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Authors
Sessina Figueiredo
Oscar Kaspi-Crutchett
Jason Kim
Zoe Lim
Sam Marcus
Illustrators
Diana Suzaimi
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Published in Australia by Teen Typers
An imprint of Lawley Six Books
A Lawley Six Group Company
Lawley Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 65 Woodsome St, Perth
Australia
This edition published 2014
Copyright©Teen Typers ltd, 2014
Cover illustrated copyright© Diana Suzaimi
2014
Other illustrations copyright © Diana Suzaimi
The right of Sessina Figueiredo, Oscar Kaspi-Crutchett Jason Kim, Zoe Lim, Sam
Marcus and Diana Suzaimi to be identified as the authors and illustrator of this work
has been asserted in accordance to the Copyright, Design and Patents
Act 1988
The moral right of the authors have been asserted
All rights reserved. No part
of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or
by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording
or otherwise, without written permission of the
publishers
By Lawley Books Production Limited
Perth, Western Australia
Printed and bound in Australia by
Lawley Publishing Group
Perth, Western Australia
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Our Criteria
Primary Character 1: Prince
Primary Character 2: Dancer
Non-Human Character: Grandpa’s Watch
Setting: Swimming Pool
Issue: Becoming Rich
Words:
Hectic
Fascinating
Cantankerous
Furry
Curious
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This book is devoted to the patients of Princess Margret Hospital
Wishing them well
and a speedy recovery.
We of the Teen Typers greatly thank the staff of Mount Lawley Senior High School,
we especially give thanks to Ms Stelter
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Prologue: Sweet, Sweet Farah
The revolutionaries burst through the gates, screaming and chanting. Tehran was
burning and we were surrounded. Grandpa cradles me, his weak frail body clutches to
his most precious gem, me. I hold his index finger tightly and put my head on his
heart. I can feel his lungs expand and contract.
"Farah," he whispers to me. " I love you, my dear."
The shouting becomes louder and closer. Grandpa inhales deeply. The double bed we
are resting on is sitting metres from a large, grand window. I get up and tread my little
princess feet to the window and part the silk curtains. I look down to the courtyard
three stories below. A tall plume rises from the far corner of the Palace.
"Grandpa, there are people in the yard," I say, gazing at the furious crowd. They start
swinging sticks and axes at a statue of the Shah, and it cracks and wobbles. They
wave flags and portraits of a bearded old man. He wears a turban.
"The.....revolutionaries......" groans Grandpa.
They throw rocks and other objects into the windows of the palace, the gold rimmed
pane I look through is hit with a chunk of brick and it shatters. I jump back just in
time. Glass shards now litter the beautiful oak room. I clutch my head and crawl into
a ball and cry. The shouting is louder and the enraged chorus of hatred fills the room.
I hear a loud thud as the brass statue of the Shah hits the ground. The crowds cheer.
Many pump torches up and down as they march.
"Grandpa, they have fire! Grandpa look!" I say.
I nervously look out of the hole where the window once was. The crowds are now
setting alight the quaint cafe on the side of the plaza. More men, filled with fury, pour
through the gates. I hear concrete collapsing and more explosions. An especially close
one takes place, seemingly, millimetres from my ears. It is so close that the book shelf
on the back wall of the room shakes and the books fall onto the green and red, swirly
carpet. I scream as a vase falls and smashes on the bedside table right next to me.
"Come......here...my blessing," croaks Grandpa. I nervously hop over to him,
attempting to avoid the sharp shards littered over the floor. My pink flowery dress
gets caught on the corner of the bed and I trip over, tearing the cloth. I land on my
hands, which by now are bleeding from the glass they just landed on.
"Oww!" I exclaim.
Salty tears stream down my face. The uproar of shouting from outside drowns out
something Grandpa says. He points to a little purse sitting askew on the leather couch.
"Please.....retrieve...tha…”
A fiery roar of an explosion erupts, stopping him mid-sentence. The room shakes and
a large glass cupboard containing a teaspoon collection falls over; the sound of
silverware hitting the ground is so violent even my barely mobile grandfather quivers.
