Legacies

And then they came... The Chosen Ones [1]

                                                                                         Zara

Zara sat listening to Olivia Delemare, the Primicerius of Bridgeton House, expound on what it took to be a fellow, as well as the status one was afforded when initiated into the house.

She of course knew all of this by heart, but there were definitely a few ‘ladies’ in the room who needed the reiteration.

She had looked up earlier to find Francesca Marindini’s none-too-friendly eyes on her. The Sub-Prim was a prime example of what Zara meant by ‘ladies’. Although it was impossible to make fellow if one wasn’t a legacy, there was something about her that made Zara just a little sceptical as to where exactly her family tree branched out to.

Olivia proceeded with the introductions, interrupting Zara’s train of thought.

“Before we present the fifteen freshmen who were selected this year, I’d like to introduce one freshman in particular who I know will become an integral part of Bridgeton House,” she said.

“As a fourth generation legacy and the great-great granddaughter of Genevieve De la Courte, please help me in welcoming Miss Zara Marie Liana Von Straussburg.”

Walking up the stairs to everyone’s clicks, their admiring yet blatantly envious smiles cemented the fact that she was exactly where she was supposed to be. No matter that her father- Lord Christopher Von Straussburg- had wanted his only daughter to attend Oxford or Cambridge; Zara’s mother was an American of French descent whose great-grandmother had been one of the founders of Bridgeton House. That Zara was to attend Yale was a point she would not debate, and eventually her father had agreed. And as fatigued as she was from the flight to JFK, she had to admit that there was an element of rightness - Bridgeton House embraced you with an air of history and familiarity that made you feel like you belonged.

It’s been far too long since there was De la Courte legacy at Bridgeton House, dear. Just like all those before you, you were born to rule. Don’t ever forget that….

Zara smiled to herself. Grandmére had said that just before she left London. And yes, just like her predecessors, Zara was born to rule Bridgeton House. And she knew it.

                                                                                             Skye

“Bridgeton will be your home; your fellows will become your family and your potential, both as academics and ladies of the world, will be realised and optimised. This is the experience that those who preceded you have had, and this is what I hope will become true for all of us.

Skye listened to Zara Von Straussburg speak in her English-tinged European accent and hoped that she would be so lucky to have that experience. Too much had happened in the past year to make her doubt she’d ever find a home again, but she longed for a place where she could feel safe. A place where, no matter her past, she belonged.

As Zara’s brief thank you wound down, Skye examined her once again. It wasn’t easy being noticed in a crowd like this, yet somehow she stood out. Her ebony hair and ivory-toned skin gave her a Snow White-appearance. Her violet eyes, however, were quite disconcerting. Skye supposed they could be rather warm when she laughed, but right now, they radiated a cold determination that would definitely earn her the title of Ice-Princess. Yeah, Skye thought, Ice-Princess was a much more apt title.

“Miss Skye Katarina Rose Melua.”

Skye stood up and joined the other freshmen who were standing in front of the fellows. An introduction Olivia had said, but it felt more like an inspection. She was comparable to these girls on every level, yet Skye still felt a bit self-conscious.

“And lastly, I would like to introduce the final freshman to the class of 2011, Miss Marissa Elizabeth Diane Sinclair.”

At the mention of that name, a shocked silence fell over the room and everyone sat up a little straighter, looking around to see where the owner was. Skye looked towards the back of the room, knowing that Marissa had not sat in the freshman row. If she had, she would definitely have known. What she didn’t know- what it seemed no one knew- was that Marissa Sinclair, the Marissa Sinclair, was a Bridgeton freshman. 

                                                                                       Marissa

“Ahh…Marissa Sinclair?” the girl in front repeated.

“Oh shit. Yeah yeah I’ll call you later. Okay Luke, seriously, they just called my name. Yeah, okay, you too. Bye.” Marissa stood framed in the doorway, phone in hand, looking around at the room of people who it seemed could do nothing but stare at her.

“I’m late I take it? Yeah, sorry about that but the paparazzi were like hounds this morning! It took me like an hour to get here from the airport. But I’m here now right? So let’s proceed. Marissa Sinclair, present and accounted for.”

It was true that the paparazzi had been following the limo, but she’d arrived more than half an hour ago. No, Marissa wasn’t late at all. She simply wanted to make an entrance.

Who was she kidding? She didn’t even want to be here. But since that decision was completely out of her hands, she decided to screw that and give them what she knew they’d expect.

Because once they heard Marissa Sinclair’s name, all they would be expecting was a New York socialite, party-girl, it-girl and Upper-East Side wild child. And Marissa was nothing if not accommodating.

 So, dressed in a scandalously short BCBG mini-dress, she’d loosened her golden waves and put on the killer Louboutin platforms that made her long legs look endless; got Harry on the phone and gave them a show.

Judging by their faces, she’d succeeded. She knew they didn’t want her here, but she was a legacy, so there was little they could do about it. But they’d soon get their wish, because Marissa was damned if she was going to spend the next four years of her life stuck in this pretentious, prison camp they called a legacy house.