Chapter 2: Engagement

Apart from the painting of a nineteenth century werewolf, everything in the apartment shone as the sun streamed in through the long French windows. Drake sighed as he observed the carved mahogany mantelpiece in his parlor that had been polished. He couldn't remember when he had polished it, but he was certain he had sat on it before he went to bed early, yesterday.

"Good morning, my love," a blonde woman in a white apparel said, as she came closer to kiss him. Her name was Rosetta. Her bright eyes hovered around the parlor until it sparkled, and Drake was able to notice the carved rosettes and female busts of the mahogany mantelpiece in his parlor oiled to perfection. He could not help but admire the long marquetry table in the center of the room. It was well placed as it reminded him of his late parents who had the good habit of rearranging books on top of a shelf until it suited their taste.

"Do you want eggs? Milk? Or both?" Rosetta asked. She was seriously paying attention to the engagement ring on her ring finger.

"Milk is fine with me," Drake said, standing up. He could not help himself from being abnormally hooked up with the appearance of his apartment. Everywhere from the ceiling fan to the carpet seemed to be equally handsome as if it had also been equally well tended by someone who was waiting for a special moment to happen in his life. Although it was almost possible for him to figure out the special moment in his life in one guess, he was not eager to think of it above the layer of happiness that his fiancee had already built. The news had gone round the small community of loving people as he had expected. He and Rosetta were getting married. And, they were going to be one soon, like husband and wife, like honeycomb and bee, inseparable, unbreakable and unshakeable.

"I am going out for a walk," Drake said, putting his hands inside his pockets. "I will be back in an hour."

Rosetta frowned. "What about the milk and the eggs? What am I going to do about it? I can't eat all of it. You know I am trying to lose weight, and it has not been easy for me during these past few days. I have eaten so little that one would assume I am fasting."

Drake exhaled. "I am so sorry, hun," he said. "You can cover it. I will try to eat it when I come back. I need to clear my head a little bit. You know we have a big day ahead of us. Everything needs to be perfect for you. I don't want to ruin it..."

"For us!" Rosetta interrupted, clapping her hands gently. "Everything has to be perfect for both of us because it is going to be our first and only marriage. I want to spend all my life with you, Drake. You are my dream husband... So, when you want to talk about our marriage, please use 'us' instead of 'you' or 'I'. When you use 'us', it makes me feel secure and safe. Like I own you and you own me too. Like we are going to be together, and never be separated."

"I understand, hun," Drake said. "It just skipped my mind. A lot has been happening since we started making arrangements for our marriage."

"I understand too," Rosetta replied, calmly. "You don't have to stress yourself. Your one and only wife understands. Now, you know what is going to happen?"

Drake was curious. "What?"

"You are going to leave your apartment right now. Then, when you are gone, I am going to put your breakfast in a place you are going to easily find it when you are back. Does that make sense?"

Drake laughed a bit as he drew Rosetta closer to his body and hugged her tightly. He loved her. Rosetta knew he loved her because he always said it before and after dinner.

"I will be back as soon as possible," Drake said as he pressed her gently on her shoulder.

"And I will be right here, waiting for you until you are back," Rosetta smiled.

*

A week passed.

The wedding gifts were lined up on the table, in an orderly manner, as though waiting for inspection. Drake could notice at the end of the table, a small jotter pad and black fountain pen, where he could write down his wish for their marriage - his marriage with Rosetta. He gently took the jotter pad and black fountain pen. He started writing.

- We are going to be married for more than fifty years.

- We are going to have three kids before we celebrate our ten years of marriage.

- We are going to buy a big house before I turn thirty.

- Our first child must go to an Ivy League School.

He stopped writing as he raised the jotter pad to look at what he had written. His handwriting was clear and bold. It was like the handwriting of one of the pantry maids he knew when he was in London who dusted the offerings daily while watching the church butler polish the silver wine cups.

"This is good," Drake said aloud as he dropped the jotter pad back on the table to observe the place once again. In his observation, he noticed there was an aura of restrained opulence in the church they were planning on getting married in, of enormous wealth that was clearly apparent but never flaunted. It was as if the residing priest had ordered the new heavy velvet drapes and lace curtains in front of the church mainly because of them. He stopped walking as he got closer to the church altar. It was neat. Everywhere around the church altar was neat. Everywhere around him was neat too, including the entrance and exit doors of the church that were usually dusty was neat today. His phone rang. It was a patient beep.