Love Isn't a Piece of Cake. It's More Like Mushroom Soup. [~prologue~]
by Alyssameep
---PROLOGUE---
“I’m so very sorry for your loss,” the lawyer said as he shuffled back behind his desk. He had a bit of a pot belly on him and smelled strongly of cigars. “Loretta was a fine woman.”
My father nodded his bowed head. I just kept staring at that loser of a lawyer.
“Ah, yes. I haven’t met you’re lovely daughter yet. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vincent Usted, a lawyer at this fine establishment,” he said with a smirk on his face. My father didn’t notice the knowing gleam in his eye. At the time, I didn’t know that it wasn’t because he was getting a shitload of money.
“Hi. I’m Ella Frank,” I said simply.
“Ella,” he said, smirking some more. “I’ve been the family lawyer slash attorney for a long while now. Isn’t that wonderful?”
I stared at him blankly. “That’s great. Now, can you just tell us what’s on my grandmother’s will? Please?”
“Ah, yes!” He pulled out a piece of paper and began reading to us. “‘The last will and testament of Loretta Mary Frank.’ Let’s see… bequests… bequests…”
“Hey, Dad?” I whispered to him, making sure that Mr. Usted couldn’t hear.
“Yes, sweetie?” he whispered back. “What’s wrong?”
“What the hell does bequest mean?”
He laughed out loud. “Oh. A bequest is a request from a will, sort of. It could be an object that the person left for you, or a request for something they wished you’d do.”
I rolled my eyes. “Great.” What did you cook up for me, Grandma?
“Ah, yes!”—He seemed to like that phrase—“Here it is! ‘Bequests’…
“To Mr. James Timothy Frank, I leave my house and all possessions. Jimmy, you have always been a great son and support to me. I hope you’ll live the rest of your life in happiness.
“To Miss Ella Louise Evans, I leave only a small request. My best friend must be devastated that I am dead, unless she is dead herself. She’s been awfully worried about her grandson, Ian, for a long time. He’s never been fond of a girl before, and the whole family, a very ancient and noble one, is concerned that he will not marry. I only ask this: marry the poor boy, Ella. I know you both are only nineteen. However, this isn’t just help for him… It’s for your own safety.”
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