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a n a c r u s i s

[Lat.] : A note or group of notes which precede the first full measure; also known as a ʺpickup note.ʺ

ON MY SIXTEENTH birthday, my stepmother Rosemary threw out the last of my fairytale collection. She claimed it was sitting in the attic for so long that it had begun to collect dust, but I knew that she just didn't like the way stepmothers were often portrayed in fairytales. The stepmother of Cinderella, for example, was pure evil.

I wanted to tell Rosemary that the Cinderella book I had was really the Grimm Brothers' version – Aschenputtel. Then I thought better of it because Aschenputtel was a far more gruesome story than its Disney counterpart. For instance, both stepsisters cut off parts of their feet to fit into Cinderella's glass slipper and they were blinded by doves in the end. I would never wish for fictions like these to play out in reality, especially to Parker, whom I loved more than the world.

Besides, all Rosemary wanted was to get rid of any prejudiced notions I harboured about stepmothers. So I let her, watching sombrely as she trudged down the stairs hauling a black bag with Aschenputtel sitting right on top of the pile of unwanted things. She threw it out in the garden where the rest of the rubbish was.

And that was that.

I was in a rather grave mood for the rest of the day. Part of me was psyched because I was finally sixteen – every kid wanted to grow up fast, yearned to reach that pedestal where they stood on top of the world and had everything beneath their feet. Another part of me, however, felt rather wistful. It seemed like any remnants of my childhood had been thrown out with the last of my fairytale collection. And much as I felt no strong liking for Cinderella, it was always nice to harbour some sort of wild fantasy that a prince would come sweep me off my feet someday.

But Parker set it all right when he returned from work with a teddy bear that barely fit through our door.

"Special delivery for my favourite princess," he said and smirked, his grey eyes twinkling under the dim porch lights.

Normally, I considered myself a relatively calm sort of person. But my stepbrother had just bought me a teddy bear that was the perfect present for a three year-old; only I knew he had put in a lot more effort than that, because the bear held a red cushion in between its paws, and on the cushion sat a charm bracelet.

I couldn't help but let out an ear-piercing shriek, before racing across the hallway and lunging right into Parker's arms. He caught me easily and swung me up into air as if I weighed nothing at all, before pulling me into a ginormous hug. I wound my arms tight around his neck and laughed. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," I gushed. "But you shouldn't spoil me, honestly."

"Princesses are meant to be spoiled," he returned, in that smooth debonair manner he'd perfected so long ago, and set me down. "Happy birthday, sis."

"Thank you," I murmured again and hugged the teddy bear this time, slipping the charm bracelet easily around my wrist. It had but one charm so far – a tiny 16 in white gold – but I was more or less certain that, knowing Parker, he'd add more charms in the future. "It's a very convenient present," I commented, wrinkling my nose as the thought suddenly came to me, "you just need to give me a new number charm each year and consider it a gift."

Parker hushed me as he shut the door. "You just ruined my plans for all your future birthdays," he grumbled and I laughed. "I'll have you know I spent ages thinking of that."

"You're clever, I'll give you that," I acceded thoughtfully, "but I'm cleverer still." Parker had just begun to argue when Dad and Rosemary entered the hallway and I immediately headed towards them, dragging the gigantic bear behind me. "Guess what Parker gave me."

Dad and Rosemary glanced up at my voice. The bear was far too large, too obvious to escape their notice and Dad laughed while Rosemary's mouth fell open.

"What in the world is that?" Rosemary exclaimed.

"It's my bodyguard," I giggled, wrapping the bear's arms around me. I wasn't short by any means but still this bear towered well over me. "Just have to saddle him up with guns and a bulletproof vest and he'll be all ready to go."

"Speaking of going," came Parker's voice from behind me, "do we have any plans for tonight? Because I'd like to take Isla out."

My ears immediately perked up at his words because the places Parker took me was always fun. Either that or I was easy to please, but whatever the case was, I couldn't wait to see what he had in mind.

I shot Dad a pleading look and he smiled at me before shrugging. "Birthday cake and the usual, but we can always have that for tomorrow."

"If we are still alive by tomorrow," added Rosemary, in her usual dry manner that often made me laugh. She was sarcastic and shrewd in every way but I'd gotten so used to her that I often found her funny. "Because Isla's bodyguard looks like it could eat us all for breakfast."

