Bad Boys

Let them eat cake, not me, I'm vegan

Suddenly we heard a knock at the door. Bang, bang, bangitty bang. It was the service people, I was sure. We had a doorbell that only ever played classical baroque music that our 'friends' or guests would use, but we made everyone else knock. All it meant was that our doorbell wouldn't be contaminated by poor people germs and that we knew who we should make wait for us.

I clapped my hands in the air, ordering in our butler, Frank. His full name was Francis or something I was pretty sure, but we as a family had decided that it was too posh a name for a butler to bare so we made him stick to Frank. Actually, now as I saw him enter, I remembered why we had allowed him to stay in service here for so long. Honestly, due to my lack of skill when it comes to object permanence (the objects being people below), I forgot about our staff, but when I saw Frank... well. How could I forget him?

He was a redhead, so he was already demerited some points for that, but he made up for it... well, actually he didn't really make up for it but embraced so much that he looked like a Celtic warrior playing dress up in a tuxedo. He had broad, manly figure, bright blue eyes and thick lips. I don't understand how a man like him ended up in such a business, but mother supposed that there was some sort of family affair with his rich, upper class mother cheating on her husband with a rugby player or something and trying to cover up how burly he was by sending him to etiquette. How much of that was true, I did not know, but it lead to some intrigue.

"Frank, could you people a darl and see who's at the door," I said to him in a more intimate manner than convention allowed us with different status to speak with. I bit lip as I smiled at him, who promptly smiled back. Well, at least I knew who I was dancing with tonight.

"Yes, miss," his reply was rather delayed by my obviously distracting self, although my family thankfully didn't realise it. If my mother only knew that I probably knew more than her about most womanly things. Frank gathered himself together, rushing to the door.

"It's the cake," he cried. Oh, how I loved the sound of his voice. Deep but kind of husky, like he had battled a cold, won and instead of deciding to let it free, kept it as prisoner in his throat. Oh his throat, I could not wait until this evening.

Before I had time to reply to Frank, my mother quickly dismissed him back to the ballroom to help with the decoration, and ordered the cake to be wheeled straight into the dining room.

We had always gotten our cakes from the same company, the same person, for she had a secret and extremely popular recipe specially reserved for the purposes of my family. Her name was Millicent Drew, rather boring a name if you ask me, especially for a cake maker but I didn't name her. If I did, her name would Maricent-Antoinettica Drew, but maybe that was a bit too high class for her.

Millicent entered with a thirty layer cake being pushed carefully in front of her. Oh, I still remembered the taste, the stacks of cake all connected with beautiful light and fluffy cream, delectable strawberries that conducted the twenty flavours until they all intertwined to create a most harmonious melody of taste on your tongue.

Oh sorry, I talk about food, but do not fret; I will not eat it but simply will appreciate it's beauty. Eating is for the weak. Anyway, basically an edible statue, generously adorned with sugary features such as little swans and elegant butterflies so my eyes could enjoy it too. And how my eyes enjoyed it so, as well as my intelligence. The science was amazing on how it was a stable structure, carried in on a trolley on a singular gold-white plate with nothing to support it but the magic of dessert.

"Hello Milly," my mother said approaching the young baker and greeting her with a swift kiss on her cheek. She was only a few years older than me, fresh out of high school but already a successful businesswoman. See, it wasn't that hard to become rich, the poor are just lazy, never mind the massive trust fund she inherited. She was pretty, definitely, large grey-green eyes, creamy skin and soft brown hair that always amazingly framed her face. Of course she wasn't as pretty as me, but sometimes it was nice to see that there was someone in this world who could possibly compete with me.

"Frank," she yelled to the back, where the doors instantly opened and Frank shuffled in. "Would you take this cake to the buffet table and then call Ida to get this young lady into something appropriate?''

''You really don't have to, I -,'' Millicent began in her delicate creamy voice that so well contrasted Frank's.

''No, no darling. You must come this party, I'm sure Ida can find you something wonderfully suitable. You are a size -300 like my daughter, yes?'' my mother smiled at the girl who complacently nodded her head back in a reply.

''Mother, I could always find something for her to wear-,'' I spoke up.

''That's very kind of you my sweet, but you must be introducing the guests into the household,'' she said, tapping my shoulder.

''Mother, there is something I must tell you,'' it was Jackie who spoke now, I had almost forgotten about my brother's existence. He looked more ruffled than usual.

''Yes, my young gentleman?'' Young gentlemen? Gentlemen? Wow, my mum really did not know her son and how deceitful he could be. How he could lie to his precious sister for so long.

''I have invited over Bentley.''

No, he didn't. He couldn't have. How dare he! And to be seen in society, frolicking around with someone as stupid as Bentley - surely my brother was smarter than that. He did not even regard my feelings! Course we acted like friends, but he was supposed to know. He was supposed to know. He was my brother for goodness sake! Maybe now that he had a little girlfriend and we've discovered that we weren't just twins, he had stopped caring for me. Me and my well-being.

Oh, he was going to pay.

He and Bentley.