I fetch the brown leather purse and put it by his side. He reaches into it and takes out a
small pendant; a time keeper. The beautiful fob watch, studded with rubies and
emeralds sparkles under the clinking, crystal chandelier. The golden, ticking
timepiece has such a beautiful golden chain that intertwines, forming a little necklace.
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"The.....grand....chronograph...of the...Pahlavi...Dynasty....," he whispers in an
agonised voice.
He hands it to me, gently.
"I am dying Farah...," he groans. "This must be yours....," he whispers.
He lifts his wrinkled arm and clutches my hand.
"I love you....sweet Farah....so sweet...Farah,"
His breath stops and his lungs no longer expand and contract. He slides back on to the
bed, lifeless. 'Sweet Sweet... Farah.' The words echo in my head. Grandpa's eyes roll
back and a milky white sheen covers his eyes.
"Grandpa?" I whisper. "Grandpa! Wake up! Grandpa!" I sob.
My tears intensify. I let go of his newly cold hand and clutch the little fob watch.
"GRANDPA!!" I shout between long sobs.
A loud burst of flames ignites nearby and the bed shakes.
"GRANDPA!!" I scream again shaking the limp corpse.
The doors swing open and men in military uniform barge in.
"Princess, we must leave now. The revolutionaries are coming."
I barely hear them over the shrieks of my own sobs.
"You must come! They are in the hallway!" the solider exclaims.
His men grab me and carry me out. I try to cling to the bed post in desperation but it is
to no use. With the watch in one hand and a tear stained handkerchief in the other I
am forced into a helicopter. I was never going to see the Palace again. My, which I
had taken residence in for the four years of my life, was left behind me.
*****
Farah Yari Pahlavi immigrated to Australia in 1979 after nearly all her family was
killed in the Iranian Revolution. She was adopted by a fellow Iranian, a hotel
manager, Mistress Yereza, who had been a friend of the Pahlavi's. At the age of 15
Farah started working full time at the Palmer Palace Hotel, idyllically situated on the
Gold coast, Queensland. After a hectic life she settled down, doing menial chores to
sustain a living. Eventually Farah split from her adoptive mother after a heated
argument.
- The two married in 1991. This snippet of an article published in 1993 by a Man
named Mason Prince.
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Chapter 1: Mason Prince
The handsome teenage guest barged through the hotel foyer. He obviously isn’t the
kind of person to care about other people. If he wanted to go somewhere he went
there. Just as Farah thought this, the guy bumped into her. By this point, Farah had
grown to the age of sixteen and cut her hair short. She wore her cleaner’s uniform,
which was daggy and too big, like it had previously belonged to another person. The
guy’s body slams against her chest. Pain ripples through her body as she falls onto the
floor.
“Hey!” She yells then pauses, “No, never mind. Don’t worry, Sir, it’s okay.”
The man continues walking past and doesn’t even falter in his proud stride. Farah
doesn’t mind. She doesn’t expect the kind of people who stay in a hotel like this to
care about people like her. She hates cleaning the pool, or, she would be cleaning
some floors and a little kid comes up and drops his ice-cream slap bang in the middle
of the floor! But this was her job, this is what she got paid for if you could call that
tiny amount of money ‘pay’ but she did get a free room in he hotel so she wasn’t
complaining. With this room she didn’t have to buy a house and explain why she
wasn’t an Australian citizen.
She walks into the pool. It was mostly empty but the tall guy was sobbing with his
legs in the water. This was quite strange, not only was he sobbing, but also the clothes
he was wearing weren’t exactly that for swimming. He was ruining some expensive
jeans by dangling them in the water. Farah was curious about what could make such a
masculine looking guy cry like a child. She walks over to him.
“Umm, excuse me, Sir, but what seems to be the matter?” she asked.
The man just sits there unmoved.
“Well, if it has anything to do with the hotel, I can help.”
She decides he isn’t worth the time, and turns to leave.
“Wait, come back,” he finally says.
Farah walks up cautiously, and sits a few feet away.
“So, what is the matter, Sir?”
“It’s just that, well, my family well, they cut me off.”
“They what, Sir?”
“See, my family owns a business called Prince Enterprises, and Mum and Dad, well,
they told me that I would not be getting anything in the inheritance.”
