One Choice by Ginger Solomon Page B

never understood her ability to sit and just watch people. She’d tried to describe it to him once, explaining she made up stuff about them in her head, like where they were going, who they were with, or if they were going to meet someone. Sometimes she'd imagined what kind of pet they would most resemble. Her dad had laughed, but still hadn’t understood.
    Stormy found her and curled up in her lap. She scratched his ears. Her best friend and closest confidante. Gratitude swelled within her at not having to give him up. It didn’t take long for his white fur to dot her clothes.
    Her attention returned to the women. Some were tall and curvaceous, others short and overweight, and everything in between. Their personalities seemed as diverse. The prince had a variety of women to choose from. No way would he choose her over one of them.
    Did his interest lie in mere external beauty? Could he be so shallow? She doubted it, but how would he choose a wife in six months? It wasn’t much time.
    â€œOh, Stormy,” she whispered just for him. His fur tickled her nose, but she rubbed her face against him anyway. “Have you seen the prince? What does he look like? Is he as kind as Anaya says he is?”
    â€œMew.”
    She laughed at him. He gave the answer he knew to give.
    ****
    Sunday she woke, and prepared to spend the day much as she had on Saturday. She dressed in her own clothes again. May as well accent her differences. She had never wanted red hair, green eyes, and pale skin. Since she had been little, she’d wanted to look like her Middle-Eastern mother, instead of her Irish father. Her differences glared at her every time she peered in the mirror or into the faces of the other women. Even Anaya looked like them because, of course, she was one of them.
    Day 2—
    Bored. That describes me right now. Yesterday I watched people, which is good for a while, but gets tiring, since I watched the same women over and over, and I did it for most of the day. They're not that interesting. These women busy themselves watching TV, playing games, eating, and getting to know one another — laughing and telling stories. None seek me out. Nor do I approach them.
    On the bright side, I managed to finish reading the book I've been trying to get to for months.
    On the dark side, I finished the book. There's nothing for me to do today, except for the hour we are required to attend services at the palace chapel.
    I can’t go to my church or see my friends.
    No lunch out.
    No chores.
    No walking.
    How am I supposed to stay fit here? My waistline is going to increase by inches by the time these six months are finished if I don't get some walking done.
    Except for yesterday's eggs, the food has been good.
    Stormy seems to like it here. Lots of people pay attention to him since he’s the only pet I’ve seen. I’ve noticed the servants give him a treat or two from the kitchen. He is taking full advantage of that.

    She'd started writing and doodling after her parents died. Prayer took too much effort and had proved useless. Writing down her feelings and the events of her life as they happened helped her to overcome her grief and the isolation from family. She kept writing because it helped keep the loneliness away. Her journal had become her lifeline to sanity.
    She closed the cover on her complaints and gazed around the room. A group of buffet tables covered in lime green linens filled the space closest to the kitchen. The spread of food included ekmek — a Turkish sourdough, a flaky cheese-filled pastry, butter, jam, olives, tomatoes, cheese, yogurt, cold bologna, boiled eggs — both hard and soft, juice, tea, and coffee. Her mouth salivated as she glanced over the options. Her mom had put out a feast similar to this every Saturday in the winter.
    As she picked up a plate to prepare her meal, a large woman pushed her out of the way. The dish crashed to the floor, and Cahri landed beside it a