The Princess Pages: A Girl Like Cinderella

Song Sixty Five

PAIN IS STILL PAIN. THERE IS NEVER A COMPARISON.

The sky had turned dark blue tinged with hues of pink and purple by the time Lucy clocked out of her wearisome day at the diner.

Privacy was what they'd asked for,and it was privacy they were presented with upon entering the two-story Heartwood Mansion at exactly six in the evening.

Gail and Beverly Stone were not home; the two blondes had gone to an unadvertised sample sale in Chicago and wouldn't be back until Sunday afternoon.

On the other hand, they had a small audience in the form of 12-year-old Vance Heartwood. He was tall for his age, almost six feet, and he currently chewed a slice of Hawaiian pizza while sitting beside his 17-year-old sister in the sophisticated living room draped in tension.

"Does the kid have to be here?" Brad complained while plopped on the long red sofa.

Vance stuck his tongue out at the black-haired teenager.

Still in her work uniform, Lucy put her hands on her lap, casting a glance at her brother.

"Whatever you have to say to me, Vance can listen in. We have no secrets between each other."

"Then he may be the only person you know that you don't lie to," Brad said testily.

Lucy winced at his words. Vance glared at the Fields heir.

Someone cleared his throat. It was Lawrence, who was sitting beside Brad.

A large coffee table separated the two males from the Heartwood siblings.

"We'll try not to consume too much of your time," the bespectacled blond said.

Lucy waved a dismissive hand. "No, it's okay." She peered out of the window. "It's getting dark outside. I'm more than willing to prepare a light dinner before you go."

An awkward silence fell over the living room. The elephant was too big to elude.

"You figured it out," the brunette said, her voice quiet but audible.

Lawrence nodded his head while typing away on his black laptop perched on his lap.

"I don't know where to start," said Lucy.

"How about from the beginning?" Brad suggested, sounding annoyed. "Why did you put on a disguise? Why did you use a fake name? Why did you enter the contest then reject the role after you won?"

Lucy bowed her head, ashamed of her actions. "I was stupid," she answered.

The bespectacled girl looked from Brad to Lawrence, before she defended herself; But throughout her vague explanations, she excluded personal details such as her parents' deaths, the prom incident, and the sexual harassment she forced herself to forget.

"So you were bullied in the past," Brad reiterated after she finished. "And you couldn't show your face at the Valentine's Ball, so you masqueraded as Cara. And the contest. You didn't predict any chance of winning." He drew in a sharp breath. "What about those other appearances? Why did you put the wig back on?"

Lucy's face turned crimson. She twiddled her thumbs on her lap, feeling her ears burn red.

"I..." On impulse, her hand reached for her moon necklace, the pendant on her collarbone.

"Lucy," Lawrence called sternly.

She slowly raised her chin to look up at the gray-eyed blond sitting across her.

"The reason why Trent can't come to a conclusion is because you never told him your surname. You're a Heartwood," Lens told her while his fingers flew over his keyboard.

The pale girl's pink lips quivered. She nodded.

"You're restraining your answers," Lawrence continued. "You always have. And I know why. It's because of this." He turned his black laptop around and placed it on the coffee table, in a position that gave Lucy a clear view of the wide, glowing screen.

Lucy's throat tightened. She glanced the other way.

Brad rose from the dark sofa and squinted his brown eyes at the laptop's screen.

Various tabs were opened and minimized; a viral video; multiple news articles; several blogs and announcements of Violet Chamber's cancer, her death, and her funeral. She was an internationally famous singer, dancer, model, and actress, so when she had passed away, the entire world knew about it.

Other articles, just as many, spoke of Lance Heartwood involved in a severe car accident, wherein a drunk driver hit his vehicle one late afternoon, and both drivers were declared Dead On Arrival (DOA). Lance was a prominent song composer and musician, and his death was a loss to millions of fans and friends--Most of all, to his remaining family.

Everything on the laptop's screen stung. Pictures of Lance's funeral and plenty of dedication clips from those who knew him well. Compilations of Violet's performances in concerts, movies and printed ads. The images were flooding back like a salty tidal wave in Lucy's eyes.

Lucy's younger brother, Vance, consoled her by patting her back while she buried her face in her hands as she trembled, hot tears leaking onto her palms.

"Fuck," Brad cursed vehemently as he scanned the laptop screen.

Lucy hastily used her arms to cover Vance's ears. He wasn't supposed to hear foul language.

Brad had pressed PLAY on the singular viral video; The brunette's ears were filled with familiar taunts, mocking laughter, and the distinct sound of a liquid splashing down on someone.

She shot up from the couch like it was on fire, then she slammed her damp palms on the laptop, slapping it shut. Her cheeks were vertically streaked with thick,flowing tears.

"Enough," she said in a strangled voice. Her blue eyes were glassy and unwelcoming.

Her younger brother was composed, his face dry and unreadable. Her heart swelled with pride.

Brad and Lawrence pushed themselves off the red sofa. The latter grabbed his black laptop.

"We'll go," the gray-eyed blond said, zipping up his laptop-carrier.

"Neither of you is leaving," Lucy said hoarsely, which made all three males gawk at her.

Brad's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"I said I'll make dinner for everyone, and I don't make empty promises." She rose from her seat.

Vance got up, too. He knew how to cook, impressive for his tender age of twelve.

"Give me half an hour," Lucy said, instructing the teens to wait in the living area before she disappeared into the kitchen, joined by her brother.