The Good Life

AN. Hola! Brand new story for you guys – it's based off of Desperate Housewives (which I've come to love recently) + the idea of this was something I just couldn't leave alone. Enjoy! :)

Chapter One - An Introduction

If there was one thing Maryse Ouellet excelled at in life, it was criticizing others—especially those less fortunate—and their poor decisions.

The striking blonde woman was a flurry of long, curled hair and perfectly manicured nails, asserting her strong opinion with a look of distaste left and right; there was no-one who would dare to cross the path of the determined housewife. Not even her husband, who after much pleading and begging was unable to persuade his spouse to change her last name when they were married.

She was proud of each and every decision she'd made in her life, and would be hard-pressed to admit otherwise.

Sitting in her living room now, perched neatly in the middle of her white pristine sofa, with others rushing around with jobs to do in order to keep her happy, she looked like nothing less than a grand Queen.

And why shouldn't she? She was Maryse Ouellet, a former Diva's champion and women's wrestler for the world wrestling entertainment company. She and her husband were famous everywhere, mostly known for their role as the top power couple on Monday Night Raw. She had it all.

And she also had an image to uphold.

"Celeste, I don't like the flower arrangement. It looks too..." Trailing off, she cocked her head away from her panicked-looking assistant and towards the vases sat in front of her on the table. "Dull." And if there was one thing she was not, it was that. "Come up with a new design. It's like you don't want my big day to be a success."

"Of course. Right away."

As the young redhead scurried away, Maryse quietly clicked her tongue in irritation. She was too nice of a person—Celeste was average at best, but still she was paid as though she was worth much more. Her kindness of heart really was something else.

Her patience was drawn thin, however, and it took a lot of self-control to keep her composure intact and not snap at the next sight her eyes rested on. To his credit, Ricardo was an excellent designer and one of her favourites, but today was simply not his day. What she was staring at could only be described as a monstrosity.

"Ricardo, darling," she purred, careful to monitor her tone, "My breasts are going to need to breathe. How will they be able to in that?"

He was on the verge of giving her an answer, only to be saved by the bell with a familiar entrance alongside him. She saw the dreaded black converse shoes first, and then travelled upwards to meet the playful grin of her fifteen year-old daughter. Of course it was her; she wouldn't allow anybody else to step into her house wearing those.

"I don't think your breasts 'breathe' in anything you wear, Mom." Her tone was far too chirpy—it always was. "I mean, look at them now—well hello there, great big melons stuck to your chest. Any chance of spilling out today?"

Ricardo's response was to snicker—a very bad decision on his part—until she glared at him, resisting the urge to glance down her dress and see if they really were making an appearance, and then smiled thinly at the young girl beside him. "Always a pleasure talking to you, Emily. You look... beautiful, as always."

Flicking back her own blonde hair, the teenager glanced down at her attire—the look she gave her mother upon returning her gaze was one of surprise. "You should really work on your pauses, you know that? Even your exquisite French accent can't hide the disgust radiating from you."

A light sigh spilled through the adult's lips and for the rarest moment, she shrugged her shoulders in defeat. "I just don't know where I went wrong with you. When you were born, I thought you'd be a mini-version of me—"

"—A Barbie Doll with extensions and fake nails?"

"And that you'd be just as stylish as me. I was so happy to have a girl. Now... you're dressed as an indie person."

"Mom, you don't have to whisper the word 'indie' – it's not dangerous. And trust you to mix up styles you couldn't care less about. I don't suppose you've noticed the pink I'm wearing today."

It took a while to spot the effort. "Honey, I wanted you to wear a lot more pink than that. The rest of that top you're wearing is covered in black and white words I can't even make out. You look like you've been painted on."

"And once again, you sound like you've got a stick up your ass." Emily rolled her eyes playfully, a gesture she knew was almost forbidden in her household, and walked around the chaotic mess surrounding them to place a kiss on the Queen Bee's cheek. "You should count yourself lucky that I'm going to be wearing a pink dress at your sham of a wedding; it's the only time I'll ever bend the rules."

"Of what, acting like you're a boy trapped in a girl's body?"

"Okay, whatever. I'll see you later. I'm off to the mall—apparently they're holding auditions for a part as an extra in a music video or something. I'm going to check it out."

