Bound By Destiny - Brittana

The First Suitor

Brittany sat at her desk, engrossed in the pages of her book, the outside world fading into a blur. The gentle knock at her door barely registered, but she called out, "Come in," without looking up.

The door creaked open, and her father, Michael, stepped inside. "You need to get dressed then come downstairs," he said, his tone carrying a sense of urgency.

Brittany frowned, her eyes reluctantly leaving the book. "Why?" she asked, puzzled.

Michael's eyebrows knit together in mild frustration. "How could you forget?" he asked, his voice rising slightly. Brittany just stared at him blankly, clearly at a loss. Michael sighed and adjusted his shirt, his patience wearing thin. "Your first suitor is here."

"Really?" Brittany groaned, slumping back in her chair.

Michael's eyes narrowed, and he glared at her. "That's no way a lady should act," he admonished. Brittany rubbed her cheek, feeling the weight of his disappointment.

"Fine, I'll get dressed," she said, rising from her seat with a reluctant sigh.

Michael checked his watch and gave her a pointed look. "You have exactly fifteen minutes," he said before walking out, leaving Brittany to hurry and prepare for the unexpected visitor downstairs.

Brittany walked to her closet with a huff, her footsteps heavy with reluctance. She flung open the doors and began to root through her seemingly endless collection of dresses. "That's no way for a lady to act," she muttered, mimicking her father's stern tone. "As if you can talk, you sound like a four-year-old," she added under her breath, rolling her eyes.

The hangers clinked together as she sifted through vibrant fabrics and intricate patterns. Each dress seemed to mock her, reminding her of the expectations she was always struggling to meet. After a few minutes of grumbling and sorting, she found a modest, navy blue dress she believed her father would deem suitable.

Brittany held it up to herself in the mirror, inspecting it with a critical eye. It was simple yet elegant, something that wouldn't provoke another lecture from her father. Reluctantly, she began to unzip her current dress, letting it slip off her shoulders and fall to the floor. She stepped into the navy blue dress and fastened it, feeling the familiar tug of frustration as she adjusted it into place.

With a final glance in the mirror, Brittany sighed, bracing herself for whatever awaited her downstairs. She stepped out of her room, her earlier reluctance replaced by a resigned determination.

Brittany descended the stairs, her steps echoing softly in the quiet hallway. As she neared the bottom, she could hear the faint murmur of voices—her father's stern and an unfamiliar one, tinged with a hint of arrogance. When she reached the last step, four pairs of eyes turned toward her, making her feel exposed and scrutinized.

She couldn't help but wince as she took in the sight of the stranger. He was much older than her, with a ratty side part and a smug smile plastered on his face. Her father, Michael, beamed at her, oblivious to her discomfort. He placed a hand on the man's shoulder and said, "This here is Noah Puckerman."

Noah piped up immediately, his voice grating in its eagerness. "You can call me Puck."

Michael's smile faltered, and he slowly pulled his hand off Noah's shoulder. "No one is going to address Noah as Puck," he said firmly.

Noah's eyes widened in surprise, and he hastily tried to recover. "It was a joke, Mr. PP."

In the corner, Brittany's twin brother, Damien, shook his head in silent exasperation. When their eyes met, he mouthed, "I feel bad for you." Brittany rolled her eyes and mouthed back, "Tell me about it."