Beatrice Spencer loved a few things; new shoes, her dog and newly added, a small town in the middle of nowhere that happened to house some of her favourite people; her childhood best friend and a charming veterinarian who used to date said childhood...
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When Beatrice May Spencer didn't like something, she found a fix.
It was Bea, never Beatrice; after a particularly mean boy in second grade had made a particularly mean comment.
She despised people underestimating her and despised special treatment. When her father even implied that there was no use in her finishing high school due to her poor grades and lack of motivation; she studied her ass off day and night instead of partying and drinking in her friend's mansions. When her father insisted on pulling some strings to get her into his alma mater; she refused and insisted instead that he keep his 'mouth shut and keep his bribes out of her life', or something along those lines.
And so, she was successful in being accepted by Yale (which is where she had wanted to go). And, even though it was a family business, she knew that she had worked hard enough to earn her rightful spot next to her father in Spencer & Sons, even if she was a daughter.
She measured her success by the number of people who were too scared to meet her eye when she walked into work; by the number of cases she won; by the ability to buy whatever heels she wanted with her very own money.
She was liberated from her parent's shadows. And she had done it all by herself.
But she was still Beatrice May Spencer who occasionally, when the only light in her penthouse apartment came from the salt lamp on her bedside table that was supposed to calm and relax, stared blankly at the ceiling and wondered if she would be just the littlest bit happier if she had spent the four extra years of her schooling career travelling around the world and partying, staying close to her friends. Friends who didn't understand how privileged they were, friends who often only saw her as their parents' divorce lawyer, but still friends.
It was stuck in her own neuroses that Nathaniel Thatcher found her.
It was as whirlwind a romance as any adult could have. She decided that he was the fix to her loneliness. He shared those cold, empty nights with her. He met her for lunch. Her parents were even fond of him. So when he proposed; there was no doubt in her mind that the correct answer was yes.
And though the gigantic rock on her finger (princess cut with a band of small diamonds wrapping around it) weighed her hand down. She would get used to the weight because she loved Nathaniel. And he loved her.
The girl, who had met Nathaniel on the sidewalk after spilling the content of her bag on the ground one rushed morning, could never, in her wildest dreams, have predicted that she would be left standing, in her mother's white, lace dress that shrouded her hips in fabric, at the church altar all by herself.
Her heel barely touched the first step before Nathaniel turned and bolted down the aisle. Her smile, although now confused, was still plastered on her face. Until she realised that he was not coming back.
Months of planning. Hundreds of thousands of dollars. A promise of a lifetime.
Shattered into a million little pieces as soon as he took his first stride.
Bea didn't know what to tell the confused guests.
Sorry, my fiance decided he didn't like me as much as he originally thought, I suppose.
Sorry for the inconvenience.
Sorry, you took time out of your day and got all dressed up, just to watch me be humiliated.
Her hands tightly clutched the bouquet of pink tulips, her veil still drawn over her face, shielding her from their looks of shock and horror.
She moved slowly, calculated and handed her bouquet over to her maid of honour, gesturing for help with her veil. The maid of honour quickly handed the flowers down the line before gently lifting the lace over Bea's blank face, tucking it behind the small tiara that was nestled on top of her bun.
Bea paused as her brown eyes met her maid of honours'.
This was all wrong.
She looked down the line. She barely knew these people. They weren't her friends. Jess from Accounting was not her friend. They looked at her with pity. She didn't want their pity, she didn't want their company. She, all of a sudden, wanted nothing to do with them at all.
So, turning back to face the guests once more, she picked up the hem of her skirt and started shuffling back down the aisle before breaking out into a run.
She ran and her lungs burned with betrayal. Her dress was heavy and realistically she wouldn't be able to run for very long but she pushed herself out of the church doors and around the corner, past where they were supposed to take photos, past the nearby reception hall which housed ten kilos of fresh seafood, away from what was supposed to be.
Bea sure was a sight to behold, tear streaks cheeks, lips chewed raw and rubbed clean of her pretty peach lipstick, hair falling in messy curls out of the once-pristine updo that had about one-hundred bobby pins holding it together.
She sat, nursing a cup of coffee in a small cafe she found on the corner of a street far away. They hadn't said anything when the dishevelled bride had stormed in but there were looks shared, looks of concern that Bea ignored.
When the sun was beginning to set and she had grown bored of watching people from her small, scratched table, Bea made her way back to her home.
The door was unlatched and unlocked and Bea prayed equally that it wasn't Nathaniel so that she was saved her dignity of him never having to see her like this and also that it was Nathaniel so she could chew him out, maybe leave a few scratches on his pretty face.
There was no Nathaniel when she walked in so, closing the door behind her, she leaned against it with a heavy sigh. Her parents, however, were seated on her grey lounge, worriedly staring at their phones.
Her mother, Marjorie, was the first to look up, her expression one of care and tenderness. "Oh, my littlest Bea," she spoke softly.
Bea rushed forward at the comfort of her mother's voice and slid to the floor in front of the lounge. She rested her head on her mother's lap and finally allowed herself to cry, fully cry, as her mother stroked her forehead and her father ran to the kitchen for some water.
She cried for herself. For the one who was left at the altar. For the one whose hand was feeling light despite the ring still sitting firmly on her finger. For the one who had dreamed of her fairytale wedding, planning and revision for hours with her childhood best friend who was not even her maid of honour (which was not like planned and revised).
How was she supposed to fix this?
She had learned that her parents had kicked Nathaniel out, chucked his belongings at him until he got the hint and left. He had tried to apologise to them, her mother had whispered in her ear, and your father grabbed him by the collar and pushed him out of the apartment, there was a hint of divine malice in her voice as if she was thinking that the prick had it coming all along.
"It was all wrong, mama." Was all she replied with, voice horse. She did not elaborate. And her mother did not ask her to.
A few days later, she went and bought herself a dog. The house was much too quiet without Nathaniel's stupid sports videos and stupid tapping along to whatever stupid music was playing.
A few days after that, while the puppy was curled up into her back, still nameless; she stared blankly at her ceiling much like she did every night. And she wondered if perhaps she would be majorly happier if she had not gone to college and instead had made more of an effort to stay in contact with her ex-best friend.
It was this night that was unlike any other night for Bea was not paralysed by this journey of thought; instead, she sprung out of bed, the puppy following suit and nipping at her heels for attention as she pulled open her laptop and searched for any information regarding Alexis Rose and just where Beatrice May Spencer might find her.