“Why is that, Sir?” Farah knows she shouldn’t really involve herself in the business of
guests, but, intrigued, she pushes forward anyway.
“Well, apparently I’m too rebellious and I’m acting out of family tradition,”
Farah thinks for a bit.
“Well,” she starts. “I had a few problems of my own when I was a little-”
“How could I live like this?” he rudely interrupts.
Farah pulls out her fob watch that her grandpa gave her. The gold glints in the
sunlight.
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“That’s a nice watch,” the guy says. “My name’s Mason Prince, but you can just call
me Prince.”
“I got this watch when we were fleeing from-”
“My life is ruined,” he interrupted again.
Fed up with Prince’s rudeness, Farah gets up to leave.
She walks away thinking about Prince. His story isn’t as tragic as hers, but she still
thinks it a horrible thing for a family to do, just cut off someone from the family
fortune. But then again, maybe he’ll learn some manners. She giggles a bit at the
thought of someone as rude as him being a half decent human being.
Prince gets up. That maid was completely and utterly sticking her nose into where she
shouldn’t be, but then again it was kind of comforting to have someone to talk to.
“Hey,” he yells. She turns around.
“What’s your name?”
“Farah Pahlavi.”
Farah Pahlavi, that is quite an obscure name, he thinks.
“Where you from, Farah Pahlavi?”
“I’m from Italy.” This is a lie she tells everyone. It’s not that she hates Iran, it’s just
that the thought of what happened back there was far too tragic for her to think about
or be associated with.
Walking down the corridor Price thinks that girl is not from Italy. She doesn’t look
Italian, she doesn’t sound Italian. Well, she could have relatives from somewhere in
the Middle East. He looks back. There is something off with that girl. She doesn’t
seem like the kind of girl that should be working as a maid. She looks like a Persian
royal who should be ruling a country, but here she is, a humble cleaner working at a
hotel.
Farah should be cleaning the floor, but she just stands there, thinking of that Prince.
She knows he isn’t a real prince but she can’t stop imagining him coming in, knight in
shining armour, saving the day. The thought made her laugh. Riding in, killing the
dragon, and then whining to the princess of all his life problems. That boy is a whiner,
no matter how you put it. He acts like his problems are changing the world and
everyone cares about how he isn’t going to inherit millions of dollars from his rich
parents. That’s it, she can’t just let him leave, she doesn’t know why but she just
can’t. She has this feeling that maybe once in her life, that if right now she continued
talking to that boy then maybe she will get a friend.
She runs after him,
“Prince, Prince,” she yells.
She turns the corner and slams right into Prince.
“Oh, sorry,” she apologises.
“Well, I guess this makes us even.”
Farah stares at Prince blankly.
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“For when I ran into you earlier.”
“Oh,” she says. “I live in the hotel staff room 3.” She puts her hand over her mouth.
That is possibly the most embarrassing thing she has ever done, she doesn’t know
why she did it, she just doesn’t want to lose this guy.
Prince looks at Farah. This girl is crazy, but hey, he just got a girl’s address and he
hardly had to flirt.
Prince suddenly notices his cousin, Emanuel signalling to him. He has to go now, no
matter what he thinks of this girl.
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Chapter 2: Midnight Rescue
Prince walks into the hotel, moving towards the stairs instead of the elevators.
Emanuel’s room is on the fourth floor, and Prince briskly walks up the stairs, trying
not to slip because his feet are still wet from the pool. Prince walks down the corridor
leading up to Emanuel’s room, moving slowly now, and stopping to knock on the
door of Emanuel’s room. Emanuel opens it immediately and so Prince lets himself in
and goes to sit on the couch.
“I saw the timekeeper in that maid’s hand. What did she say her name was? The
watch looks familiar to me somehow…” Emanuel sits on the armchair and tries to
recall how the watch is familiar to him.
“Her name was Farah Pahlavi. She said that she was Italian, but I’m not sure because
she looks Middle Eastern.” Prince babbled, wiping his eyes and trying to hide the fact
that he had been crying.
“Of course! The Pahlavi Family Heirloom, the antique fob watch that has been passed
down through the Iranian royal bloodline from generation to generation.”
