Emma & The Beast

Authors Notes: Sorry for any bad grammer or spelling for I did not edit. If this story gets many interest then I'll start editing my work ;P

Emma will be played by Ariana Grande

To support me in this story, please VOTE and COMMENT. Tell me your honest opinion, not about the grammer or spelling but how the story seems so far. :)

***

~Emma's POV~

"Emma, you really must take better care of yourself, dear."

I stifled a yawn, earning myself a stern glare from my mother.

"You must behave like a lady," she went on preaching, lifting her chin up. "If you can't be a lady then it wouldn't kill you to act like one."

I patted my mouth, yawning. "Mother, you just contradicted yourself."

"Oh do be quiet, Emma," Mother scolded, "you very well know what I mean."

I rolled my eyes. How long was this lecture going to go on? I had places to be, guys to flirt with, yummy cakes to taste...

"Emma, are you listening to me?"

I sat up straighter, properly sitting on the elegant chair like the lady that I was raised to be, but sadly was not. "Yes, Mama."

Mother sighed. "Honestly, Emma, what are we going to do with you? After that last incident with the Emerson boy..."

"That was last week!"

Mother's eyes narrowed. "That is beside the point, young lady! The way you treated that poor boy..."

I gave out an unlady like snort. "Mama, he was practically groping my breast."

"Emma!"

I ignored my mothers shocked gasp. "Well it's true." I slumped back against the seat, giving up on acting like a proper lady again. "Someone had to teach him that he can't feel the goods for free without damages."

Mother stood up straighter, neck practically straining up so she could look her nose down at me. "And what is that suppose to mean, Emma Joan Blakely?"

Uh oh. Damn. She had used my full name.

My eyes slid to the chair behind the large polished black desk in front of me and smiled sweetly. Time for plan B. If you can't reason with the Mama, involve the doting Papa.

"Papa," I smiled sweetly, "don't you think that Richard deserved what happened to him?"

"What do you mean, 'what happened to him'" Mother said, exasperated. "It was your fault that the poor boy ran into that fountain."

I snickered, the memory of snobby Richard Emerson diving head first into the very expensive chocolate fountain that our host had designed. Okay, so he hadn't dived there on his own. He had a little help from someone's perfectly manicured foot.

Okay, okay, so I tripped him...and Mother had been the only one to catch me on the act. She had been watching me like a hawk all that day. Pfft, when wasn't she?

A petite woman with dark hair and soft blue eyes, my mother ruled our home with an iron fist. Ever since I was seven she had tried to raise me up into a proper lady. I learned...but sadly I was never good at playing the part.

I was too bold, too out spoken and loud, too nosy and clumsy...blah blah blah.

I crossed my arm and puffed my cheek out, a childhood habit that my mother had failed to beat out of me. Not that she would ever try to raise a dainty hand to hit her only child but still...mothers had their ways. And now she was punishing me for what happened to Richard last week in that party by locking me the house. It's not my fault that he had been born a perverted groper.