Hi! Thanks for stumbling across this book! There is a lot of French in this, but don't worry! I translated it for ya'll!

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I was laying on my bed like the sad human being I am, not knowing what to do. Since my mom and dad were discussing boring stuff like taxes and politics, hanging out with them was out. Well, it would've been out anyway, because, duh, they're my parents.

   You may be asking, "Oh, who are your parents, (Your Name)?" Well, I'll tell you.

   My parents are none other than George and Martha Washington.

   That may seem like the best thing in the world, but the truth is, it's not as much of a cakewalk as it seems. You may think that I get to surround myself with all these expensive things and that I get fancy dinners every night, but no.

   I'm not gonna complain about my home life, though, because it's pretty normal, despite my dad being an ex-commander. We live like any other family would, and personally, I'd rather that than live like a spoiled rich kid.

   I looked around my decent-sized room, sighing. My parents' conversation had switched from politics to how stupid King George was.

   I agreed with them on that topic, but that didn't mean I'd want to talk with them about it.

   I groaned, tapping a rythym on my bed's blankets as I tried to think of something to do.

   Read? No, I already did that, I thought, tapping my chin in thought. Write? No, we ran out of ink for our quills...

   My face lit up as I thought of the perfect idea:

   I could eat! Eating is and will always be the best cure for boredom.

   I sauntered downstairs and was walking to the kitchen when my dad stopped me. "What're you doing, hon?" he asked me.

   I turned around and went up to my parents, who were chatting in the living room. "Just getting a snack. Is that okay with you?"

   My mom said, "Dinner will be in an hour or two. I wouldn't want you to lose your appetite."

   I groaned. "But Mom!"

   "No buts," my dad said sternly. Ugh. He always took her side. And it always drove me nuts. "You're going to wait until dinner to eat. It'll be soon, don't worry."

   "Fine. All I was gonna have was a (your favorite fruit), anyway," I grumbled, crossing my arms.

   "Well, we respect your healthy choices!" my mom said with a smile.

   I rolled my eyes.

   Then, there was a knock at the door.

   Since I had nothing better to do, and since I didn't wanna have to hear my mom flapping her gums at this person at the door, I decided to answer it and talk to the mystery person myself.

   I walked to the door, humming a tune to myself.

   Once I opened it, I immediately wished I hadn't.

   "Lafayette?" I spluttered in disbelief.

   The hopeful smile on Lafayette's stupid face had faded as soon as he saw me. His eyes narrowed and he grumbled through gritted teeth, "Bonjour, (Y/N)."

   I squinted at the Frenchman, person, as a matter of fact, that I hated the most.

   You may be asking, "(Y/N), why did you hate this 'Lafayette' fellow so much?"

   BECAUSE HE WAS A PIECE OF SHIT, OKAY?

   We met when me, my dad, and my mom took a vacation to France.

   ~FLASHBACK~

   "Okay, (Y/N)!" my dad said, grabbing my tiny six-year-old hand. "Are you ready to see the Eiffel Tower?"

   I nodded excitedly, interwining my dad's fingers with my own. "Yes, papa!" I said, beginning to walk with him to said tower.

   Once we got there, I was mesmerized by the beauty of this thing. It was the tallest thing I'd ever seen in my life, and it was intricately crafted. I was trying to enjoy the view, when this tall kid with poofy, black hair tied into a bun sauntered up to the tower.

   I didn't think much of it. Until this kid started pulling on my damn hair.

   "Puis-je vous aider?" (Can I help you?) I asked this annoying kid (assuming he knew French), stepping back a bit so that I could be free from his grasp.

   "Tes cheveux sont sales. L'avez-vous déjà lavé?" (Your hair is dirty. Have you ever washed it?) he asked, a smug smile crossing his face.

   I scoffed. If only I knew curse words back then...

   I decided to be a bit snippy. Hey, this boy deserved it. Thinking he could just walk up to a random girl admiring the Eiffel Tower and tug on her hair.

   "Euh, ouais. Mes cheveux sont bien plus propres que les vôtres. Qu'est-ce que vous appelez même cette 'coiffure' que vous portez? Le style 'The Mop Gross'?" I asked with a smug smile of my own. (Um, yeah. My hair is a heck of a lot cleaner than yours. What do you even call that "hairstyle" that you're sporting? "The Gross Mop" style?)

   The smirk slipped off of that guy's face immediately.

   That's when my dad finally decided to step in. "Hé, surveillez votre ton, monsieur. Vous aussi, (Y/N)," my dad scolded. (Watch your tone, sir. You too, (Y/N).) (I didn't deserve that scolding. That annoying ass kid did!) "Pourquoi avez-vous tiré sur les cheveux de ma fille, monsieur?" he said, just talking to the brat now. (Why were you pulling on my daughter's hair, sir?)