Emanuel got excited just thinking about the quadzillion dollars that he would make by
selling it.
“Oh yes, it was very beautiful! Do you know much about it?” Prince thinks back to
the conversation earlier with Farah.
“There should be some books about it in the library downtown, next to the
GALLERY OF MODERN ART.” Emanuel is already headed towards the door with
his sunglasses before he even finishes his sentence.
***
Prince and Emanuel flick through the books from the large stack of thick spined
books on the desk. “Found it!” Emanuel practically screamed. The librarian glared
at them from her desk over in the far corner of the dusty old library. Prince peers over
Emanuel’s shoulder and admires the remarkably drawn picture of a fob watch that
looks exactly like the one that Farah had around her neck. “It says here that it is
worth a lot of money. We would be rich, think about it. Cousin – the chandeliers in
my - our ballroom of the house that I… I mean we, would own.” There is a
fascinating sparkle in Emanuel’s eyes, one that Prince is unsure about.
“What do you mean?” Prince asks, confused.
“I mean, if you manage to befriend that girl, you could take the watch off her when
her guard is down!”
Prince isn’t sure about going along with this sinister plan, he feels that there might be
a connection with Farah and he doesn’t want to betray her. Suddenly he feels like he
can’t breathe, a stone settles in the pit of his stomach. Prince can’t betray his
potential friend, a person who may truly like him for who he is, not because of his
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bloodline or his wealth. Lost in his thoughts, Emanuel is growing more grumpy and
cantankerous by the second.
“Well?” he huffs.
Prince nods and continues to read the book with all the information about this antique
fob watch, still thinking about Farah. He can hear his fraudulent cousin talking about
how Prince was going to get the watch and then they would meet up and he would
hand it over. But Prince wasn’t listening, once again adrift in his thoughts. It is only
when Emanuel slaps Prince’s back with a mere, “See you behind the pump room
when the sun sets,” that Prince realises how much his cousin doesn’t know about him.
It is a good thing as well, seeming as his front means that Emanuel is sure that Prince
can do this, that he can betray his one friend.
***
Walking up the steps leading to the pool, Prince can see Farah. He is about to go
and greet her when he realises that she is dancing. An overwhelming feeling of
affection rushes through him, as he stops and watches her silhouette under the
moonlight. Farah hums as she dances her own version of the ballet Swan Lake. Not
realising that Prince is watching, Farah clutches her fob watch as she does a pirouette
à la seconde. Her grace and beauty is reflected in her adagio dancing. Farah lands
elegantly on her toes and turns, catching sight of Prince watching her curiously. A
blush spreads up her neck onto her cheeks and she stumbles, falling backwards into
the pool. Prince moves, but the gate is locked. He climbs onto a rock and vaults over
the fence. He dives into the pool, cold water rushing up his nose and soaking his
clothes. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to adjust to the chemicals in the water, and
soon he can see. Bubbles float to the surface as Prince swims into the darkened pool.
He can make out the sinking figure of Farah and kicks with all his might towards her.
His arms wrap around her waist and her neck and he lifts her, kicking towards the
surface. As soon as his face breaks the surface, he starts towards the edge of the wide
pool, his legs not stopping for even a moment. He carefully pushes her onto the
pavement, and climbs up after her. Prince roles her onto her side and she coughs,
turning her head to look up at him.
“W-w-why w-w-were you w-watching m-m-m-me d-dance?” she manages to stutter,
trying not to shiver too much.
“Well, you are really good at dancing. Anyway, you’re going to get hypothermia if
you stay out here, do you want me take you to your room to make sure that you get
there safely?”
“O-o-o-ok-k-k-kay, th-th-thank-k-ky-y-you.”
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Chapter 3: Frayed Sneakers and Tabby Cats
“J-j-just letting you n-n-know, it’s nothing like th-th-the hotel room you’re p-probably
staying at,” Farah murmurs. Prince laughs softly.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” he answers kindly, grinning at her embarrassment. She’s so
adorable, he thinks. Wait. Who said that? The tips of his ears redden, and Farah sends
him a questioning look. She smiles slightly, wondering what was running through his
head.
