Last Year - First Love

Katia

I woke up to the sound of people singing badly.

“Happy birthday to you...” I blinked hard against the sunlight filtering through the curtains, my brain slow to reboot. The voices were getting louder, and for a second, I thought I was dreaming. A really weird, off-key dream.

“Happy birthday, dear Katia...”

My bedroom door flung open. I sat up so fast the blanket tangled around my legs like a trap. My vision adjusted just in time to see a small parade entering my room, Delia leading the way with a cupcake on a tray, Dad trailing behind her holding a phone like he was filming a hostage video, and then, my mother, smiling. I nearly choked because my mom has never smiled at me.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she said; her voice was smooth and artificial, like she’d sprayed it with perfume before letting it out of her mouth.

I stared at her like she’d grown a second head. Because here’s the thing: Martha didn’t do birthdays. Not mine, anyway. Delia got birthdays. Princess themes, balloons, new dresses, and a chorus of relatives pretending they liked each other. I got awkward silences and last-minute gas station cards. I once got a vacuum cleaner. I was twelve.

So this? This felt like a setup.

“Um... thanks?” I said, my voice rough from sleep and suspicion.

Delia plopped the tray down in my lap like she was presenting a peace offering. “I made the cupcake myself,” she said sweetly, which meant the maid probably did it while Delia supervised with a glass of wine.

I looked down at it. Vanilla with white frosting and one lonely candle jammed in the center like a warning flare.

“Blow it out,” my dad said cheerfully, but his eyes were doing that thing they always did when he was nervous, darting around like they were looking for an exit.

I narrowed my eyes. “Okay, seriously. What’s going on?”

My mom gave a soft laugh, as if I was being silly for having the correct instincts. She sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothing the comforter like she’d ever touched it before.

“You’re twenty now,” she said gently. “That’s a very important age.”

“Cool,” I said, unimpressed. “Should I be bracing for a tax seminar or something?”

Delia giggled. Dad coughed.

Mom kept going, undeterred. “You’re a woman now, Katia. And your father and I have something very exciting and important to tell you.”

There it was. The sting in the frosting. The trap under the ribbon.

I sat up straighter. “Okay…”

She looked at me like she was about to hand me a tiara. “You’ve been chosen to marry Julian Windsor.”

The room didn’t go quiet; it went hollow.

For a second, I couldn’t even process the words. I stared at her, waiting for a punchline, a camera crew, or something.

“Who?” I asked, even though I’d heard her perfectly.

“Julian Windsor,” she repeated, like I was the dumb one. “The Windsor heir. Their family has been interested in an alliance for years. You were betrothed when you were sixteen.”

I blinked. “What?!”

Dad gave me a sheepish look. “We didn’t want to overwhelm you at the time.”

“At the time? You mean when I was sixteen?!”

Mom’s smile never wavered. “It was a strategic match. His family is very private. Very powerful. This is a good thing, Katia. You’re incredibly lucky.”

Lucky?

Like this was some kind of prize.

Like I should’ve been jumping up and down because I was the golden ticket in a billionaire breeding lottery.

“I’ve never even met him,” I said, still struggling to wrap my head around the casual horror of what she’d just dropped on me like it was a brunch topic.

“Neither has Delia,” she replied smoothly. “But if things had gone differently, she would’ve married him instead. You should be grateful it’s you.”

“Wow,” I muttered. “How generous of you, Mother.”

Delia leaned against the bedpost, swirling her hair around her finger. “He’s supposed to be really handsome. And rich. Like... rich rich. The Windsors own, like, everything. Casinos. Oil. Maybe a spaceship? I don’t know. They’re super secretive.”

“Oh great,” I snapped. “So I’m marrying a ghost with a trust fund, and you know this how?”

My mom’s eyes hardened, just for a second. “Don’t be dramatic. He’s real. And they chose you. That should mean something.”

“No,” I said. “What means something is that you waited four years to tell me I was promised to a complete stranger like this is a medieval auction.”

My dad cleared his throat. “We thought we’d wait until the Windsors reached out. And... they have.”

I stared at him. “You mean this is happening now?”

“They’ve arranged to meet in a few weeks,” my mother said. “There will be dinner. Formalities. You’ll get to know each other before the engagement becomes public.”

Public? Right. Because this wasn’t a relationship. It was a press release waiting to happen.

“I can’t believe this,” I said, my voice flat. “You didn’t even ask me.”

“You don’t ask about opportunities like this,” she said firmly. “You accept them.”

That was her tone now. The mask was slipping. She wasn’t the smiling mother with a cupcake anymore. She was the CEO of this family, and I was a failed acquisition being forced into a merger.

I got out of bed, shoving the tray off my lap. The cupcake toppled sideways, the candle smearing frosting across the blanket like a smear of white lies.

“I need air,” I said.

Mom stood up. “Katia, don’t be ridiculous—”

“No. I need to think. I’m going to Vegas.”

That caught her off guard. “Vegas?”

“Just a weekend,” I lied. “To clear my head. You want me to marry a stranger? Fine. But let me have one moment of freedom first.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but Dad touched her arm. “Let her go. She’ll come around.”

I watched the silent war play out in her expression. In the end, control won. Because she thought she already had it.

“Fine,” she said, that awful smile returning. “Go. Take some time. But don’t forget what’s waiting when you come back.”

I didn’t answer.

I was already packing the second the door closed.

They thought they were giving me space. What they didn’t know was that I wasn’t going to Vegas for air. I was going for speed.