Page 1 of From Princess to Queen

Prologue

Watching the last of my friends leave my party, I force a smile whilst waving. They are all a little drunk and unsteady on their feet as they stumble down the street to their homes happily. They don’t have a care in the world and have no idea that mine is falling apart.

“Did you have a good time?”

I turn to find Mum smiling, and I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Instead, I take a deep breath and look around at the mess left in the kitchen, desperate for something to take my mind off everything.

“I’ll help you tidy up,” I whisper, reaching for the cupboard under the kitchen sink to grab the black bags. But Mum places her hand on my arm to stop me.

“It’s okay. I’ve got it. You shouldn’t be cleaning up after your own party. It’s not every day you turn eighteen.”

I force another smile.

“I don’t mind,” I argue, but Mum shakes her head.

“Go to bed. As I said, I’ve got it.”

I know there is no point in arguing, so I kiss her cheek and head to the kitchen door. I look back at her as she offers me a soft smile. She knows.

“Thank you for tonight, Mum,” I whisper, trying to hide the pain.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’m sure they had a reason they didn’t come.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and try to ignore the burning in my eyes as I nod in forced agreement before walking from the kitchen.

I don’t stop until I’m in my room, desperate for a few minutes alone to stop and think in peace.

Today I turned eighteen, and I should be excited and drunk like my friends, but I’m not. I’ve been counting down the days for over a year, the whole day planned to the last detail. But the most important part of the night never happened, and I’ve spent the last few hours trying to hide how heartbroken I am.

Standing in front of my full-length mirror, I check out my outfit, hair, and make-up. All of it planned and practised repeatedly over the last few weeks to ensure it was flawless. My short black fitted dress hugs all the right parts of my curvy body, leaving little to the imagination. My hair and make-up, which took me hours to do, looks as perfect as I planned, but it was all for nothing becausehenever showed. Byhe, I mean Daniel Sullivan, my older brother’s best friend and the love of my life.

I first met Daniel when I was eight, and he came round to knock for my brother. They are four years older, and I was jealous they could go further from the house than me. I tried riding my bike after them and fell off. Daniel picked me up before carrying me back to the house. He held my hand as I cried whilst Mum cleaned my grazed knee and put a plaster on it.

“Don’t cry, Gabriella. Princesses don’t cry.”

“I’m not a princess,” I sobbed, but Daniel kissed my knuckles and winked at me.

“You look like a princess to me.”

From that day on, I was his princess, and he was my Danny. If he ever got sick of his friend’s little sister begging for his attention, he never once showed it. My brother Oliver may have told me to leave them alone, but Daniel never did.

When I turned fifteen, I tried to make him jealous and started dating a guy from school. I wanted Daniel to tell me he loved me like I loved him, but instead, he told me I was like his little sister.

That night I got drunk and tried to sleep with my boyfriend. It didn’t go well, and I called my brother to collect me from the house party I was at. I was so humiliated when Daniel turned up instead.

On the way home, he pulled into a lay-by. Once the car was parked, he turned to look at me.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks softly.

“No,” I snapped, purposely not looking at him. My brother would have given up straight away and driven us home. But Daniel didn’t. Instead, he sat there watching me for a moment before reaching over and taking my chin between his forefinger and thumb to turn my head, so I had no choice but to look at him.

“I can guess what happened tonight, princess. I can tell it didn’t go as planned, so can I give you some advice?” he asks.

“If you must.” And he did.

I have held on to that advice every day since. After that night, I told myself that Daniel must feel something for me. These feelings are too real.

On my sixteenth, he gave me a small diamond ring, saying he saw it in the jewellery shop and knew I would love it. I fooled myself into believing that the fact that he saw a ring and thought of me was another sign that we were meant to be together. I figured he thought I was too young, so I decided to tell him how I felt the day I turned eighteen. I had the whole speech planned, but he never showed up.

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