Taking a deep breath, she pushes her key into the lock, swinging open the rough
wooden door. Holding her breath. She turns to look at Prince, expecting a
disapproving, or even disgusted look to be etched onto his handsome face. Instead, a
disarmingly charming smile crosses his face, and she sighs in relief. Holding out her
hand, she motions to Prince to enter.
A single mattress with a bare duvet and flat pillow sits in the corner of the room, and
minimal clothing folded on the floor beside it. Prince felt something tighten in his
chest as he took in the room. Several tattered second hand books lay next to her
clothes, and a furry tabby cat lay on the pillow, purring softly.
“…It’s all I c-c-can afford. Oh, and th-this is T-Tabby!” Farah exclaims happily.
Prince smiles at her child-like glee.
“I know it’s n-not much, but it’s home,” she says sadly. “…Now, I need to change out
of these wet clothes, so…”
“Oh, right!” Prince exclaims, shaking his head, an emotion flashing across his face
so quickly, Farah questions if she even saw it at all. Grinning, he spins around and
steps outside to wait.
After a few minutes, Farah calls him back in. He sucks in a breath at her beauty,
smiling brightly.
“What?” She says, staring down at her frayed sneakers.
“Nothing, just that you’re so pretty.” Farah laughed at his self-assurance, fiddling
with the watch around her neck.
“So,” she says quickly, changing the subject. “Why are you staying in this hotel?”
Prince bristles, his posture stiffening. “Oh, never mind,” Farah says quickly, looking
down in embarrassment.
“No, no. It’s okay. Just… I’m still so angry that they cut me off! I-I…,” he sighs,
seeing the sharp look Farah throws at him.
“I know I should be grateful and everything, but, I don’t know…they’re my parents!
They’re supposed to love me unconditionally, you know?” he cries.
Farah stares down, fiddling with the chain of the watch.
“What?” Prince asks, oblivious to her pain. After a moment of silence, she clears her
throat and looks up with her chin lifted and shoulders back – the posture of a princess.
“Do you want to swap sob stories?” She laughs nervously. Although she would never
admit it, Farah had always desperately wished for a friend to confide in. Her adoptive
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mother was never very compassionate. Prince laughed kindly, before quieting down
and nodding.
“Do you want to go first?” he asks.
She shakes her head quickly, stroking the watch absentmindedly.
“Well, don’t judge okay?” he says, words rushed and nervous.
“I’ve always been that home-schooled rich kid. My parents own Prince Enterprises,
so any friends or girls that were ever close to me always ended up only being there for
the money. I know I come off as rude and conceited- I guess a little bit of me is- but
the only true friend I’ve ever had is my cousin, Emanuel.
“Mum and Dad were never there for me like other parents were for their kids, and
them cutting me off because I was damaging their image,” he spat, “just proved to me
that I was only there as an accessory. So I left, and now I’m staying at this hotel with
Emanuel,” he finishes. He looks up to see Farah frowning, and he worries she now
thinks of him to be shallow. “You don’t think I’m overreacting, do you?” he asks
tentatively.
“No, it’s just… I can’t imagine having parents that don’t love you,” she says
thoughtfully.
There is a long silence. Prince fidgets uncomfortably, wondering what Farah is
thinking of.
“Do you want to tell me now?” he asks, eager for her to forget his story.
She takes a deep breath, pushing her shoulders back and lifting her chin. The posture
of a princess. he thinks.
“As far as I know, I am a relation of the Pahlavi dynasty. In fact, for a while I was the
Princess of Iran. Life was luxurious; life was sweet. I was born and raised in the
Pahlavi Palace, in Tehran. I had everything but soon it all went to ash. I was only four
when the revolution hit me like a bullet through the head. In a few short weeks the
way of life I knew imploded around me. On the final night of the Pahlavi rule, my
Grandfather gave me this fob watch that had been in my family for centuries. It’s
worth nothing to me compared to what I went through as a child. I watched my own
Grandfather die in my arms. I felt the life seep out of him. They brought me here in
the last seconds of imperial rule. When I got to Australia I had nothing, but a woman
named Mistress Yereza took me in. She was a friend of the family and I was her
adopted daughter until last year when I was 15. We had an argument; it’s a long story,
and not a pretty one. The only thing that stopped her from throwing me to the streets
was my promise to work here as a maid all my life. If I leave…she will report me to
the government as an illegal immigrant and I don’t know where I will be if that
happens. This is where I am now and it would be a whole lot worse if I never bumped
into you in that hallway.”
