"𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍..."
Beatrice "Birdie" Isley Kane is many things: a trust fund baby, a child star turned teen icon, and, in an unexpected twist, a British Royal.
But just months into her marriage to Prince Edwa...
*** "IN LOVE THE HEAVENS THEMSELVES DO GUIDE THE STATE.
MONEY BUYS LAND, AND WIVES ARE SOLD BY FATE." — The Merry Wives of Windsor, William Shakespeare
***
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November 12, 1988 Buckingham Palace
—BIRDIE'S EYES—
I had hopes the night would end optimally.
Truly.
With my Walkman in hand and some writing material tucked under my arm, I had almost made my way to the White Drawing Room for a peaceful nightcap when I saw it.
A clip of Eddie and I's wedding last year that had been televised for all the world to see, playing softly on our television set as a reporter narrated in the back. It came on every now and then, which usually warranted a swift channel change on my part.
This time, my peppy step faltered as my throat closed a little.
The lady in the box spoke of us as if we were rare, mystical and romantic beings, comets of sweet, young love. Even with all our troubles, my mishaps and Eddie's rumors, it dawned on me that some people still looked up to this cinematic love story. They still had faith it seemed.
Tugging the skinny headphones off my head, I set my materials on the cushiony bench behind me without care. I slid into an armchair and watched the affair in curious retrospect, wondering if the moment where it all went wrong for us had somehow been captured on camera.
Studying the opulent, modern yet haute couture, 18th century French fashioned wedding dress Christian Lacroix himself had made for me, my dramatic and virginal veil, and how my short bob was pinned back with a pearl adorned comb, I couldn't help but feel silly.
Silly in a solemn way. But silly all the same.
I had been so giddy and nervous, even a bit faint. Excited, but I couldn't remember feeling happy. At least, not the happiest, in the way every wedding should be the happiest day of one's life. I couldn't say I loved my soon-to-be husband, not in the magical way the viewing audience believed, not at all, really.
You must give, in a sense, to your duty. To what's best for your family. Your personal preferences won't come first; they shouldn't.
I met Eddie in the most cliché, New York-summer way imaginable, in my opinion at least: a white party in the Hamptons hosted by my father's older sister. He had approached me with a smile, a bit dorky and shy but still a gentleman, with an inquiry about my day.