"Yes, Logan said something about that." Maryse just about caught the bored look on her daughter's face before she left the room and then, after a moment's consideration, shouted after her, "And the wedding isn't a sham! It's a second celebration to remind ourselves of your father and I's love for one another!"

"Headphones are in, I'm already blocking you out!" Emily shouted back. "But have fun with all the boring crap, okay? See you tonight!"

The door slamming shut just a few seconds later provided the troubled mother with a lot of reassurance. She loved her child with all of her heart, but she could be a pain in the ass sometimes; and having thought of this once again, she slid a subtle smile into her daily expressions. She and her daughter were more alike than the other thought—no matter how much it wanted to be denied.

It didn't take long to move right back into business mode. Brushing off imaginary bits of dirt from her yellow summer dress, she looked back at the design – which Ricardo was still holding up with remarkable patience – and inhaled deeply. "First things first: sort out the bust. We can talk more after that. It has to be perfect."

He nodded obediently, hurrying away, and her narrowed eyes watched him until he disappeared out of sight. For a moment or two, she sat there quietly; there was something utterly relaxing about being in charge of her household and planning what to do with her day. Everything was done her way – just how she both wanted and needed things to be.

There was no doubt in her mind that she was Queen of the DiBiase household.

As for what was happening around her... well, unlike her close-minded daughter, she was proud of the event she'd created for herself. And for her husband, of course. This was all that she needed to feel good about herself again after the rough couple of months she'd had wondering what she was worth. There were certain... aspects of her relaxed lifestyle that began to put her on edge, causing her to question everything she already had.

... But that was in the past, wasn't it?

With a fresh look on her face, she stood up from her seat, making sure to smooth out the fabric she'd been sitting on. Everything had to be in its proper place. There was a confident strut to her walk as she moved around the room, hands on hips, and critiqued the decisions being made—from the cake decorations laid out to the wedding shoes selection, nothing was left without an opinion.

She allowed another rare smile to curve her lips upwards. Yes, today was shaping up to be a good day—Maryse Ouellet was, as her group of select friends liked to call her, the head bitch in charge and that status was going to be far from unnoticed this Saturday morning.

"Okay, so what's next on the list?"

Over the hustle and bustle of the local supermarket, a fifteen-year old boy's bored tone rang out. "I don't know, maybe salad? You put all kinds of healthy crap on here."

Wheeling the already heavy trolley around the corner and into the next aisle, struggling with difficulty to keep her own balance afloat, Eve Torres bit down on her bottom lip to avoid giving her son yet another deathly glare. The woman was already having trouble keeping her mood light over a simple shopping trip, and she didn't think she needed to showcase her skills as a mother by swearing profusely at a young child in a public place.

Stopping at an early point, she was finally able to rest her sore hands, and used one of them to wipe her wavy brunette hair out of her eyes. It had been bothering her almost the whole shopping trip and yet she hadn't been able to do anything about it—and yes, asking the boy beside her to do something would simply be lame.

"You're just always so helpful, Logan." She smiled tightly, turning to him. It was just a few seconds later that she was forced to roll her eyes. Did he always have to insist on listening to his iPod on these visits? When she wasn't trying to get his attention away from his loud music, she was trying to make herself heard over it. "Do you think you could get a couple of cans over there for me?"

Tapped on the shoulder to gain his mother's attention, Logan Torres gave a loud groan. Removing his headphones once again, he shrugged at her. "What?"

"Cans. Over there. Now."

It really was hard being a single parent sometimes. As she cleverly nipped his iPod away from him, listening to the endless complaints and groans from him before he finally walked away, she found herself thinking that everybody else had a much easier life than her. It was a regular thought that always entered her mind at a bad time—which happened every single day—and she just knew she would think the same thing tomorrow, whatever happened.

She turned away for a moment – towards the checkouts behind her – and stared at the other people milling around. They were all doing their grocery shopping, happily immersed in their own lives. She imagined they were being lived wonderfully.

The Latina woman sighed. It wasn't that she disliked her life... she'd just expected so much more for it. She was a former Diva's champion for world wrestling entertainment. Going out there almost every night, holding up either a championship or her hands, she was proud to call herself a women's wrestler.

And now...

"Found them. Can we go now? I don't even know why you forced me to come anyway – I could be at the mall or something."

Back to the duty at hand, she smiled delicately at her son. The look he gave her in return suggested he was weirded out at the very least. "You'd like to be at the mall, huh? I hear Emily DiBiase is going to be there today with her friends." A loud groan greeted her. Unsurprising, considering. "What, you don't think I'd ever let the issue of you two drop, do you?"

