SkyGirl5
Cadet
:hi:
OKay guys, so as some of you may know, i *LOVE* the idea of princesses/princes in fake countries that ive created. However, my problem was always that i could never get the storyline to work...until now
I really love this fic and i really hope you guys do too
Title: Crossing Lines
Genre: s/v au minimal angst
Summary:Sydney is a lonely princess looking for a friend. She looks to her driver/body guard Michael for some companionship, but she might just find more than that. But even if she does, will Michael be willing to cross the lines of propriety to get what he truely wants?
40 Chapters + Epilogue
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Chapter 1 (below) Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 & 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 & 8
Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22
Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29
Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36
Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 + Epilogue
Chapter 1
“Daddy,” twenty-three-year-old Sydney Bristow whined in a tone that was far too juvenile for her age, “Why aren’t you listening to me?!”
“Sydney, Sweetheart, I am listening to you,” her father, Jack, sighed. He removed his glasses and rubbed his fingers across his wrinkled brow. His fingertips came to rest at his temples where he rubbed circles before opening his eyes and looking up at his daughter. He was not sure how many more times he could go through their cyclical argument; twenty minutes had already passed and they were still standing in the exact same spot where they started, unable to breach through one another’s viewpoints.
“No, no you’re not,” she informed him for the seventh time. “You’re not listening to me when I tell you that I don’t want to continue with this! I won’t!” she said with a childish stomp in an attempt to get her point across.
“Sydney, I heard what you said each time you said it, but as your father I have to disagree,” he told her calmly. Foreign dignitaries, members of parliament, arrogant members of the upper class he could handle with ease; he would have taken them ten times over instead of arguing with his little girl. That seemed to be the only battle he lost every time. “I know what’s best for you,” he continued.
“No, no you don’t. What’s best for me is letting me be the one to pick my husband,” she told him. “God Dad, this is two-thousand-six! Welcome to the twenty-first century!”
“I am well aware of the year, thank you,” he said in an unappreciative tone. “This is a tradition that has been passed down through our family for centuries and it’s-”
“Stupid,” Sydney muttered.
“It’s what we’re going to do,” he said firmly. Sydney huffed at him as she flopped herself down in the cream colored arm chair across from the desk at which her father was sitting. All her usual attempts to get her way were not working and she was baffled at what to try next. “Sydney, this really isn’t as bad as you’re making it out to be… I mean, your grandparents had arranged marriages and they were married for over fifty years. Your mother and I had one and-”
“That’s great for you guys, Dad, but I want to be in love with the man I marry,” she challenged him.
“Who says you won’t be?” he defended. “Listen to me Sydney, I’m not trying to be a tyrant here. I’m not putting someone in front of you and saying this is the person you must marry. I’m allowing you to dismiss those you feel unworthy,” Jack said, knowing all too well the ways in which his slightly spoiled and equally stubborn daughter had dismissed those choices she did not like. The most creative dismissal had been communicated by dumping her entire dinner plate atop the man’s head when he suggested an August wedding would be most favorable. “Think of it as… suggestions,” he said, trying to put a positive spin on things.
“Or… you could take pictures of all of them along with a list of their statistics – you know: height, weight, eye color, how many kids they want stuff like that – and put them in a notebook, like a catalog and I could flip through and choose the one I want!” Sydney said in a tone that made it seem as though she had come up with the most brilliant idea in the universe. She, of course, was joking.
“Well…,” her father said slowly, “I suppose I could do tha-”
“I was kidding, Daddy!” Sydney yelled as she shot to her feet. “I don’t understaaaaaand,” she said as her angry tone turned to a whine. “Why can’t I just be a normal twenty-three-year-old and go out to parties with my friends or be set up on blind dates to meet guys?”
“Because you’re not a normal twenty-three-year-old!” her father told her sharply.
“No, you’re right… I’m a freak! A terrible, horrible freak who no one will ever love!” she said woefully as she flopped back down into her chair.
“You’re not a freak either,” her father sighed, lowering his head to his hands. “You’re just you.”
“Well, you know what? Maybe I don’t want to be me anymore! Maybe I just want to be normal!” she exclaimed. Then, she stood and stalked her way out of her father’s office, slamming the ornate wooden doors behind her.
She stood out in the hallway fuming for a moment debating her next action. She needed to go someplace to think and walk off her anger in the process. Her room was an option, but she always went there. There were the gardens too, but they were boring. The pool house was another option, but it was being painted and she already had enough of a headache without having to smell paint fumes. Finally she decided that she would go for a drive . . . a long drive.
Turning on her heel, she walked quickly towards the front of the house, her heels clicking loudly on the tile floor. The noise echoed around her in the silent space as she walked as quickly as her three-inch black heels would carry her. She made her way out the front of the house, down the marble steps and onto the cobblestone driveway. Once there, she had to slow her pace a bit to take careful steps across the cobblestones so as not to catch her heel in a groove and send herself face first into the ground.
As she neared the garage she began shouting, “Michael! Michael, are you here?!? Michael!” It took a few moments, but the sandy-haired young man poked his head out of one of the garages, giving her a questioning look. “Michael, I want to go for a drive – NOW!”
“Where too, ma’am?” he asked her.
“I’ll let you know,” she muttered to him. She quickly walked into the garage and climbed into the backseat of her favorite car: the black Escalade with the tinted windows so that she could see out, but no one could see in: ironic how the car seemed to mirror the theme of her life. She could always see out, to everything around her, but almost no one, only a privileged few could see in. That, she supposed, was the curse of being a princess.
