The Princess Who Almost Never Smiled

Daddy's Little Princess... and the Honest Woman

Violet should have been happy. Social conventions dictated that the frown on her face had to be a hoax; she had money, friends, and of course, she had men practically throwing themselves on top of her. She woke up every day in lush, silk sheets, bathed in a sizable cast iron tub, dressed in expensive clothes, and proceeded to carry out the day's events in her most prized possession: a limited edition, 2011 cherry red Bugatti Veyron.

Despite this, when she awoke in the morning, simply getting out of bed seemed like a painstaking chore. She strained herself to produce a fake smile for the press, her father's press, but she could never quite do so successfully. It always seemed pained; it was never truly a smile.

"Heard your dad wants to talk," Aria, Violet's closest friend, stated one morning. She lounged in Violet's plush pink chair, her index finger pressed to her temple and her thumb to her jaw in support. She seemed just as tired as Violet.

"He can do all the talking he wants," Violet muttered, brushing through her long, lustrous dark hair, yet another thing of Violet's that men admired and woman envied. "Doesn't mean I've got to talk back."

"He just wants to make you happy, Vi."

"Yeah, right, by selling me to his petty co-workers' sons. Who, by the way, he knows I'm not interested in. He's awful good at doing that."

Aria stood from the chair, already dressed in her typical fall fashion: simple leather boots, dark jeans and a sweater. Violet eyed her twice, once to admire her friend's outfit, and another to envy it. Her father's PR agent had told her that outfits like those were too simple. Henry Alexander's image was not simple, nor would his daughter's be. Violet wore a sheer black top, covered by an entirely extra faux fur coat that made her look ridiculous. But her style couldn't be described as simple, and that was what mattered.

"Just see what he has to say?" Aria suggested, placing a gentle hand on Violet's shoulder.

Exhausted, despite the fact that it was barely eight in the morning, Violet nodded. She slipped on her heels and left Aria alone in her bedroom. Aria knew to wait a few minutes— minutes that sometimes turned to hours—before joining Violet downstairs. First, she knew from experience, Violet and her father needed to duke it out as they always did.

Henry sat at a large dining room table, one Violet was unfortunately familiar with as a result of all their early morning talks. Upon seeing his daughter, Henry stood, allowing Violet to take in his attire: a simple black business suit. It was nothing out of the ordinary, though the few grays emerging from the roots of his hair were new. Usually, black hair dye covered them. Henry Alexander was not simple, and he certainly wasn't old, according to his agent and half the women in Violet's country. "Father," she acknowledged, nodding.

"Don't sit," he commanded, looping an arm around Violet's and tugging her toward their massive front door where Henry's agent waited. "We don't have time to argue today, so I'll keep this short. For once, please do me a favor and wipe the frown off your face. There's no place for it today. America's favorite family has an important appearance to make and you're certainly not going to screw it up."

Aria's words replayed in Violet's head. She scoffed internally. As if her father just wanted to make her happy.

Violet's step-mother soon joined the mix, fastening herself to Henry's side. The agent held up her fingers, counting down, as if they were in the midst of a huge movie production. The front door swung open and Violet was immediately blinded, not by light, but by the flash of cameras. Henry's name was called incessantly, and when the paparazzi finally calmed, he spoke, holding up his hand. "Please. Allow me to talk. I am... absolutely thrilled to present to you the newest member of the Alexander Co. family." Henry let out a well-rehearsed chuckle. "Of course, she was already a member of the Alexander family."