Page 1 of A Princess, Stolen
Chapter 1
Back then in Louisiana
“All great things begin with a kiss.” I never forgot Grandma’s words, and for me, Willa Nevaeh Rae Hampton, then barely eleven years old, they were two hundred percent true.
I received my first kiss at the gate of our southern residence, Rosewood Manor, a colossal, columned palace surrounded by magnificent gardens and ancient trees. The remarkable thing was that I hardly knew the boy who gave it to me.
Although, that was not quite true. I had seen him several times before with a man who had the same wild, midnight-black hair as he did, shoulder-length and untamed; the way I imagined a pirate would look. And yet, I found both of them frighteningly beautiful. Maybe the older one was his brother. Or his father. Back then, I had a hard time judging adults’ age. Anyway, one day, the younger one came alone and I made it a habit to play hopscotch near the back entrance because the wall that surrounded my father’s property was interspersed with high wrought iron fences and hedges. There, I could see him well.
He and I were like two animals in two cages, eyeing each other suspiciously but curiously. I hardly had any contact with people my own age and this boy, who even seemed a little older than me, made my heart flutter like crazy. Oftentimes, he collected wood or sat on the grass carving. At times, he watched me in silence, and when I looked back at him but didn't turn away, a smile would cross his face. One of those that resonated in your soul for days because it catches you unexpectedly.
I started wearing my best summer dresses when I snuck into the back garden. I braided my hair into two neat plaits because, as Dad often said, it showed off all my best features—my heart-shaped face, thick cinnamon-brown hair, porcelain-white skin, coral-red lips, and smoky blue eyes. Somehow, in his opinion, a lot of me seemed colorful.
My best features came from Mom. Dad always said that too, but Mom was no longer with us.
Her death taught me that not everything can be bought. All the money in the world cannot bring the dead back to life and that was probably one of the hardest lessons I ever had to learn.
“Can’t you buy Mom back from the angels, Daddy?”
“No, sweetie, that’s not how death works.”
“But I want her back, Dad. I want her back. Now, now, now!”
“Oh, Willa Rae…”
“Please, please, Daddy. Or don’t you have enough money?”
When Mom died, I was six years old and had no idea that death was beyond the power of money. And Dad has billions, he is one of the richest men in America, I knew that even at the age of six.
However, I didn’t know if the boy on the other side of the wrought iron fence knew.
One day, when I was playing hopscotch again, he came closer to the iron fence bars.
I stopped mid-hop and looked at him directly. That time, he didn’t smile, but there was something challenging in his eyes as if to say,Go for it!
And I went for it. I had three nannies and two bodyguards even if they weren’t always visible. And the panning camera on the big gate moved back and forth.I’m safe here. Safe and secure, as Dad says. I carefully approached the fence and looked at the boy. His feet were dirty. I was wearing my brand-new ballet flats and had even braided daisies into my hair for him.He must be poor. His pants were worn, his flannel shirt too warm for the height of the southern summer, and several buttons were missing.He is definitely one of the poor people who live in the swamp. One of the displaced people. That’s why he’s wearing the shirt. Because of the mosquitoes there. Dad sometimes spoke of these people, usually in a derogatory way.I hope he doesn’t intend to steal anything!
My last thought made me stop. “What’re you doing here?” I asked, never taking my eyes off him.
He timidly stuck his fist through the gate. “I have something for you.” He smiled, and for the first time, I saw his eyes clearly. They were sea gray, long and narrow, and they sparkled in the single ray of sunlight that fell through the canopy of the centuries-old oaks. His eyes frightened me as did everything about him, but in a wonderful way. Something tickled in my stomach. I especially liked his eyes more than I have ever liked anything before.
I walked the last few yards to the gate feeling strangely excited, even though Dad always told me to stay away from strangers.
“This is for you,” he said, pressing something into my hand. “It’s not much.” I sensed resistance in his words. Resistance with a hint of anger as if he liked me but didn’t like me at the sametime. Or, as if he would only admit that he liked me if he heard it from me first.
My heart beat faster not because of his anger but because of the gift. It was a knotted bracelet, and it looked so sturdy and strong that it could bear my full weight without breaking. “It doesn’t sparkle,” I said.
“I told you, it’s not much.” Now the boy’s displeasure was obvious.
“It doesn’t matter that it doesn’t sparkle…it’s just, because…”Because every gift I get usually sparkles and shines. “It’s beautiful.” I ran my index finger over the rough band. It looked as if hair was woven into it. Hair and fabric. Fabric that might have once been white, but was now gray, sea gray like his eyes.He made it from what little he had!That was somehow worth more than if one of Dad’s rich friends gave me a pair of new gold earrings.
My heart suddenly beat even faster. “Thank you.” I tied the ends around my wrist, but it was difficult to tie it with one hand and my fingers were shaking. After the boy watched me for a while, he reached between the fence bars and helped me. His fingertips felt as rough as the ribbon and calloused as if he was already working hard. My stomach was tingling again.
“It’s a gift. You should never take gifts off, you hear?” It sounded solemn. It was important to him, so I nodded and hoped that no lice were nesting in the scraps of fabric.
“That’s nice of you!” I said a little awkwardly when he remained silent.
He looked me up and down, returning me to a state of sweet excitement that I was utterly defenseless against. I noticed his eyelashes. They reminded me of raven feathers, jet black, thick, and silky. Suddenly, I heard the rustling of the oak trees above me, smelled the cotton flowers from the nearby plantations,and felt the damp air on my skin as I waited for him to finish examining me.