OKay guys, so as some of you may know, i *LOVE* the idea of princesses/princes in fake countries that ive created. However, my problem was always that i could never get the storyline to work...until now
I really love this fic and i really hope you guys do too
Title: Crossing Lines
Genre: s/v au minimal angst
Summary:Sydney is a lonely princess looking for a friend. She looks to her driver/body guard Michael for some companionship, but she might just find more than that. But even if she does, will Michael be willing to cross the lines of propriety to get what he truely wants?
40 Chapters + Epilogue
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 1 (below) Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 & 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 & 8
Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22
Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29
Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36
Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 + Epilogue
Chapter 1
“Daddy,” twenty-three-year-old Sydney Bristow whined in a tone that was far too juvenile for her age, “Why aren’t you listening to me?!”
“Sydney, Sweetheart, I am listening to you,” her father, Jack, sighed. He removed his glasses and rubbed his fingers across his wrinkled brow. His fingertips came to rest at his temples where he rubbed circles before opening his eyes and looking up at his daughter. He was not sure how many more times he could go through their cyclical argument; twenty minutes had already passed and they were still standing in the exact same spot where they started, unable to breach through one another’s viewpoints.
“No, no you’re not,” she informed him for the seventh time. “You’re not listening to me when I tell you that I don’t want to continue with this! I won’t!” she said with a childish stomp in an attempt to get her point across.
“Sydney, I heard what you said each time you said it, but as your father I have to disagree,” he told her calmly. Foreign dignitaries, members of parliament, arrogant members of the upper class he could handle with ease; he would have taken them ten times over instead of arguing with his little girl. That seemed to be the only battle he lost every time. “I know what’s best for you,” he continued.
“No, no you don’t. What’s best for me is letting me be the one to pick my husband,” she told him. “God Dad, this is two-thousand-six! Welcome to the twenty-first century!”
“I am well aware of the year, thank you,” he said in an unappreciative tone. “This is a tradition that has been passed down through our family for centuries and it’s-”
“Stupid,” Sydney muttered.
“It’s what we’re going to do,” he said firmly. Sydney huffed at him as she flopped herself down in the cream colored arm chair across from the desk at which her father was sitting. All her usual attempts to get her way were not working and she was baffled at what to try next. “Sydney, this really isn’t as bad as you’re making it out to be… I mean, your grandparents had arranged marriages and they were married for over fifty years. Your mother and I had one and-”
“That’s great for you guys, Dad, but I want to be in love with the man I marry,” she challenged him.
“Who says you won’t be?” he defended. “Listen to me Sydney, I’m not trying to be a tyrant here. I’m not putting someone in front of you and saying this is the person you must marry. I’m allowing you to dismiss those you feel unworthy,” Jack said, knowing all too well the ways in which his slightly spoiled and equally stubborn daughter had dismissed those choices she did not like. The most creative dismissal had been communicated by dumping her entire dinner plate atop the man’s head when he suggested an August wedding would be most favorable. “Think of it as… suggestions,” he said, trying to put a positive spin on things.
“Or… you could take pictures of all of them along with a list of their statistics – you know: height, weight, eye color, how many kids they want stuff like that – and put them in a notebook, like a catalog and I could flip through and choose the one I want!” Sydney said in a tone that made it seem as though she had come up with the most brilliant idea in the universe. She, of course, was joking.
“Well…,” her father said slowly, “I suppose I could do tha-”
“I was kidding, Daddy!” Sydney yelled as she shot to her feet. “I don’t understaaaaaand,” she said as her angry tone turned to a whine. “Why can’t I just be a normal twenty-three-year-old and go out to parties with my friends or be set up on blind dates to meet guys?”
“Because you’re not a normal twenty-three-year-old!” her father told her sharply.
“No, you’re right… I’m a freak! A terrible, horrible freak who no one will ever love!” she said woefully as she flopped back down into her chair.
“You’re not a freak either,” her father sighed, lowering his head to his hands. “You’re just you.”
“Well, you know what? Maybe I don’t want to be me anymore! Maybe I just want to be normal!” she exclaimed. Then, she stood and stalked her way out of her father’s office, slamming the ornate wooden doors behind her.
She stood out in the hallway fuming for a moment debating her next action. She needed to go someplace to think and walk off her anger in the process. Her room was an option, but she always went there. There were the gardens too, but they were boring. The pool house was another option, but it was being painted and she already had enough of a headache without having to smell paint fumes. Finally she decided that she would go for a drive . . . a long drive.
Turning on her heel, she walked quickly towards the front of the house, her heels clicking loudly on the tile floor. The noise echoed around her in the silent space as she walked as quickly as her three-inch black heels would carry her. She made her way out the front of the house, down the marble steps and onto the cobblestone driveway. Once there, she had to slow her pace a bit to take careful steps across the cobblestones so as not to catch her heel in a groove and send herself face first into the ground.
As she neared the garage she began shouting, “Michael! Michael, are you here?!? Michael!” It took a few moments, but the sandy-haired young man poked his head out of one of the garages, giving her a questioning look. “Michael, I want to go for a drive – NOW!”
“Where too, ma’am?” he asked her.
“I’ll let you know,” she muttered to him. She quickly walked into the garage and climbed into the backseat of her favorite car: the black Escalade with the tinted windows so that she could see out, but no one could see in: ironic how the car seemed to mirror the theme of her life. She could always see out, to everything around her, but almost no one, only a privileged few could see in. That, she supposed, was the curse of being a princess.
I can't wait to see what happens next...
