While she lays, face down, in what they call "resting ready position," she has a lot of time to think. Between periodic check-ins and 2 or 3 daily appointments there isn't a lot going on around her most days. In a certain way, her comforts have been well attended to. Her neck rests on a comfortable pillow and she can look forward or to either side and view television at all angles. She has a remote that controls the temperature in the room, the channel on the TVs and calls for a snack if she gets hungry between meals. She has one of those book readers which rests below her face that she can view through a hole in the bed - much like those in a massage table. So, she can read if she'd like, she can watch TV, listen to music, snack...every modern comfort, except of course, moving anything other than her arms, head and toes. Naturally there are times during the day that she is released; meals for example, for her workouts (gotta stay fit) and to shower. She doesn't sleep in this position except on rare occasions. But those activates only take up 11.5 hours of each day leaving the other 12.5 to be in this position. She knows-she's counted the minutes...many times.
At first she tried to press the call button repeatedly, hoping they would get tired of it and tell her to get out. She'd be happy to leave. But every time she called, they came patiently and she got tired of it before they did. They have a whole staff, she is just one girl.
Books, music, movies and television keep her fairly entertained. She tries to stay lost in media to avoid thinking, but it always comes back to the same conversation in her head. How did she get here? She replays the last 18 months over and over. At this point she knows all the moments where she went wrong.
The very first mistake was flirting with a handsome older man at a bar in Vienna. She was on a graduation trip with a couple girl friends, roaming around Europe and enjoying their freedom before they returned home to look for jobs and start on "real life." He was what they always talk about - tall dark and handsome. He was impeccably groomed and his clothes were obviously expensive - tailored perfectly. She guessed he was probably about 8 years her senior, which only made him 'old' in relation to her. He wasn't even thirty. She had been drunk, as were her friends and she thought it would be fun to get into a little trouble with a brooding stranger. A night of flirting turned into a few wonderful days of getting to know each other. They talked about their families - she told him everything. He was a good listener. They saw the sights and he acted as her tour guide, he knew so much about history and architecture. And when it was time for her and her friends to move on to the next city on their itinerary, she asked him to come along. He spoke multiple languages, had endless funds and plenty of leisure time, so he accepted. It was a passionate whirlwind of a romance that seemed perfect in every way. In her hours and hours of reflecting she wished she'd noticed a few details. He ordered for her at every meal. It seemed sweet and chivalrous at the time, especially when the menu was in a language she did not know. But he ordered for her even when she could read the menu. In fact, he did all the talking for the two of them. He always set their pace and walked just a step ahead of her, even though they held hands. He was rough in bed, which she took as passion, but in reflection should have caused hesitation.
When her friends went home she stayed with him and he revealed himself to be a prince. A real life prince of a small country that sounded familiar, but she knew nothing about. He showed her on a map she read about him and his "kingdom" online. She wished she had read more. It was a small, wealthy, independent country. Not part of any union, a patriarchy that defined its own laws and was very prosperous. After only a month, he asked her to come home with him and be his bride, his princess. She was so enamored with the idea. Back then she was too focused on those kinds of things - status, money, fame. One of the girl friends she had been traveling with was engaged to the quarterback of their college team and was expected to be drafted to the NFL. She had been so jealous; it had been hard to hide. She couldn't wait to gloat to her friends about her upcoming nuptials and new, royal status. His home was beautiful and enormous. There were whole wings that she did see until after the wedding.
His father had passed away years ago, which left him room to become King, which would make her a Queen one day. The thought made her giddy. He had a couple cousins that lived in part of the house, but no siblings. She met his mother, she was regal and reserved. The Queen had a slight limp - when asked he said "I was a large baby" and winked. She should have asked more about that, it should have seemed odd to her, but she didn't notice at the time - they were late to her dress fitting. He had it made for her and he directed the tailor as to exactly how it should look and fit. There were warning signs everywhere. She joked about it being bad luck for him to see her in her wedding gown and he said "luck has no place in royal marriages." It was an odd thing to say. She still doesn't know what he meant exactly. She had been uncomfortable, but not completely surprised when she was required to have a full medical exam before the ceremony. She was a little shocked by how thorough they were. More so than any exam she'd had in her life - every part of her was poked, prodded and measured. But the doctor was gentle and respectful and it made sense that they needed to make sure she was healthy and able to conceive an heir. Though she wasn't sure how the circumference of her thighs really affected that, she signed all the papers placed in front of her - all too wordy to read. She saw the words "Princess" and "Queen" and "male heir," and she signed, signed, signed.