Her eyes twinkled and I grinned. Rosemary was often too serious and hardly ever cracked a smile, but I suppose that came with her status. She'd been a successful lawyer back in her day; a firm, no-nonsense mother who now had high hopes for her son. Parker would someday follow in her footsteps, I suppose. But I was glad he hadn't lost any of his boyish charm or fleeting moments of immaturity so far.

He was now talking to our parents, and I figured he was probably telling them about his day at school. I decided to head up to change first. It took awhile to lug the bear upstairs, and Parker's voice soon stopped me.

"Hey, Isla!"

I leaned over the banister to look down at him. "Yeah?"

"It's a black-tie event. That means no trainers," Parker added, grinning when I let out a groan in return.

Grumbling under my breath, I trudged back to my room and closed the door behind me. I found a decent spot for the teddy bear – in between my bedside table and study desk – and stood it nicely against the wall. Then I stripped until I was down to my bra and knickers, before throwing open the doors of my wardrobe and staring blankly at the clothes inside.

I hadn't been to many black-tie events before. Rosemary never invited my Dad or me; for the simple reason that Dad and I were sort of a package strung to her extra-marital affair. It was complicated, as rich people's lives always were, but I'll keep it simple – Rosemary was considered a mere trophy-wife of Martin Collins, but she and my Dad had been madly in love for almost six years now.

Martin knew about it but he didn't care, so long as they were discreet about it. Parker had once said that his father wasn't in a good place to judge either, because Martin had a string of affairs until he fell ill a year ago. Both Rosemary and Parker had been spending more time with him ever since.

I kind of understood, I supposed, but there were times when I saw Parker's empty chair or my Dad in the kitchen making dinner without Rosemary, and I couldn't help but feel something in my heart pull. Martin was a time-ticking bomb with not many months left to live. I was just as terrified of him dying as Rosemary and Parker were – although in a different sense altogether.

When he was gone – what next? What would happen to the four of us? Would Rosemary stay and properly, legitimately marry Dad?

I didn't like to think of the answer to that.

So, firmly shoving the thought from my mind, I rummaged through the sheer number of evening dresses I had – all thanks to Rosemary, who had kept my wardrobe well stocked over the years. Whatever maternal instincts she lacked, Rosemary made up for with material things and over the years, I had come to understand that it was the only way she knew how to love.

Picking an off-the-shoulder white dress that had immediately caught my eye amidst all the midnight blacks and navy blues and dusty greens, I pulled it on before slipping into a pair of silver heels. I kept the rest simple – light smoky makeup that I'd taught myself from Youtube videos; my chestnut-coloured hair tied up in a high ponytail; with no other accessories other than the charm bracelet from Parker.

I decided I was ready. Looking into the mirror always gave me an unnecessary queasy feeling, but I cast a brief glance at myself in the bathroom mirror and forced myself to smile. It came out looking more like a grimace, but which sixteen-year old teenager wasn't awkward?

Parker was already dressed in a newly-pressed suit when I came down. He was reading a book from one of his university courses; a tiny frown etched between his eyebrows. I sighed. He was only nineteen, but he was already too serious and mature for his age. Sometimes, it seemed to me like he had to grow up too quickly.

"Where's my pumpkin carriage and string of mice?" I demanded playfully as I hobbled down the stairs painfully. Barely two minutes in these heels and I already felt like I was walking on stilts for hours. Whoever said that one had to suffer to look beautiful was bloody spot-on. But I tried to smile brightly all the same, knowing that my smile was often infectious enough to put one on his face as well. "Cinderella needs her entourage."

Parker raised a teasing eyebrow at me. "I've got a stretch limo waiting outside but if you want a pumpkin, I'll see if Mum has one in the kitchen."

I glared at him and he grinned. His grey eyes swept over my outfit before he nodded in approval.

"You look beautiful," he told me sincerely, "and I'm not just saying this because it's your birthday or because you're my sister."

Coming from him, that was high praise indeed. He was always polite, but also truthful, and he'd never compliment me unless he meant it. He held out his arm for me and I slipped my hand through the crook of his elbow. My footsteps were unsure thanks to the bloody heels and I feared I had dug my nails into his arm a little harder than necessary. But if he felt any pain whatsoever, he certainly didn't show it.

