Dear Iris [h.s]

chapter one.

Iris Grace

"Smile."

With a roll of my eyes, I did, I smiled and marched into the town hall, wearing a lilac dress and heels, jewelry that my grandmother once wore, and a family with more problems than you could ever imagine. My whole life is one massive charade. Fake smiles, masked heartache and a million other actors who do the same thing.

My father owns a cigarette company. It's called Styles and Grace Cigarettes, which is pretty original. He co-owns it with James Styles, his best friend and partner in crime, literally. They're both awful men, and so are their sons.

My brother Thomas and James' son George are also pretty high up in the business. They're are some sort of salesmen who get paid more than everyone else just because their fathers are the ceo's. They're also massive narcissists. They think the whole world revolves around them and on nights like tonight, at Grace and Styles evening events, they think that they have a status higher than their reality. It's humiliating to say the least.

James Styles has other children. He has a six year old daughter, her name is Harper and she's really sweet. He also has another son, Harry, but nobody hears much of Harry because he isn't involved in the business. That caused some family feud and apparently Harry was kicked out of the family home.

It doesn't surprise me, it happened to me too.

I was asked to join the family business, but I refuse to scam people and sell them cigarettes they market as 'high quality', when they're pretty much rebranded Marlboro ones. That didn't go down with my family, even to this day it's a hassle. My father barely talks to me, he's too embarrassed that his daughter does art for a living rather than acts as a 'business woman'.

Artists aren't treated well in society, or in families consisting of people who do business, smoke cigarettes and drink whiskey all day, hence the fact I bought my own studio. It's easier to work from somewhere else, where it's just you and nobody else. I like being alone. I'm used to it.

"Iris, nice to see you." George said, shaking my hand firmly and lifting it up to his lips where he kissed my knuckles as an attempt to seem like he has an ounce of class. "You look great, c'mon let's dance."

"No, thank you." I smiled back, taking my hand out of his grip before I'm forced to engage in the most awkward of dances with my brother's best friend, who my entire family are typing ot get me to fall in love with.

"Iris, go and dance with George it won't fucking kill you." Thomas whispered in my ear, looking at George with a smile and that look of mischief was apparent in both of their eyes, because it seems to be some apparent joke that I constantly turn down George and he refuses to accept it.

I drank the last of the champagne that was in my glass, placed it down on the table next to me and smiled at them both, "I need to use the bathroom."

With that being said, I walked off, away from the smell of two drunk men who live life as if they haven't had everything handed to them on a plate, which they were the spoon fed off of. They like to pretend they made their own fortunes, as if their own fathers weren't handed everything on a plate too. It seems to run in the family, I however refuse to play my part in that.

Grabbing a glass of wine on the way, I headed upstairs to the balcony that overlooks the town, for some fresh air before carrying on with the charade downstairs. There's only so many times I can endure the same conversations that consist of middle aged men questioning the life choices I make and making snarky comments about the fact being an artist isn't a real job.

I got caught in my tracks when I opened the glass door and there was a figure already standing there, both their hands on the concrete wall as the stared out over the city. It startled me, there aren't usually many people who come up here during events like these.