"Can I have my iPod back now please?"

"It's okay, you're in love with her. I understand. You don't have to tell me twice."

"I didn't tell you at all. By the way, this is why Dad is the cool parent." He almost spat at her, flicking his shaggy dark hair back.

"You also get that holier-than-thou attitude from him, by the way. Would it kill you to give me credit just for once?"

"For what exactly?" Logan dug his hands deep inside the pockets of his hoodie. "Dad's the wrestler of the family. You gave it up to live this boring life. All you ever do is shop or meet up with the other moms for gossip sessions. What do I have to credit you for?"

The former Diva shook her head. The strength she showed in this particular debate was remarkable, considering she went through it at least twice a week with the same outcome every time. "For being able to put up with a mini-version of your father like you. Now, please check what's next on the list and go and get it for me. I don't have long until my Jiu-Jitsu class."

All she was greeted with was a glare.

"You know what? Fine, act like a spoilt brat all you like. I'll go and get whatever it is we need. Forgive me," she raised her voice as she walked away, leading him to hide into himself in embarrassment to those around him, "for trying to provide for my family!"

Miss Torres often liked to people-watch when she went for the weekly shop – sometimes with Logan; depending on his mood, sometimes without – and wonder what their lives were like. Were they all as happy as they appeared to be on the outside? Were they just pretending? Or were they not pretending at all, and she was the one who didn't have the slightest clue? Sometimes she even wondered if it was only her who effortlessly looked like she was struggling her way through it all.

Stomping her way around now though, completely undignified for a woman of her stature, Eve didn't care about anybody else but herself. She wanted to get away from this damn place, pack away all the groceries—because God knows, Logan would only sulk off to his room or bound out of the house—and get on with her class. She had a lot to take out on her trainer today, that was definitely for sure.

"I put my faith into absolutely everything and what do I get for it? Nothing!" She muttered incredulously to herself, rounding the corner and heading straight for the frozen vegetables. "Sometimes I just wish... just wish something good could happen to me. Do you think it'll happen? No, of course it—"

Unfortunately for the frustrated housewife, she was to be caught off-guard when she took her eyes off of the food products to look where she was going, only to find herself about to storm into an open shirt-clad chest. All she could really do was blink and prepare herself for the car crash, but a steady hand reached out and firmly took her arm, stopping her from making such a mistake.

Remembering her position, Eve attempted to look nonchalant about the matter as she stepped back to view her saviour—it wasn't an easy thing to do when her cheeks were flaming hot, and she still felt like an idiot.

A young guy stared back at her, appraising her with his eyes. She didn't quite know how to feel about that – more to the point, she was highly aware of the contact they still shared. "So... you're fancy, huh?"

There was something about his tone that she just didn't like. The smirk he wore to match it didn't do him any favours either, though if perhaps she was in a better mood, she would have found it charming. So she slipped out of his grip easily and glanced down at her attire; wearing her favourite purple dress, her knee-high black boots and beautiful accessories, fancy was the least she expected to be called. Although looking at him... "So you're not, huh?" She teased, only without the humour intended.

"Ouch." He rubbed a hand over his chin, checking her out once again. "I reeled in a good one today. Save a woman from a little trouble and I get no gratitude in return?"

He left her inclined to give an answer. And while usually she would be happy to thank someone who helped her out, she was just not in the mood. "A little trouble? Don't flatter yourself, smart-ass. Now if you'll excuse me..."

The brunette was surprised to find he let her pass by without any further problems. But upon returning with the food she needed, arms full and certainly wanting to find her trolley again, he re-appeared. "Oh God, what do you want?"

"I'm new in town – I just moved here with an old college friend. I was wondering if we could hang out at some point. I need to get to know—"

"I don't think so." She pushed past him and walked on. She didn't turn back once. "I doubt I'll ever be seeing you again. I'm sure we're from different parts of town..." And with that said, she disappeared.

Eve didn't hear the last of their conversation in which he picked up his cocky smirk and said to no-one in particular, "I'm Alex... Alex Riley, by the way. Nice meeting you," very sarcastically.

So there's the first ever chapter. We're just getting started. Please review :)

- In the next chapter: The sweetest housewife of them all arrives back from her honeymoon with surprising news.