book 1 of 3
ever since bianca 'b' prescott was born, she was told that she was the fairest of them all. and like any, the island's very own kook princess had a reputation- she was stubborn and shallow and most of all, she was a spoiled bitch. but ev...
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Bianca walked into the kitchen with a scowl, heading straight over to the food cabinet and pulling out a packet of chips. She strolled past the fridge, her eyes scanning over the many fridge magnets of various landmarks– The Leaning Tower of Piza, Eiffel Tower, Taj Mahal, Great Wall of China, Great Pyramid of Giza, Statue of Liberty- all from her parents' international travels.
Before Bianca could placed the first chip in her mouth, however, Lydia waltzed over and snatched it out of her hands, "Those are carbs- you'll thank me later," To which let out a small groan of her annoyance.
"What are you doing back so early?" Lydia narrowed her eyes as she retook her seat at the kitchen counter, "You're supposed to be cleaning up Masonborough."
Bianca rolled her eyes and peered over her mother's shoulder as the stack of papers Lydia was leaning over. She reached for the glass of sangria beside her mother and took a sip, "What are you working on?"
Lydia didn't bother glancing up, twirling the pen in her hands, platinum blonde strands cascading over her shoulders, "The seating arrangement for Midsummers- is placing Mr Dunleavy next to Mrs Marshall- the one who gets around, not the old blind lady next door Mrs Marshall- too scandalous? You know considering her daughter had an affair with his nephew?"
Midsummers was an annual event the exclusive Island Club hosted in Kildare and Lydia Prescott happened to be the president of the Club.
Bianca loved Midsummers- she loved extravagant outfits and delicious food, she loved the exclusivity and dancing to the live band with her boyfriend, but for some reason, the thought of Midsummers this year made her––– sad.
It seemed that John B sob story had become a bigger hindrance than she'd like to admit, crawling under her skin like a little blood-sucking parasite. All she wanted to do was sneak martini's and dance the night away with her best-friend just as they'd always done, but how could she when John B's stupid, fat, ugly head kept reminding her that while she slept peacefully, the Pogues were scraping their pockets for their next meal? And then there was Sarah, who's incessant do-gooder attitude and unnervingly righteous words from their fight this morning rang so clear in her head–––"I know you can't imagine it, but some people need jobs so that they can eat."
"Mom," Bianca frowned hesitantly, "There are people three miles from here that have no power, no running water and we're going to Midsummers," But even so, the words left a bitter taste in her mouth as they rolled off her tongue.
"Yeah, you're right, I should stick her beside the Carrera's in the back- it should keep her busy and that way, I won't have to deal with Anna."
Like mother like daughter, Lydia had a strong dislike for the Carrera's- she liked to believe if it looks like a duck, swims like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's probably a Pogue. Kiara's mother, Anna, had requested to join the Island Club many, many times, but the board collectively voted against it. However, after Bianca had pulled an out-of-line prank on Kiara– though Bianca would argue it was seemingly harmless– Lydia agreed to let the Carrera's in to buy their silence about the whole ordeal.
"Mom, are you even listening to me?" Bianca huffed suddenly and her mother let out an exasperated sigh, finally glancing up at her.
"B, how do I say this," She feigned being lost in thought, "I have more important things to worry about than food stamps and people who think mani-pedis are a latin greeting, okay? So unless you're going to help-"
"But what would people think?" Bianca knew exactly where to hit her Mom where is hurts, after all, behind every manipulative bitch, there's an even more conniving mother.
"B..." She trailed off.
"Hear me out," Bianca interjected, taking a seat opposite her on the kitchen counter, "People are still cleaning up form the hurricane while we're throwing a party- just think about it, we'd look like total assholes."
Lydia leaned forward slightly, more intrigued now, "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," The younger girl continued, "Midsummers, but make it a fundraiser."
A grin suddenly spread across Lydia's rose-tinted lips, "Oh my god, B, that's perfect- you're perfect!" She rounded the corner to plant a small kiss on her daughter's forehead.
A sort of warmth spread inside Bianca from the top of her head down to her chest until her mother pulled away and that short moment was gone all too soon. She found herself leaning towards the older woman again, but she was already pacing around the room.
"I'll have to get the board to agree- but of course they will, it's brilliant," She rambled on and on.
"We could hire some of the local food-places at the Cut to cater?" Bianca offered, "I heard Heyward's oysters are good."
"Yes!" Lydia nodded fervently, "And we'll donate all the money to the cleanup around the island- I don't know, that's not important, but I could announce it at the party and you could have a speech- we can work on it tonight-"
"Tonight?" Bianca suddenly piped up, "I can't tonight."
"What?" Lydia narrowed her eyes, "Why not?"
"Topper's throwing a party," Bianca responded, getting up to head upstairs.
"Fine," Lydia hummed, "But write that speech before Midsummers, oh- I almost forgot, your father's on that business trip on the mainland- you were out so he told me to say goodbye from him."
"Oh," Was all Bianca would muster, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
"He'll be back before Midsummers," Her mother didn't notice the girl's change in tonality, "Anyway, he needs you to drop something off at the Cameron's."
"But Mom," Bianca whined in a way that reminded her of a five year old throwing a tantrum, not wanting to accidentally bump into Sarah after the morning they'd had, "Why can't you do it?"
"Can't drink and drive," Her mother tipped the glass of sangria towards her before strolling out of the kitchen.
