Vows in Order | 18+

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c h a p t e r

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year 2026

I SIPPED ON MY CHAMPAGNE.

My eyes wandered across the massive hall that lit in shades of gold and blue, the prime colours of Gala d' Espoir. The same hall that held the same event every single year in the very same city of Paris.

November twenty fourth.

It was also the birth date of my mére, Claire Beaumont, but she was more than just a mére for she held an extravagant charity ball every year on her birthday to raise awareness, money and maintain her reputation as the grande dame of the French society. 

Claire Beaumont's eyes twinkled like the rarest of sapphires as she laughed at something the Duke of Yorkshire seemed to say. Her elegantly manicured fingered covering her laugh in an attempt to be polite yet indifferent.

My mére was a socialite, if not, the socialite of the French society, being the third grand-daughter of Charlotte Beaumont, an artist and art collector from back in the days, who was married  to the youngest heir of the Deschanel family. Let us not dig into that for now. The whole thing let a twisted kind of taste on my tongue.

If we had to trace our roots, my maternal sides were dipped in silks and silver and never missed an opportunity to praise the heritage that came with it. However in the life of the perfect Claire Beaumont, there was a darkness that lurked with every harsh whisper that was spoken behind her back.

It being my papa, Damian Martinez.

It was a story I could recite in my sleep.
In her late twenties she came across the man himself, clad in nothing but checks and covered in a loose suit and messed up tie, she found him absurd. 'Fashion Suicide' as they would call it in this century.

He simply took no notice of the French beauty and went on his day, but his messed up tie remained in my mére's mind like a bitter memory. She chased him down until she taught him how to fix it prim and proper and then rest was history.

It wasn't taken well when my mére showed up with a Spanish man, much less, an ordinary Spanish man with no inheritance and a normal corporate job to back his claims. But she was a Beaumont, she didn't bow to anyone you see.

However you can't just shun the grande dame Claire Beaumont, the influence, the connections, the hold. It was always within her fists and even without the support of her family and her close friends and a few years ago from the French society, she was back to reigning the monarch with Gala d' Espoir.

This year many rich conglomerates, business associates, and celebrities of old money were invited to take part in the auction that was to take place. I simply steered away from the area, having done with my routine introductions to the guests alongside mére for the day.

For now I stood against a polished pillar, my beige coloured satin dresses wrapped around my body in waves. It seemed to match the stone I leaned against, a ghost of smile appearing briefly on my face.

I watched as the stage got set up with staff, the items of auction beginning to climb up the elevation with men and women dressed in black and whites. Their tux held together with a bow tie with a chain of silver, a classic display of wealth.