My life was an open notepad everyone besides me could write in. It was as if only a special pen could produce legible ink when applied to the pages of the notepad and I did not possess that pen. I was twenty-one years old and my life was written for me, every single page of it. Some say that, with wealth, comes minor difficulty. My life, to any outsider not living in my shoes, would seem perfect to every degree; I had all the clothes a girl could wish for, three cars for my leisure available with respective chauffeurs, butlers and maids that waited on my every demand, and hundreds of people who adored me. However, I hated the clothes I wore, I wasn’t able to leave the manor and make use of my three chauffeured vehicles, the butlers and maids invaded my privacy constantly, and those hundreds of people who adored me didn’t actually adore me, they merely adored the money I came from. My life is the polar opposite of perfect.
Father is an Indian steel tycoon and mother is his white mistress he met on a holiday in England twenty-one years ago. He met her, she gave birth to me, he left his former wife and married my birth mother, my birth mother passes away months later, and then it was just him and I. Just like that. Such are the ways of the wealthy. Quite frankly, it disgusts me. It has for the past twenty-one years.
As I sat in the green parlor, I solely call it the green parlor because it is the only one painted green at our Indian manor, I watched Rajesh, one of our butlers, pour my Yorkshire tea. I watched as the steam materialized from the contents in my cup and vanish into the air. Rajesh gave me a polite nod of his head beforespinning on his heel and trotting out of the parlor. I let out a sigh; I really wished the work here would be more sociable as sometimes I really missed casual conversation. The tea was hot when it met my lips and I instantly drew back, patting at the burn with the cloth napkin from the wooden table beside me. Another sigh escaped from my now burnt lips; this life was lethargic. It droned on every day in the same manner and I couldn’t escape it.
I set the hot tea onto the table and rose to my feet, making my way out of the green parlor and towards father’s study. He had called me and I was already minutes late; he detested waiting more than anything else in the world. I walked through the elegantly ordained hallway, under the long, ornate chandeliers and the large, antique gold-framed portraits of my grandfathers. The balls of my tall, white heels hit against the mahogany-finished flooring, echoing throughout the entire manor in rhythmic steps. It he didn’t know that I was heading over before, he knew now.
I turned the nearest corner and threw open the large, glass doors before me. Behind them sat a tall, lanky man with white stubble growing on his chin and hazel green eyes staring back at me.
“You’re late, Farah.” He set the brass pen he had been holding down onto the table. He pushed away from the desk, rose to his feet, walked over to me, and threw his long arms around me.
I hugged back awkwardly, not use to this sort of affection from my father. I patted him back a few times, assuming that was proper protocol, before he drew apart, returning to his seat and gesturing for me to take mine across from him. When I did, he folded his hands over the table and I felt my stomach drop; he had some big news to tell me. In actuality, I had seen it coming all day. He never allowed me to enter his study and, when he did, it was either to yell at me for something stupid I had tried to do or to discuss serious business. I didn’t recall doing anything stupid recently, so I assumed he had to talk business with me and that was terribly frightening.
“Farah, you’re twenty-one-one now.” He began, licking his lips together as he attempted to piece together what he was going to say.
“I’m fully aware of my own age, father.” I replied back as swiftly as I could. I kept my posture, holding my back straight and sucking in my stomach.
He smirked at my statement before continuing. “You’re a woman, Farah. You’ve just graduated from university top of your class and I couldn’t be more proud."
I nodded compliance, eager to know the course of this conversation.
He cleared his throat for a moment and then loosened the hold of his tie. These were all nerve-wrecking mannerisms for me to observe. He really meant business.
“The steel industry isn’t as powerful as it used to be. All the other companies in this industry, besides ours, have formed cooperation alliances with other industries, such as aluminum, cobalt, and lead, to increase production value. I figured long ago that Molavi Industries would have to form a joint collaboration with one of the major leading industries to double our profits, but I hadn’t planned out when or how.”
“Father,” I pushed my long black hair behind my shoulder. “Why did you ask me to join you in the study? What is this all about?”
The expression upon his face was hard to read. “We will marry into the leading cobalt manufacturer in England.”
I knew it. This was the peak of insolence. I was their marionette-like pawn, easily manipulated and controlled.
When I didn’t speak aloud, my father continued, hesitantly. “One of the biggest cobalt manufacturers in the world is Malik Industries. They trade with virtually every country on this planet and have union alliances with every other major industry, except for steel. Azad Malik is a good friend of mine from years. Of course, they’re as desperate as we are to make a cooperation alliance and, interestingly enough, they have a son who is a year older than you.”
I gritted my teeth, struggling to keep myself calm. “Couldn’t you just sign some papers and establish a fair trade agreement?” I muttered. I knew what I was talking about, I had been an economics and business double major at Princeton University, where I had just spent the past four years of my life.
“Marriage is far more permanent.” He shook his head. “A signature on paper is as weak and soluble as sugar in water.”
I felt heat boil beneath my skin, threatening to reach the surface. I took a few deep breaths. “Arranged marriages are far outdated, father. I’m sure the Malik boy wouldn’t even be interested in such a thing.”
“Azad Malik already spoke with his son about the matter and claims that he’s fine with the proposal.”
“Fine? He’s fine with the proposal?” The anger was burning holes beneath my skin. “This is absolutely ridiculous!”
“Farah!” Father shouted.
Immediately, I fell quiet and slumped in my chair, ridding myself of my ideal posture. Whenever he raised his voice I was terrified and couldn’t possibly argue back. This is how he won every argument.
“Farah,” He repeated, quieter this time. “We are to fly out to England tomorrow morning. We will meet with the Maliks, you will formally meet their son, we will arrange the engagement date, and finalize all cooperation alliances between Molavi and Malik Industries.”
And that was the end of the conversation. I lethargically walked out of the study, gently closing the doors behind me. I stood by the doorway, my back leaning against the painted glass, and felt my heart beat hasten. Tears stung my eyes and threatened to fall but I knew better than that. There was no use crying over this sort of matter. This was my life and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was already use to my life being written for me so, rather than having a negative attitude, I could approach the matter in a positive light. At least, I could try to do so.
***
Next update :JULY 28th
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