Parker and I kept up a lively chatter throughout the ride. I told him about my school projects and acting classes, while he bored me with his own classes at University. It was, he said, a fair exchange for all the teenage girl problems I dumped on him everyday.

It surprised me when the car suddenly stopped. The chauffeur opened the door for us and I stumbled out, looking around in confusion. "Where are we?"

"Remember how, as a kid, you always wanted to go to a ball?" When I nodded in confusion, his smile widened and he gestured vaguely to the building in front of us. "Live your fairytale, princess."

My jaw dropped. "You threw a party for me?"

"I didn't do all of it," he explained, rather sheepishly, "you know Stella? The girl whose parties I used to attend in secondary school? She throws the best ones and I contacted her to throw one for you."

"But my friends told me that I was having a party on Saturday..."

" – it's a different party," Parker cut me off gently, with a reassuring smile. "It's subtle, so no one here actually knows it's your birthday; I know you hate fanfares like these. These people are here because they think it's a charity ball – which it is; it's for homeless shelters and some privately funded hospitals. And I know you've always wanted me to do things for charity so this is definitely one of them. But the party's also medieval, the kind with slow dancing and soft music – which you've always wanted."

I felt a sudden rush of gratitude – the kind that left one speechless with an awkward lump in the throat. I didn't know whether to cry because I was just so damned touched, or thank him profusely and promise to actually give him a present for his next birthday, rather than buy a stupid pack of crisps and pass that off as a gift.

I must've looked on the verge of tears, because Parker smirked. "If you start bawling your heart out, I'm out of here."

"You wanker," I sniffled, glancing away from him and at the main entrance instead. It was definitely a black-tie event, if the man in a tuxedo stood by the doorway was any indication. People were still streaming in, but there was marginally fewer now and I was guessing that the event had started awhile ago.

Parker tugged at my arm. "Come on, you big baby."

I followed him into the building and to the main hall, where the party was in full swing. Then I stopped and stared in wonder. I hadn't been to parties like these before and so I had nothing to compare it to, but it was honestly breath-taking. My eyes swept across the room, pausing to admire the beautiful chandelier hanging above that complemented perfectly with the dim lights. The place was decorated in pastel colours, baby blues and light lavenders and soft cream. There was probably enough food to feed an army or two; and was that a chocolate fountain in the corner? And, of course, front and centre were the couples that slow-danced to the smooth, silky beats from the live band.

"So? What do you think?" came Parker's voice from beside me. He slipped a flute into my hands, the stark orange liquid in my glass contrasting with the dark red one in his.

"What do I think?" I echoed, a little faintly. It seemed wonderfully extravagant but it was for a good cause and I couldn't be happier. "Tell Stella she really outdid herself, and thank her for me please. And thank you too, because I know all these small touches were really you."

"So long as you're happy, princess," he returned easily. Parker manoeuvred us to our seats and I sat, immediately kicking my heels off beneath the table. "By the way, I have to leave you for a few minutes – the head of one of our beneficiaries wants to speak with me. Will you be alright on your own for awhile?"

"Of course. I'll keep myself entertained, don't worry about me."

"I'll just be over there," he gestured to the little alcove where several men in black suits were conversing. I nodded and he stood up. "Don't fall into the chocolate fountain," he called over his shoulder, turning away before I could so much as flip him a surreptitious middle finger.

I slipped on my heels again. I was definitely going to wander around. Opportunities like these came once in a lifetime. It wasn't everyday I could stroll around a black-tie event without people wondering if I was there to cause trouble.

My first stop was the chocolate fountain – because it was a chocolate fountain and one did not ignore a chocolate fountain at all. One headed straight for the chocolate fountain, drizzled chocolate over strawberries and red velvet cakes, and scarfed them down like there was no tomorrow. Especially when one was sixteen-years old.

So absorbed was I in my task that I didn't notice anyone come up behind me, until I heard one sultry, masculine voice say, "I can't tell if that's strawberry dipped in chocolate or chocolate dipped in strawberry."

I spun round quickly, eyes widening and fork clattering down onto my plate when I realised there was not one, not two, but three people stood behind me. The boy who'd spoken seemed rather amused, but the other two boys with him looked rather impassive.

"Chocolate dipped in strawberry," I blurted, forcing a tight-lipped smile on my face. God forbid I had any chocolate bits stuck on my teeth. "Always make chocolate the main ingredient."

