Busset Stuart and Francis Callahan De Medici Valois-Angoulême had their fates sealed towards eachother, a grand wedding held in the Notre Dame Cathedral with the most affluent families all over the world as their attendees, the world at their fingertips.
The young aristocrats shared a whirlwind of a romance, a honeymoon spanning of two months spent all over the world, before their paths, as if a cruel taste of a worthwhile fairytale separated again. Leading separate lives, studying in ivy leagues and living up to their family's reputation of glory, it was three years after; wiser, matured, tried and tested through the many life experiences they've underwent under the short period of some years.
In many respects, their Marriage or union wasn't something of a hurdle to Mary nor Francis. They were free to do whatever they pleased- however, in fine print of paper, they unanimously agreed to avoid scandals of any sort. Any psychological needs, or mental support that they may require over the years should be under the table and away from any prying eyes or ears that may tarnish, the otherwise upright image they uphold.
An agreement that the latter, blonde and stupid as he may be had so foolishly, uncharacteristically violated. The glaring evidence of his carelesness, a baby left right at his fancy porch along with a letter of it's origin, his mother relinquishing all of her right towards the baby and disappearing towards somewhere only the Lord knows where.
Francis was rattled by his new role, for he was many things over the course of his twenty something years of life- CEO, Multi-millionaire, Big boss, Summa cum laude of an MBA course, seasoned gentleman; but he was not a Father. In no position to even be one, especially with the lifestyle he leads. The unpredictability of his commitments towards the Valois-Angoulême Empire and other companies he has built and funded all throughout the years, required his undivided time and attention. Some days, he would reside in France and in some, he would be in Japan or in Germany - barely staying the night even at the most luxurious of Hotels at odd hours of the day.
The delicacies of taking care of a small and demanding little life fits nowehere his busy schedule, yet he can afford the expense of hiring nannies and experts that would tend to the little boy's needs until he, truly knows what to do with the life he has created.
However, in his deliberation and various discussions with some advisers and lawyers- paternal tests were ran, DNA sampling conducted; the information sworn to secrecy had reached the ears of his heiress wife. The woman who spelt trouble from her neatly groomed hair, towards the very tip of her tiny toes often donned in designer heels that could kill. Now, the plan was to appease the Scottish-English descent of a spitfire before she decides to throw a brutal tantrum that would put other political scandals to shame.
The Estate was decorated lavishly - more than it's usual - the beautiful, French renaissance chateau style Mansion, a touch of modernity and aristocratic class in all of it's two storey expanse, featuring a thirty foot ceiling and a stunning crystal chandelier. The family room features a vaulted ceiling with exposed beams. The French kitchen with dual islands and sinks. The elegant hallways include a marble floor and architectural columns. A two-story study features mahogany walls and elegant decor. Other amenities include a wine cellar and tasting room, and a screening room with details from a Paris opera house.
The dining hall, most noticeably, decorated with exotic white flowers of different sorts, imported from another country just hours before. There were hanging ornaments that decorate the walls, the utensils laid out were of pristine and white colors- exquisite, and elegant all together. They were of juvenile contrast to the otherwise, plain and deserted dining where Francis barely even touches despite the professional chefs he employs.
Staffs and servants shuttling in and out of the house, supervisors barking orders at the in ear piece they were all using to communicate. It was as if they were waiting of a state visit from the President of the country- while, it would probably be so much easier if that were the case. Their guest was so much more difficult than the civilized and even tempered head of state.
Francis, don in a sleek black suit, that did everything and emphasized his bulking figure and highlighted his impressive physique, dripping every bit of his exquisite bearing. He was dressed to the nines, not a single lint nor crumple in his expensive tailored suit, while he trudged down the massive staircase, secretaries and advisers in tow. Their reminders were but a mindless ring to his ears while they were discussing his activities for the day, and perhaps, how to thread the dangerous waters brought about by the arrival of the difficult woman who bear his namesake.
The red carpet was laid, staff pulling up to decorate the sidelines as they patiently and rigidly waited for her arrival. An entourage of three black cars - Bentley, as to fit her taste- descended into the Valois-Angoulême Estate, all making a detour around the wide expanse of his driveway before pulling into a stop towards the entrance of the large villa.
It was her long and smooth legs that welcomed the sight first, before she stepped into the plain view. The moon-shadow black hair fell in luscious waves, stopping just above the small of her waist, a contrast to the alabaster whiteness of her skin, her complexion with the slightest tint of red glowing with radiance. The lithe figure, adorned in a silkened velvet dress that hugged her womanly curves, showcased the pair of model-like legs which were, rightfully so, ensured. She was a magnificent beauty, her reputation known far and wide in the upper circle.
Mary was opulence personified, being born into a powerful family with more money than sense, and hapiness is a place somewhere in Milan, or Paris in the arms of all the luxurious haven it provides. And while she had personal pursuits- entrepreneurial, entertainment and others that need not be named; the young woman, truly had the penchant for all things with a hefty price tag.
While Francis, her lovely husband, she had to sigh in amazement as she stared at the man who stood, shoulders squared, his head held high in confidence. With a face like his, he had every right to be. The Golden Boy. This dazzling man whose reputation, in the Alta society reeked of flowers and all things nice and fragrant. He was a gentleman, a charming scion who speaks of nothing but beguiling nonesense.
They stood across eachother, dozens of steps separating them, sizing up the other with gazes that held some curiosity, part interest for the spouse that could barely be considered as one, if not for a binding piece of paper. They were similar yet so different- one exuding resplendent light, the other a mysterious darkness. It was unsure which one was which. Though what was certain was, Mary and Francis have always had their lives aligned towards the same path, they held a common ground for a gain far bigger than the purpose they serve.
“I'm home, darling.” Mary states, a cheerily sickening sweet smile painted on the luscious pout of hers. From the other end, he smiles, one that exudes a million dollar charm and holds out his hands in a welcoming gesture.
“Welcome home, sweetheart.”
A commomerative phrase to welcome the chaos, and the mind-games to follow. Whoever breaks this façade of a wonderful marriage, loses. That's certain. And both Valois-Angoulême, by namesake and blood never lose.