Prince takes a deep, trembling breath, attempting to wrap his head around her heartwrenching tale. Tabby brushes against his legs, as if he can hear Prince’s troubled
thoughts. He plasters a reassuring smile on his face, even though he is deeply
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troubled. Farah turns away, pondering the unsettling feelings swirling in her throat as
she notices Prince masking his own.
Lying back against the wall, Farah realises how tired she actually is. Prince notices
her yawn.
“It’s close to midnight,” he murmurs.
“Yeah…I know…,” she says, before being interrupted by another yawn.
Prince smiles, turning away. When he turns back to Farah, about to say goodnight,
she is already fast asleep, snoring softly.
The watch catches his eye again. Take the watch. Emanuel’s sinister voice echoes in
his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, he clenches his fists and shakes his head. The cat
meows fiercely, watching Prince with gleaming eyes.
He’s your only friend, Prince. He’s all you’ve got left. Sucking in a deep shaky
breath, Prince leans forward and gently puts his hands behind her neck, lifting
Farah’s head off her pillow, smiling a little at her peaceful expression, eyes fluttering
with a dream.
He gently pulls his hands away, taking the watch with them.
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Chapter 4: I Want You Farah
Farah awakes. Fluttering her eyelids, then straining her eyes to look for Prince, but in
her heart she knows that he is not here and that he has gone off with her grandfather’s
golden watch. Sorrow follows. She has lost two of the most precious things in her life.
Tears flowed through her eyes like waterfalls. Farah wipes the tears from her face
with the sleeve of her ratty sweater. Her eyes are red, not from the tears but from the
anger boiling up from within her. Farah is fuming, she wants… no, she needs to take
her anger out on something, preferably someone. She could never really do anything
hurtful, but sometimes, even a gentle soul like Farah can do things out of fleeting
anger.
***
Prince slowly marches down the stairs of the hotel to meet with his cousin Emanuel.
Emanuel had orchestrated the whole plot to regain his and Prince’s share of the
family’s fortune but Prince couldn’t help falling in love and now his head swirls with
guilt. At the rendezvous point they had agreed to meet, Emanuel was impatiently
awaiting Prince’s arrival with the watch. Prince’s thoughts of guilt nearly drove him
to a panic attack until he sees the swimming pool, the place where he and Farah first
met eyes. The rendezvous point was in the swimming pool maintenance room just
beyond the change rooms, but Prince turns around, only to meet with the fuming
Farah. Emanuel taps his watch furiously for Prince, but little does he know that Prince
is not going to meet him, but Farah.
***
Farah quickens her pace down the stairs in hope of finding Prince’s trail, when
suddenly, he comes up the stairs. Their eyes meet; Farah has imagined the prolonged
meeting of the two for the past hour and yet she does not know what to do when she
stares into his icy blue eyes.
She simply says,
“My Prince.”
Prince believes she deserves an explanation and says,
“Oh Farah, I truly apologise for this act of betrayal. I… I… I admit to plotting against
you to steal your grandfather fob watch. It is not my fault, I simply acted upon my
cousin’s orders. I could not go along with his dastardly plan for I love y-…"
Before he can continue his admission of love to Farah, she slaps Prince as hard as she
can. The smack echoes, cutting through the stunned silence. He tries to meet his
love’s eyes. The sweet eyes he remembers are replaced with cold spiteful stones.
Farah speaks next,
“How dare you try and apologise to me after your lies and acts to steal my
grandfather’s fob watch?!”
Tears flow down her cheeks again, but this time she does not bother wiping them
away.
“You have every right to be mad at me. You can slap me to death if that’s what you
want, but I’m not leaving without your forgiveness!”
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An unexpected hand flashes in front of his eyes and a red burst of pain stings his face.