The boy grinned widely. "I fully agree. Now step aside, love, because I need a chocolate refill."

I quickly fell several steps back, blushing as I realised I'd pretty much hogged the fountain. Standing someway off to the side, with my back pressed against the wall, I took my own sweet time eating the rest of the chocolate-drenched food on my plate.

To my dismay, the boy soon sauntered over after having retrieved himself a new plate along with three other guys. They were clearly all friends, but I wasn't intending to attract attention to myself at all.

"Brilliant party, isn't it?" the same boy said, his blond curls falling into his eyes as he spoke. I was glad that the other boys hardly paid me any attention as they spoke between themselves. "I wish there were more chocolate fountains, of course, since there's clearly not enough to go around," he shot me a meaningful look and I flushed.

"I wasn't going to eat it all," I defended hotly, "I'd just never seen one before."

"You're a special guest then?" This came from one of the other boys and I belatedly realised that even though they didn't seem interested, they could hear me just as well.

"Of sorts," I waved my hand in a vague manner, casting a quick scan around the room for Parker. I didn't mind these boys who were obviously just being friendly, but this was becoming a problem. They were trying to find out where I was from and I wasn't supposed to reveal that I was Parker's stepsister.

It was an unspoken agreement the day Rosemary and Parker began to live with Dad and me. Imagine what the world would think if they knew that Rosemary Collins, esteemed wife of the famous, celebrity solicitor Martin Collins, had a family elsewhere? Neither Dad nor I wanted to bear the brunt of the backlash.

But Parker was nowhere to be found, and I could only press further against the wall as another boy asked, "Which beneficiary are you parents' from?"

Well, I was in trouble. "Um, well. I'm more of an invited guest – like, on the list, but not part of any organisation – " I trailed off as a shadow fell upon us. It wasn't Parker, like I hoped it would be, but another boy altogether.

With angled features; sharp, shrewd eyes and tousled black hair; this guy was decidedly good-looking, in a way that only heartbreakers were. There was a certain elegance to him that made me immediately realise he was someone important. Someone very important – perhaps more so than even my stepbrother, who never had any airs about him. He looked vaguely familiar, like I'd seen him before, although not in real life.

"I do apologise for interrupting," he didn't sound apologetic at all and I couldn't help but notice the sardonic expression on his face, "but are any of you gits going to ask this girl to dance?" There was something edgy in his tone, as if he dared them to say otherwise.

They didn't. Most of them fell back, except for the blond-haired boy who simply grinned. "You ruin all my fun, Kade," he said, in an exaggerated sort of manner that made me smile briefly. In another parallel universe, perhaps, we would get along splendidly. But not when I was Rosemary's dirty little secret.

The boy called Kade didn't look amused. "Yes, well, Parker wants a word with you. He's over there."

"Bloody tosser," the blond-haired boy mumbled under his breath before slouching off.

I almost laughed. I was very tempted to reveal that Parker, the person he'd just insulted, was my stepbrother.

"Well?" Kade's voice sliced through my thoughts evenly and my eyes flew back to meet his. He flashed a half-smile, half-smirk that stirred a strange sort of emotion in me, one far too complicated to even name. "I'm still waiting for your answer."

I swallowed. "I – " my voice was small, " – I don't know how to dance, to be honest."

Taking two quick steps forward, he took the plate from my hands, setting it down on the table beside us. I couldn't help but notice how, even with heels, I barely came up to his chin. His shoulders were broad and he smelled of something fresh.

"I'll teach you," he murmured softly and held out his hand.

I stared down at it unsurely. I had two options to go about this. I could say no and run back to Parker, spend the rest of the evening with him laughing at girls with ridiculous fashion sense and guys who got shitfaced too early.

Or this could be some sort of initiation into adulthood. Everyone danced at least once in their lives. I could think of this as some sort of fairytale. Just for one last time, before I properly grew up.

So I took a deep breath and slipped my hand through his. His fingers curled around my hand gently, like I was a fragile doll made to break. As he led me out onto the dance-floor, the scintillating lights gleaming a dozen shades of every colour; soft piano music ricocheting off the walls in lulling, sweet tones; I couldn't help but get swept away in the magic of it all.

It was so easy to fall into.