Hokulani Marie Hewahewa-Davenport sat stiffly in the back of the sleek black car as it navigated its way out of the bustling London and made its way for the quieter countryside. She had only just graduated from university a handful of weeks ago. She had her future plans all laid out for her. Now, those future plans were out the door, crushed beneath the hard foot of her father. He had let her run free and do as she pleased long enough; she should be grateful he allowed her to attend school in America in the first place. It was to her mother she owed that gratitude toward.Â
The car left behind the fast pace, noisy city. Rolling English hills with wildflowers scattered everywhere was soon on either side of the car. Hoku had to admit, she did miss England, birthplace of her father, Edward Davenport, and his family for hundreds of years. That did not mean she wanted to return like this, not on these terms. She was on her way to the Fitzroy Manor, the Fitzroy's who's family was as old as her own, dating back to the Tudor Era. It felt like the families were still stuck in the old ways. The Davenport Manor neighbored the Fitzroy estate, but Hoku refused to return home first; if she did, her father would make sure she changed before meeting her fiance.Â
Her fiance. The Fitzroy son she had been engaged to since she was a child. She frowned out the window. She had been just seven years old. Smaug Fitzroy, youngest son, had been seventeen. They did not get along at all. He was a bully, teasing her and her older sisters. Wild, one would call him. It was clear he did not want to be tied to a child, and while she did not quite understand was what happening at the time, she did not want anything to do with him either. Even if he had pretty eyes.Â
It was the one and only time she had ever met him, when their father's agreed to the marriage, smoking their cigars and drinking their expensive whiskey in her father's study. She was always hard to control, even at such an age, and her father always seemed to be angry with her. Not that she cared. It was a blessing when her mother convinced her father to allow her to attend Harvard. Once out of the county, she was allowed to do what she wanted. She got to party, got to make friends. Go on dates. Of course, despite being thousands of miles away, her photograph was still in papers. The College Party Girl. Her father loved that. It was the reason she was brought home now.Â
The Fitzroy Manor came into view as the car made its way down the drive that ended in a circle around a fountain. Three stories tall, it was an imposing structure. The car parked, the driver opening her door. Her heels were the first to hit the gravel; black peep-toe heels that showed her obnoxiously green painted toenails. Her jeans, while torn, were snug; more than one man stopped to stare at her as she made her way through the airport, at the path of coffee cream skin that showed itself between the low waistband of the denim and the cropped hem of the top she wore, a top that showed a delectable amount of cleavage that a woman of her stature, her name, would not show off. A tiny diamond at her bellybutton glinted in the sun, a contrast to the peacock feather earrings in her ears. Her lipstick was dark plum, a complete contrast to her green toenails and matching green fingernails. Her hair was wild, a dark mass of silk waves that fell around her face, down her back.Â
There was a reason she dressed this way. It was her hope that Smaug Fitzroy would find her unfit to be his bride; that he would demand that the arrangement between them be overturned. The butler appeared, retrieving her two bags and purse from the driver. She followed the older man to what could possibly be her doom.