Prince stumbles back, cradling the red hand print that Farah left on his face after the
slap.
“You dare ask forgiveness? You deceived me, played with my heart and you ask for
forgiveness? When I awoke in your hotel room I felt a pain in my heart. I was so
angry that I was almost willing to go to a dark place after what you did to me!
Stealing my only valuable possession!”
“My princess Farah, please take my hand. What I did was an unforgivable act and
believe me, I know this. I want you Farah, I need you. I need your love.”
Before she could mutter a word, her prince leaned in and kissed her passionately. Her
feelings of love for Prince crept out of the locked door of her heart, but she still
resents and hates him at the same time. In time she will overcome her anger.
“Take me to your cousin Emanuel, he will feel the wrath of my anger.”
“No, you mustn’t Farah! That makes us as foul as he is. Let‘s leave this hate behind. I
know I betrayed you, I know you Farah. And I know you aren’t the kind to commit
such acts.
Prince really was right; she could feel herself coming out of the dark vengeful
mindset and into a more civilised state. Prince was right she couldn’t do such a thing.
After a few deep breaths she declared that he was right. They both knew it. Stealing a
family treasure was unjustifiable but maybe it was fated to bring them together.
Farah looks into Prince’s eyes and says, “My grandfather gave me the Persian fob
watch out of love, and your love brought it back to me.”
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Epilogue: Money or Love
After a brief flight from the Gold Coast to New South Wales, Prince and Farah arrive.
Sydney is a glamorous city but it is hard to appreciate such flamboyance when you're
heading to the family that expelled you. Farah had noticed that Prince's hate for his
family had been diminished. Even though they expelled him, simply for not
complying to their social norms, the spite was not as large as it was a few days ago.
They drive for a few hours until they reach one of the most prestigious suburbs in
Sydney, Point Piper. Nestled grandly on one street corner was the Prince Residence, a
white triangular-topped building that resembles the colonial manors of 19th Century
Europe. A large stone balcony shadows forebodingly over the two. They walk
confidently to the front door and press a little bronze button that sits firmly beside the
huge double doors. Footsteps can be heard walking menacingly towards the door. A
large broad man in a black striking suit opens the door. "Oh Son it's you! You should
have told us you were coming! Here come inside!" He says with a clearly faked smile.
"And who's.....this?" he asks, referring to Farah. "This is my love, Farah." announces
Prince and he walks right into to what was once his childhood home.
They tread over the wooden floor-boards, the atmosphere of the house has always had
at best, awkward, feel to it and at worst, disturbed. The stiff upper lip family rarely
showed much affection or compassion. He sees his mother wearing a long velvet
dress in the kitchen baking something or other. "Ohhh. It’s you dear!" exclaims the
woman and waddles over to him, her face plastic with botox and her personality just
as fake. She kisses him on one cheek and then the other. "Oh and who is-" she
inquires but is sharply interrupted by Prince "This is Farah. We are together." "Ok...
um well....is she..uh.. Pakistani or something?" says his mother. "Iranian" says Farah
with a tone that is both cordial and spiteful at the same time. "Ahhh" says his mother,
nodding.
Over the course of the next few hours much conversation takes place. Most of it about
finance and most of it in an awkward, uncomfortable tone. However this all changed
when his parents find out about the expensive fob watch. "So how much is this worth
exactly?" asks the Father. "It is worth millions. This has been in the Pahlavi dynasty
since the 1500s. It is made of pure gold and studded with some of the most exquisite
gems in the world." says Farah with a trace of pride. The parents nod. More financial
talk circulates until his parents tell Prince that they will give him 92% of the Prince
Family inheritance if he gives away not only the fob watch but 'loosens' his
relationship with Farah. The reasoning for this was "She is not your type Mason, not
our type." At the mention of this Mason has a fierce verbal uproar.
"How dare you suggest such an infernal thing! How dare you!" His parents glance at
each other and then blink. "The bond between me and Farah is stronger than any
material lust and especially a lust for money! Farah and I, we are forever and not even
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millions can part me from her. You want money over love? Fine! It's easy to see just
by looking at your relationship!" At this his parents glared. "I will ALWAYS take
Farah over becoming rich. Always."
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