   The kid that was annoying me blushed due to embarrassment. He opened his mouth to say something (probably a lame excuse for his insolence), when...

   "Gilbert! Viens ici, maintenant!" someone screamed. (Gilbert! Get over here, now!)

   The kid turned around, as did I, and we both saw two angry adults running toward him. One a man, one a woman. I assumed they were his parents.

   The kid who annoyed me nervoualy walked over to his parents. He opened his mouth to explain himself, but he got cut off by his mom.

   "Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, combien de fois vous avons-nous dit d'arrêter de vous promener? Vous nous avez presque donné une crise cardiaque!" she shrieked, placing her hands on her hips sternly. (how many times have we told you to stop wandering off? You nearly gave us a heart attack!)

   I snickered quietly. That was that brat's full name?

   The child that I am now going to call Lafayette (for simplicity), looked over his shoulder at me and glared at me. If looks could kill, I would be buried by now. He looked back to his mother, looking a bit scared. "Ah, je suis désolé, maman. Je… je pensais juste que je parlerais à cette… gentille jeune femme..," Lafayette said, gesturing to me. (Ah, I'm sorry, Mama. I...I just thought that I'd talk to this...nice young lady...) I could tell he was trying his hardest not to cringe.

   I scoffed. I cleared my throat. "En fait, mademoiselle. Votre enfant m'a tiré les cheveux et les a insultés. Il parlait peut-être, mais il ne me parlait pas très bien," I said, subtly smirking at Lafayette. (Actually, miss. Your kid pulled my hair and insulted it. He may have been talking, but he wasn't talking to me very nicely.)

   Lafayette's mom glared at him. Her glare was enough to send shivers down my spine, and I wasn't even in trouble. She got down to Lafayette's level and whispered something to him that I couldn't hear, and wasn't sure if I wanted to.

   Lafayette's face fell once he heard what his mom had to say. "Maman..," he said weakly, but his mom nodded sternly. (Mama...)

   Lafayette sighed and walked over to me. "Je suis désolé pour ce que j'ai fait. Ma famille et moi étions sur le point de déjeuner. Voulez-vous vous joindre à nous?" he asked through gritted teeth. (I'm sorry for what I've done. My family and I were about to get lunch. Would you like to join us? )

   I wearily looked up at my dad, not wanting to at all.

   My dad gave me a stern look, implying that I had to go to lunch with Lafayette.

   I sighed. "Cela sonne bien, merci. Comment devrais-je vous appeler, puisque votre nom est si long?" I asked, also through gritted teeth. (That sounds lovely, thank you. What should I call you, though, since your name is so long?)

   "Lafayette," Lafayette answered. "Et vous?" (And you?)

   "(Y/N)," I said, not knowing why he was asking me, since my dad already said my name. I glanced up at my dad, who was very intently staring at me. I knew he wanted me to shake hands with Lafayette. I sighed and held out my hand. "C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer," I grumbled unconvincingly. (Pleasure to meet you.)

   "Également," Lafayette grumbled back, grabbing my hand and shaking it. (Likewise.) By the tightness of his grip, it was clear that he wanted to squeeze the life out of my poor hand.

   So I returned the intense grip, my eyes narrowing.

   After a bit, Lafayette and I awkwardly let go of our hands.

   The Washingtons and Marquis de Lafayettes had lunch together that day.

   And our families have loved each other ever since.

   Well, Lafayette and I? We've never made up. In fact, we hated each other more and more each time we saw each other.

~Flashback over!~

   So when Lafayette was chilling on my doorstep, I wasn't happy.

   I looked him up and down. It had been a while since we had seen each other.

   He looked more or less the same. His beard was getting thicker, and his muscles were becoming more pronounced.

   I found myself staring at those muscles, but I snapped myself out of my daze within a few seconds. I refused to admire the muscles of someone I hated.

   You know what? He didn't even have muscles! I was just hallucinating!

   "So, why are you here, Lafayette?" I asked, crossing my arms.

   Lafayette scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, I have a relatively big favor to ask..."
 
   "Whatever it is, no," I said, starting to shut the door.

   Lafayette held it open with his foot, however. "Would you stop being such a pain, (Y/N)? I need a place to stay, and I was wondering if I could stay here. Trust me, I chose this place as a last resort, since I hate your intestines--"

   I knew Lafayette meant "hate your guts" (he was still working on his English). But I ignored that and actually shut the door on him this time.

   Lafayette...moving in...with me?