His Hidden Wife (A Justin Bieber Story)

Chapter One (Andrea)

1 - Mr. & Mrs. Bieber

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'Sometimes, your happiness and the person you want just don't go together.' - Anon
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When I was a kid, I never quite enjoyed sports. Or anything related to being active. Not that I hated the activity but I wasn't actually physically fit to play so. When other kids loved playing outside, I chose to sit around a bench or a corner, quietly fixated on a book.

People then see me as this (typical) weak, nerdy, goody two shoes girl — the kind that makes a magnet to bullies. But I knew I wasn't.

I mean surely, being an only child and a girl has perks —tons, actually.

Since I was little, my parents gave me everything (all sorts) of what I wanted and needed. Sometimes, even things I never even asked for. It was something I was so acquainted with that growing up, I couldn't help but to adapt a superiority complex—a trait I did not foresee that would surely bite me in the long run.

Accidents, they happen the least you expect it, such as instances where a book slips from your hand and ends up on someone else's face. Believe it or not but such accident happens, sometimes.

Accidents with Justin happens a lot.

Exhibit A: I was reading one of my favorite books in our garden while I waited for him. My parents and his decided we should spend some time together every weekend. Not that I was complaining. I mean having a huge crush at the age of nine though, I just couldn't show nor tell him (Scarlet, one of my best friends, strictly told me).

Hence, to compensate my concealed admiration, I have threatened every girl that liked him — may be it in hush whispers or in the open or even when they would write his name on their autograph books (the one where you let people sign and answer questions about oneself e.g., "Who is your crush?").

"Miss Andrea, Mister Bieber is here." Antonio, Dad's butler announced in his black tux and white gloves. He's always neat and proper. Oftentimes, he lacked emotion. But I was used to it that it didn't surprise me anymore.

Placing the book on my lap I nodded, hiding the small smile that was trying to evade my lips — a habit whenever I was about to see him, sort of like a reflex if that counts as one.

A boy dressed in a black V neck shirt, cargo shorts and Vans pranced his way to the garden. One thing about him, annoyance was something he didn't bother to hide. The frown plastered like a tattoo in his face. But what really caught my eyes was his new colored hair.

I didn't know his parents allowed him to do that at such young age. My father would be in hysterics.

"You're such a nerd." He started as he took a seat on the nearby bench in front of me.

Squinting my eyes at his judging statement, my anticipation of seeing him wilted away. I really didn't understand why (all of) our conversations start off like this.

"It's Saturday and you're reading an encyclo-whatever you call that." He continued.

"It's encyclo-pedia. And not only you sound stupid, you also look like one." I countered back, pertaining how unattractive he looks with his hair. "Blonde people will hate you. You're a disgrace in the community."

"What are you? Twenty?"

"Nine actually and I think you look stupid in blonde. You haven't even lived your life yet you already want to look like a grandpa."

He glared at me, "I don't need your opinion Nerdy girl."

"It's a democratic country."

"Psh. Smart ass forty year old girl." He continued, his cheeks and ears turned bright red. Probably didn't know what democratic means. "Some girls prefer blondes and she thinks I am cool."